Free Our Lady of the Ice by Cassandra Rose Clarke

knew its general location. And some city man had helpfully hung signs pointing her that way.
    Ten minutes later, she was there.
    Eliana parked in one of the paid lots, climbed out, locked the car. The wind whipped across her face, cold and damp. Real wind, blowing in through the entrances at the docks.
    She stood for a moment, considering. Then she unlocked the car, pulled open the glove compartment. Her gun was tucked inside there, waiting. Bullets in it and everything. She pulled it out and stuck it into her purse.
    The Florencia was located on a narrow side street lined with empty storefronts. Eliana knew the way from here, since Maria liked to dance at the Florencia now and then. Eliana was used to looking for it at night, though, when the name was lit up in garish neon and people spilled out onto the street, drunk and laughing. But during the day, you’d think the Florencia was as abandoned as its neighboring establishments, because of the barred-over windows and the cheap, peeling paint on the facade.
    Friday and Saturday night might have been enough to turn this place respectable. Tuesday morning wasn’t.
    The wind gusted as Eliana made her way down the street, moving closer toward the entrance, and she tucked her face into her scarf and listened to her breath and to her footsteps as she walked. Both echoed in the stillness.
    A black car was parked in front of the bar. Eliana stopped and stared at it. She was aware of the weight of the gun in her purse. Not that she’d ever shot the thing at anything other than the targets at her licensing class.
    She could still turn back. Call up Lady Luna, tell her Cabrera had her documents after all, Lady Luna would have to find someoneelse. But that would mean losing a hell of a lot of mainland money, and Sala was in the Florencia. Right now. Sala, and those damned documents.
    Eliana reached into her purse and jerked back the safety on her gun. Then she pulled out her red lipstick and put it on. She needed to disguise herself as one of Cabrera’s girls.
    No one guarded the Florencia door. Eliana pulled on the handle, expecting (hoping) it to be locked, surprising herself when it swung open with a long, low creak. Music tumbled out, a sad, dark drone. She stepped in. Most of the lights were off, the tables lit with little red candles. A girl danced up onstage, half her clothes spilled around her feet. She had more of an audience than Eliana would have expected.
    “Can I help you?”
    Eliana startled at the voice. She looked over and found a well-styled little man standing beside a stack of menus.
    “Um, I’m meeting somebody.” Eliana scanned the dining room. It was too dark to see, and she hadn’t gotten that good a look at Sala’s face. “I see him. There.” She pointed in a noncommittal direction.
    The man blinked at him. “Would you like a menu?”
    “Sure.”
    The man handed her one from the stack, and Eliana took it. She strode away, still scanning for Sala. She could feel the man near the door staring at her, but she shook it off, sliding between the tables. Lights bounced off the stage. The music bore into her. She passed a pair of old men with cups of coffee; she passed a young man in a business suit scratching something on a pad of paper.
    And then she found Sala.
    He didn’t see her. He was sitting at a table at the edge of the room, staring up at the dancing girl and smoking. He had a bottle of wine with him, and he topped off his glass, not taking his eyes off the stage. The envelope lay on the table, his hand pressed on it like an act of protection.
    Eliana walked over and sat down at his table.
    “Who are you?” he asked.
    “Someone told me about you.” Eliana tilted her head, smiled. “Said you like to have fun.”
    He drew the cigarette out of his mouth and exhaled smoke. His hand was shaking.
    “Who,” he said, “are you?”
    “Just one of Cabrera’s girls. Is it true? You like to have fun?”
    “No.” He turned away, took a long drink of