Page 14 of Shadows and Flames (Twin Blades #2)

He leaned back heftily in his seat, bulky body making the wood groan.

His pointed ears held thickly-gauged rings, and his eyes had no lashes.

“Bit of old magic, said to be of this realm but more of the next one over.” I frowned in confusion but didn’t interrupt.

“A taste a’ yer blood, and I can search the memories. Sense ‘em as if I were there.”

“Wow,” I breathed. My mind was already whirring with the possibilities a type of power like that could open. “And do you pull on the aether for that? A certain spell?”

The Mind Walker waved his large hand and drained his full mug in three swallows. He licked the residual froth with a swipe of his black tongue and motioned toward the barkeep for another. “No. Like I said, it’s a gift from elsewhere. A little glimmer that passed through me da’s line.”

“Grimm,” my cousin cut in tightly, “explain why we had to take that contract.”

I straightened, shutting down the list of questions I had for Grimm about his powers. He’d been the reason she bid on the retrieval job?

After the bidding was ended, we’d hung back to gather our individual reports of relevant information from the moderator.

It was a lengthy process, the recitation of instruction, proof of deed required, meeting point with employers, et cetera.

None of it was written, I’d learned after our first contract, but a good mercenary’s memory ran long.

The details of our contract, to find and take a merchant by the name of Paschal Von Herron, were already filed away in my thoughts.

“Funny thing, that. When ye wrote me about yer missing friend, I paid her mate a visit. Didn’t make much sense, but I was bored.” He shrugged. “Poor fellow was willing to try and see what I could find, what with the city guards turning up with nothin’.”

Meline and I both sat forward, arms propped on the sticky tabletop.

Ever since leaving Ralthas, we had been training and taking contracts, yes, but all the while, we’d been trying to piece together the mystery of Francie’s kidnapping.

I faintly remembered her from our lives in Versillia before The Killings.

Kindhearted and frazzled, she was a bit of a kindred spirit, and her mate Whitley was one of the kindest people I’d met.

Their calm fit well with her buzzing energy, but how were they fairing now with her gone this long?

Last Meline had written them, they still had their marks. They described looking down at their hands every other moment, mating marks reminding them that she was still out there. Maybe staring at her marks too.

“The ones that took her, yer friend, are not to be underestimated. Nor are they easy to get hold of. The merchant,” Grimm stabbed his finger at the table, “folks in this region speak of him.”

The commotion of the tavern was loud, but the hush that befell our group was thick enough to cut with a blade. “Speak of what?” Meline asked.

A barkeep dropped another mug of ale before Grimm, and he grasped the tankard. “They aren’t from here, the ones I smelt in the sad one’s mind.”

“And? We aren’t from here either.”

My heart skipped a beat at the familiar snarky tone, but when I glanced at my cousin, she was focused on Grimm. I called no attention to it.

Neither did Grimm, aside from a fondly chastising look. I’d not inquired much of this side of her life, back when Meline and I were living in Nethras. But even then, she’d mentioned a cunning ring-master who’d taken her under his wing for a time.

“ This side of the continent, your kind with pretty fangs are few, yes?” We both nodded as he took a far daintier swig of his ale. “Don’t know for sure, but Mum always said it was purposeful. Your kind and theirs staying far from each other. Too alike, my granny used to say.”

Meline growled and shot a finger at him. “Grimm, I swear, enough of the riddles and smoke. Speak plainly.”

He didn’t rise to the challenge. Nor did he shoot back a cocky grin this time.

He just sighed and shook his head. “They travel here sometimes. Cross the veil to trade or cause trouble, and that’s easier to do with the mortals who aren’t as keen to put up a fight.

Da was human but always spoke of some great-grand or whomever that had dalliance with the Folk, as mum calls them.

The Mind Walking, we think, comes from them, but there’s no way to be certain.

Anywho, yer merchant is known for dealing their goods.

You get to ‘im, you might get close enough to one of them.”

