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“When the lemurs eat them, their fur absorbs the oxyluciferin,” the Wanderling finished, reading directly from the book. “Coincidence or not, doesn’t it make them easy prey?”

“That’s why they’ve developed such extraordinary defenses.” Vela turned the page, revealing a detailed diagram of a lemur skeleton. Xathar was nothing if not thorough. “Those claws are actually elongated phalangeal spurs, and fossil evidence suggests they developed shortly after large predators migrated to the region. Never underestimate the power of adaptation. Small setbacks often result in massive leaps forward.”

“A proven theory, at least in my own life.” The Wanderling took the book and began thumbing through it. “I can only assume the same of you, given what I’ve seen these past few days. How else would you have developed such a brilliant glow alongside such wicked claws?”

Vela froze. Why would the Wanderling so blatantly reveal themself when…

The reasoning mattered less than the opportunity it presented. In a single motion, she fished a tranq tag from her purse and pinned it to her target’s shoulder. Their wince dissolved to a startled chuckle as their scales paled, parted, and peeled away. The tag clatteredagainst the floor, trailing a sheet of shed skin, and the Wanderling darted off, unaffected.

Vela shouldered her way through the press, ducking beneath tables and veering around displays. She was gaining ground when a shriek cut through the crowd to her left. Several bystanders scrambled back as a Florean woman fainted, hands clasped over her heart.

Instinct took control, driving Vela to the woman’s side as the Wanderling slipped away, a massive peripheral blur. She cursed her luck and checked for a pulse, but thick, leafy skin made assessment difficult. Vela pressed the heels of her palms to the woman’s chest, prepared to pump.

“Wait!” The Florean lurched forward, dewdrop eyes flexing wide. “It’s just a show! A prank, I was told. My troupe is known for them.”

Vela’s hands curled into fists around the woman’s collar. “You’re. An.Actor?”

“H-he paid me thirty zenna. Best money I’ve seen in months.”

Vela’s breath fled in an exasperated sigh. She released the woman to activate her wrist-console’s recorder.

“Repeat the conversation, and don’t skip a single word…”

* * *

After an hour-long interviewthat produced nothing of note, Vela returned to the boardinghouse, beleaguered, only to spot some curious new additions to her nightstand.

The slice of prepackaged cake—which she would definitelynotbe eating—was butterberry crunch, imported from Phaunos. The book beneath it had been acquired much more locally. Vela shook her head. She ought to have figured the Wanderling would note her birthdate upon accessing her account, and that they’d inevitably use the information to mock her.

Unsettling though the offering was, Vela mentally added a seventh volume to her Xathar collection as she plucked it from the nightstand. Before she could so much as flip the cover, her wrist-console chirped.She clenched her jaw and tapped the screen, fully expecting another childish taunt, only to find a set of coordinates and a blip of a message.

Let’s take a time out.

chapterfive

“Toldyou it was closed for the night, Miss.” The shuttle driver tapped his tentacles against the steering wheel as he pulled up beside Waldorf’s Bio Sanctum. “Why not try again tomorrow? Tours start at ten.”

Vela ran a credit chip over the meter before exiting the cab. The driver lingered a moment more—probably concerned for her sanity—before leaving her to the midnight mists and a discordant din of unseen insects. She waited until his taillights vanished to adjust her visor and approach the fence.

Electric torches flickered along the perimeter, but the buildings beyond were blacker than brachiopod blood. Vela dropped into the sanctum to find a tangle of paved paths, pocked by garish tourist attractions. She kept an eye out for the hazy beam of a flashlight as she followed signs to the Visitor’s Center, but not a single ray pierced the dark. The staff were probably deeper in, patrolling the coral forests, brine bogs, and kelp meadows. An enviable occupation, wages aside.

The Visitor’s Center was more glass than chrome, with windows as numerous and tightly clustered as the compound eyes of a moon moth. A soft fluorescent glow spilled from the third of five stories. Vela readied her stun gun before slinking into the building. No matter how this conversation unfolded, she intended to leave the grounds with her target in tow.

Soon, she found herself in a sparsely-lit food court that reeked of braised kelp and chum. The Wanderling lounged in a hover chair roughly ten feet off, boots propped on a plastic table, arms folded casually behind their head. They still wore their Lacertian form—all bulk muscles and tawny scales. Vela centered a little red dot on their chest. Tranq tags were useless against reptilian races, but there was no sloughing off the effects of a shock ray.

“Would you believe that’s not the rudest greeting I’ve ever received?” The Wanderling chuckled musically, leaning forward to plant their boots on the floor. “This isn’t a trap, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Vela had discerned that much. If the Wanderling wanted to capture or kill her, they’d have already tried it. “What is it, then?”

“Why, an interview, of course!”

Vela didn’tintendto lower her weapon, yet her trigger finger went lax and the gun drifted harmlessly to her side. “An…interview?”

“The last in a series, to be more accurate. The first, at the drinkhouse, gave me a chance to assess your intelligence. The next was a test of intuition. Going to the dealership would have been a brilliant move, had you been dealing with any ordinary reprobate.”

“Let me guess,” Vela sighed the words, “you’re anextraordinary reprobate.”

They bowed from the shoulders, flourishing their arms. “The Camdian Violet of con artists.”