The cottage looked the same as it had when Jack was a boy—small, weathered, the kind of pce that said "poor but honest folk live here." Most people in town still believed that's what it was.

  Inside was a different story.

  Jack sat in a chair that had belonged to a giant, its frame worth more than every house on this street combined. Golden fixtures. Silk carpets. Tapestries that had hung in cloud castles. And in the corner, on a pedestal of its own, the harp.

  It was small, delicate, made entirely of gold, and it hummed constantly—a low vibration that most people couldn't hear but Jack had learned to transte years ago.

  "Someone's approaching the east gate," the harp said, its voice melodic and androgynous. "Three merchants. One is lying about his inventory taxes."

  "Let the tax collector know," Jack said absently, his attention on Gretel.

  She was sprawled across his p, completely naked, her skin flushed and warm. Her eyes were half-closed, pupils dited, but when she spoke her voice was clear and focused.

  "The northern territories are ready," she said, tracing zy patterns on his chest. "Three new distributors lined up. They'll move product by week's end."

  Jack stroked her hair, his fingers gentle. "The constable situation?"

  "Handled. Fifty gold a month, plus supply for his wife. She's got the sleeping sickness—our dust is the only thing that lets her rest." Gretel shifted, pressing closer against him. "He's grateful. Won't be a problem."

  "Good girl." Jack meant it. Gretel was the best second he'd ever had—sharp-minded even when she was high, ruthless when she needed to be, loyal in a way that had nothing to do with the drug. She genuinely liked the work. Liked him.

  The drug helped, sure. But it wasn't just that.

  "Hansel sent another letter," Gretel said, her tone going ft.

  Jack's hand stilled on her hair. "What'd he say?"

  "The usual. That I should come home. That you're poisoning me. That he'll—" She ughed, the sound loose and unconcerned. "—save me. Like I need saving."

  "He's your brother. He worries."

  "He's an mother hen." Gretel took the small pipe from the table beside them, lit it with a match, and inhaled. The smoke that curled from her lips shimmered faintly in the mplight. "He doesn't understand that I'm *better* here. Stronger. I was nothing before you."

  "You were never nothing," Jack said, and he believed it. He'd seen what she could do—had watched her handle situations that would've broken most men. "But you're something more now."

  "Exactly." She set the pipe down and tilted her head back to look at him, her smile sharp despite the drug softening her edges. "So what's next? You mentioned eastern expansion."

  "I want you to handle it personally. Set up the routes, vet the distributors, make sure we're not walking into any traps." Jack's hand slid down her spine. "It's a bigger operation than the north. More risk. More reward."

  "How much more?"

  "Double what we're pulling now if we do it right."

  Gretel's eyes gleamed. "I can do it."

  "I know you can." Jack leaned down and kissed her—slow, deliberate, tasting the drug on her lips. When he pulled back, she was smiling. "Take whoever you need. Just get it done."

  "A storm is building in the west," the harp said suddenly, its voice cutting through their conversation. "Three days until it arrives. The farmers will lose crops. Prices will rise."

  Jack filed that information away. Storms meant opportunity—people desperate for money, willing to work for less or take risks they wouldn't otherwise consider. Good for recruitment.

  "Anything else?" he asked the harp.

  "The bankers wife is having an affair with the baker. The bcksmith's daughter is pregnant. The merchant at the east gate is carrying stolen silverware in a false-bottom trunk."

  "Note it all down," Jack said to Gretel, who was already reaching for the ledger on the side table. Even high, she was efficient.

  She scribbled notes, her handwriting still neat despite the drug in her system. When she finished, she set the ledger aside and turned to straddle him properly, her hands on his shoulders.

  "You're in a good mood," she observed.

  "Business is good. You're here. Why wouldn't I be?" Jack's hands settled on her hips, thumbs stroking her skin. "Though I will say, being mayor has its perks. No one questions why I have visitors at all hours. No one looks too closely at what I'm doing."

  "The hero of the realm," Gretel said pyfully. "Syer of giants. Provider for the poor."

  "That's me." Jack grinned—the folksy, charming smile that had gotten him elected, that made people trust him. "Just a simple man trying to help his community."

  Gretel ughed and kissed him, her body warm and pliant against his.

  The harp hummed its constant song in the background, feeding Jack information, keeping him three steps ahead of everyone else in this town.

  He'd killed a giant once. Climbed a beanstalk and taken everything the creature had.

  This was so much better.

  "Eastern expansion," Gretel murmured against his mouth. "When do I leave?"

  "Two days. After the storm passes." Jack's grip tightened on her hips. "But tonight, you're here."

  "Tonight I'm here," she agreed, and pulled him into another kiss.

  The harp sang. The drug worked its magic. And Jack, in his humble cottage full of stolen treasure, felt like the richest man in the world.