Grimm nodded, satisfied with the end of his tale, but there were— so many questions, I could hardly think straight. I cleared my throat. “Um…when you say cross the veil…”

“Bah,” he waved that hand again, “nothing to worry yerself over. S’been happening forever.”

I wasn’t so sure how that was supposed to be reassuring. Looking over at my cousin, I found her chewing at her lip, fang catching the skin. “And you think there’s a chance they could have her.”

He shrugged. “I know what I scented, and it’s the same as in me da’s memories, in his recollection of me gran’s, and so on.

When they’d make sure to lock the doors in case their Neighbors came knockin’.

” Grimm stood, deciding for us that our meeting had come to an end.

Draining his drink once again, he slammed it on the table, causing it to shake and me to jump in surprise. Meline’s narrow-eyed gaze didn’t waver.

“That’s all?”

Now, his humor returned. Grimm barked a laugh, gold teeth shining in the candlelight.

“That’s all. Be happy that I happened to see ya at the bidding and catch yer eye.

” He paused a moment, looking between the two of us.

“If ya find them, be careful, lass. And don’t forget your debt.

” He smacked his palm on her back a few times, to which my cousin grumbled and glared.

“Just keep it running for me. I’ll pay. Eventually.”

He snickered again, already heading toward another table filled with fighters hollering for him to join them.

“Ah…” I started but failed to find the words to finish.

Meline sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes clenched shut.

It also didn’t escape my notice that she hadn’t asked after her Shadow.

They were known to grace these spaces with their presence, circling for a good contract with the rest of us, but we’d yet to see him.

I noticed my cousin search the back rooms, linger on the telltale luster of black leathers and pulse of Shadow magic.

They were never him, and she never approached or inquired if they knew where he was.

When I’d gently asked her once, why she hadn’t approached a Shadow male with pale skin and brown hair, she just looked at me dryly. A lie. “I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

“Do you believe him? About this other realm business?”

“I do. He wouldn’t lie. But that just brings more questions.

Why would they take her? Why haven’t we heard of them before?

How do we get her back? How can we trust the ones doing business with our mark to give us answers about Francie?

” She scoffed again and took to her abandoned ale, froth now calmed.

She was right. So many questions with no answers in sight. But, if there was one thing we didn’t have a shortage of, it was time. Time to pursue this lead, to at least make some coin. To chase away the dejection and numbness that’d taken over my cousin’s soul.

They’d hovered like vultures over these centuries. And with each tragedy, they gained traction until they sunk their talons into her heart. I tried to fight them off as best I could, give her a moment to breathe.

But my cousin seemed content to just let them pick her bones clean and let the sun to turn her to dust.

“That male is watching you.” She pulled me out of my musings, drawling without feeling.

I followed her pointed gaze, and the one I’d bested tonight was indeed smirking at us from across the tavern. With an affable wave, he exuded the universal signs of interest. “And if I explored the option?”

Meline hummed, still not looking at me. “Do what you’d like. I need to feed anyway.”

I pursed my lips, weighing the choices. Truth be told, a night of fun would be a delightful reprieve and send-off before we explored this Francie trail in earnest. Wasn’t nearly the same, but my own journey from death and destruction walked parallel to Meline’s.

Maybe it was my sheltered upbringing. Or the fact that Death had chosen her as conduit.

Whatever the reason, my cousin seemed unable to grow around the loss, as I’d been slowly doing.

For her, it razed and salted, ensuring nothing would sprout ever again.

“Go,” she huffed. “I’ll be back in our room by the time you’re done.” Without another word, she left the tavern, disappearing to find someone to feed from and probably return to whatever book she’d been reading before we left for the ring.

I watched her go before heading for the male who would hopefully provide an engaging evening. But what churned in my gut wasn’t excitement. No, what weighed in my stomach was the ever-present stone of worry.

How did you keep alive someone who was convinced they were already dead?