Excerpt: Reinstantiated

“Where's Ziera?” Nyx whispered, half outloud and half to herself.

“Dead.”

The voice – Spyder's voice – was silky and dangerous, like honey poured over the edge of a knife. Silver tongued and well versed in conflict resolution, Spyder was the natural second-in-command of the Undercity's Governing Council. Still, something behind the honey made her feel uneasy; the assassin's breath before the killing stroke. Ziera's death took Nyx completely by surrpise; she was hoping that the only damage that had been done was fairly cosmetic, much like Raxi's scarring. But dead? Nyx couldn't fathom it. The woman had been virtually indestructible. Her skills with a blade were legendary, as was her leather armour, engineered to keep even the sharpest of blades from piercing it.

As we dance, you and I, we have no mind. We are the blades. We are the artful lines of our bodies as they move to intercept, dodge, and feint. There is no time to mind how heavy and awkward the armour is. We must concentrate on nothing at all; the Zen to free our minds before presenting the final stroke. Ziera had told her that once, shortly after teaching her the basics of a butterfly switchblade. She'd needed it as a contingency plan, in case the job went south.

“How is that possible?” Nyx said, folding her hands in her lap. “She was... she was Ziera.”

“No matter how agile the person, one cannot dodge a bullet to the back of the head,” Spyder replied, peering out from behind the curtain of blonde. “Ziera was executed. Raxi was forced to watch her die.”

Nyx's eyes widened. No wonder Raxi had been so angry to see her in the Atrium. It would seriously mess a person up to witness the death of a friend, let alone the execution of one. She shuddered involuntarily.

“Now you realize the gravity of your lack of judgment,” Rafe said, breaking the moment of silence. “Which is why you're here instead of all over the sidewalk outside New Surrey. Ladies, if you're quite ready, Governance is now in session.”