“Not today. It’s my birthday.” I color slightly; making a big deal over birthdays makes me feel like a child. “She always visits.”
“Congratulations,” he says, automatically. “So. You think something has gone wrong? That she’s in trouble?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“All right.” He mulls that as we cross a busy side street, sidestepping a loitering sedan chair. “So how do we find her?”
I can feel trust pulsing off him, a smell like warm honey, and a rising tang of excitement. Something unknots in my chest, a tension I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying. I’m not certain I can do this without him.
“I know her boss’ name,” I say. “But not where to find him. I figure we’ll march into the first shady establishment we see and ask for an appointment.”
“Not exactly subtle,” Gezoz says, with a raised ey
