Jeanne G'Fellers - No Sister of Mine

twinkled with merriment. “You’re obsessed with sweets, the whole lot of you.”
“We are not.” Krell tried to appear offended while she layered the jam.
“You never see an Aut spread jam like that.”
“It’s not that thick,” she mumbled between bites. “And I’ve never seen an Aut spread jam at all.”
“It’s a good three fingers deep.” Russ cringed. “Ugh! How can you eat that?” He stepped back from the table, ready to steer away from such indigestible conversation. “Now, I’ve worked here enough to know food is never your motive for being here, so what gives? Got a hot date or something?”
Krell had grown accustomed to Russ’s teasing and often enjoyed the opportunity to reciprocate, this time sticking her finger in the jam pot and sucking the sugar-covered digit clean just to see him wince.
“Smartass.” A snarl parted his mouth just enough to show the slight separation between his front teeth. “You know that makes me want to retch.” He snatched up the pot and placed it on a nearby table. “Who’s your date?”
“No date, just business.” Krell waved him way. “But he won’t show if you’re hanging around.”
“He?” Russ continued his caddish teasing. “Seeing Autlachs are we?”
“Now I’m going to retch.” Krell reached for the jam pot.
“All right, I’m going!” Russ thrust his fist to his chest as if stabbed. “I’m heartbroken.” He dabbed his face with his apron tail. One of the cooks witnessed his theatrics and bellowed for him to return to work. Bad enough they’d been forced into serving Taelachs, but did the staff have to call attention to the fact?
“Pity for you, Krell, I’m already taken.”
“Yeah, I know, to an ugly woman who can’t cook.” For once Krell could agree with the opposition. Russ was attracting far too much attention. She kept her tone low , hoping he would take the suggestion. “Go away; I have work to do.”
“Since when?” he snipped.
“I mean it.”
His jovial smile faded. “Serious, aren’t you?”
“As I can be. Don’t you have some work to do?” The cook leaned back out the window, this time launching a long line of obscenities in Russ’s direction.
“At least someone loves me.” He gathered the dishes from Krell’s table and turned, pouting, toward the kitchen. “More tea, first officer?” Now he was overplaying being prim and solemn. So much so, Krell felt guilty for being short.
“Please, and thank you, Russ.”
“Ahh, no harm done.” He disappeared inside, returned briefly to refill her mug, and then left her alone.
Krell was beginning to doubt the lead’s validity when a heavy man in a faded wrap stepped onto the plaza. He squinted around the square then slowly approached. “You Taelach Middle?”
“See any other Taelachs about?” she replied coolly. “Who’re you?”
The man shifted uneasily. “Starnes Bane.”
“Well then, Starnes, you’re late.” Krell pushed the empty chair from the table. “Sit and tell me what you want with the Kinship.”
“I gotta be quick.” Starnes pulled his wrap tighter across his shoulders and glanced around. “If I don’t get back soon they’ll come hunting.”
“Who?”
“The two Taelachs who are holed up at my place.”
Krell eyed him charily. “The only Taelachs registered in this area are myself and a healer.”
“Nah, they wouldn’t register. These two are strange, cruel to be sure. Twins, too.”
A pit formed in Krell’s stomach. The vilest Taelach criminals came from undestroyed twins, but only one set was of recent times and they were acknowledged dead. Her voice remained low. “Twins?”
“Yes, alike in the face with odd markings on their necks.”
Now Krell was certain. “Markings?”
“Sorta moon shaped. Like this.” Starnes held his hand up in a perfect letter C.
Krell nodded and tapped thoughtfully on the table. Belsas Exzal was right, two of the Branded had escaped, and identical looks meant twice the trouble, triple the insanity. “What do you want the Kinship to do about it?”
“Do?” Starnes wheezed. “Do? I want the bitches outta my bar. That’s what I want!”
“Tell me more.” Krell cast Starnes a slow stare that planted a subtle mind phase to check for lies.
“What else is there to tell?” He shrugged. “They’re Taelach, they drink too much, and they’re pure evil coming to an ugly head.” Then he cocked his head and pointed to Krell. “They both had braids like yours, but one of them cut theirs off and dyed”— Starnes hesitated, reforming his next words in an effort to not offend his only chance at assistance—“its hair, tinted its skin, too, but the dye made it sick before it could accomplish a very dark tint. The other one hasn’t tried to change a thing. Hair is real long, sort of a dingy white with a few of those dark streaks your people get as they age. Kinda skinny as well, looks kinda like one of your women,” he scowled, “but it sure as hell isn’t.”
“Taelachs are all women and my type is called guardian, not it,” snapped Krell. “And if you wish assistance I suggest—”
“You have my apologies,” stammered Starnes. “But it is a better word than most my people use.”
“Point taken. Continue.”
“Neither of them is especially tall to be guardian. That’s what they are though. They’re your kind. You take care of them.”
Krell rested her elbow on her boot top. “They’re not in the Kinship and they’re not supposed to be here. Anything else?”
“Yeah.” Starnes wagged a fat finger toward her. “The one who cut off the braids, Cance is her name, wears brown lenses.” Having seen Cance both in and out of her Autlach disguise, he preferred the lenses. With them, she couldn’t mind-phase him the way she could and did when she wasn’t hiding her telltale blue eyes.
“Look Autlach enough for a passing glance?”
“Does a pretty damn good job of it. Got walking and talking male down to an art.” Starnes drew back when a couple sat down at the next table. If Cance had the means to pass as Autlach there was no telling who else was involved. “Time’s up. You going to help me or not?”
“You know where the Hiring Hall is?”
“Of course,” he