Page 41 of The Beginning (Covert Moon, #1)
BOOK TWO: THE WATCHERS
~ CHAPTER ONE ~
Marigold
The Human Realm
* * *
T wo weeks of tracking my sister had yielded nothing but dead ends and growing frustration. Calyx Blaine had vanished as completely as if she'd never existed—no phone activity, no social media posts across any of her platforms, no whisper in the local news that I'd been monitoring obsessively.
Her boyfriend, however, was a different story entirely.
Silas left a trail of breadcrumbs wherever he went, each one leading deeper into a criminal enterprise that made my skin crawl.
Drugs were just the appetizer. The smuggling operation he ran was something else entirely—sophisticated, well-protected, and dangerous.
Every time I got close to real answers, witnesses disappeared like smoke and leads went colder than winter stone.
Someone with serious reach was protecting him, and that someone had resources.
I'd adapted my approach accordingly, swallowing my pride and relying on magic instead of brute force investigation.
The glamour spell had transformed me from memorable to invisible—my distinctive pink hair became raven black, amber eyes turned dark as coffee, and I'd added thick cat-eye glasses for good measure.
Even my finger was back to normal–no missing digit at all.
The magic hummed against my skin like a second layer of clothing, requiring constant energy to maintain but worth every ounce of power spent.
In this disguise, I'd haunted the club where I first spotted Silas, nursing overpriced drinks and eavesdropping until I finally learned about a man who facilitated his smuggling network.
Matthias. The name had cost me three weeks of patience and a small fortune in bar tabs.
According to what I’d overheard, Matthias was a key point in getting across a border.
What border? No idea, but since Silas was involved, it didn’t matter—I finally got a clue, something tangible I could follow that might finally lead me to my sister.
When she first disappeared I was pissed off at her–she’d used me in order to run away with her boyfriend.
But given what I know now, I was worried for her.
I cranked the wheel hard left, tires jumping the railroad tracks with a bone-jarring thud as my car rolled into the gravel lot behind a bar that looked ready to surrender to gravity.
The building squatted alone on a wedge of industrial real estate, surrounded on three sides by train tracks like iron rivers carrying cargo to the world that had long since left this place behind .
The isolation was perfect for clandestine meetings—and perfectly terrifying for a woman alone.
"Damn it, Calyx." The words escaped through clenched teeth, my breath fogging the windshield in the autumn chill. "What the hell have you gotten yourself into?"
My sister had always been drawn to trouble like a moth to flame, but Silas was out of her league.
She'd probably seen the leather jacket, the expensive car that purred instead of growled, the entourage of hangers-on who treated him like royalty and fell all the way in. Growing up with our suffocating mother and ghost of a father had left Calyx hungry for attention—any attention that felt like affection. She’d definitely been the favored child, but that didn’t mean that she got what she needed from our parents, either.
What she didn't realize was that Silas hadn't chosen her for her laugh that could light up a room, or her fierce loyalty to the people she loved, or the way she saw good in everyone despite all evidence to the contrary.
They were using her to get to me, though the why still eluded me like smoke through fingers.
Goddess knew, that was one fact I never wanted to share with my sister.
The night I'd followed them to that upscale dance club, I'd watched from the shadows as Silas kissed another woman the moment Calyx stepped away to the restroom.
The casual betrayal, the ease of deception—he was playing my sister like a violin, and she was too infatuated to hear the discord in his melody.
But Calyx's questionable taste in men was secondary to the fact that she was missing, possibly in danger, and from what little I'd learned through weeks of investigation, she had no idea of the predators circling her. Her silence was even more ominous.
I backed into a parking spot facing the street, hands trembling slightly as I scanned the bar's tired facade.
Years of harsh weather had stripped the paint down to anonymity, and the mud-pressed gravel lot looked like it had been abandoned by hope itself.
Even the awning sagged over the front door like defeated shoulders, as if the building was begging to be put out of its misery.
The whole place reeked of desperation and bad decisions.
My right hand cramped around the steering wheel, knuckles white with tension.
I flexed my fingers. Even though my concealment spell replaced my missing finger, the phantom ache persisted, shooting up my arm—a constant reminder of what this search had already cost me.
The abandoned church, the priest with his unnaturally large attack dog, the moment those jaws clamped down and tore away both flesh and my ability to channel magic.
The power had returned the next morning like a gift from whatever goddess watched over reckless witches, allowing me to heal the worst of the damage, but the scars across my belly, shoulder, and my hand remained as testimonies to my foolishness.I pressed my fist against my thigh, pushing back the persistent throb, then stepped out into the night air that tasted of diesel fuel and unfulfilled promises.
The bar's door protested with a rusty squeal that made every patron inside turn toward the sound.
No bouncer guarded the entrance, despite it being Friday night in what was clearly a rough part of town.
I counted maybe a dozen patrons hunched over their drinks like conspirators, voices low and eyes watchful.
A table of five—three men built like dock workers, two women with the hard edges that came from surviving in places like this—stopped talking when I entered, swiveling to assess the newcomer with the kind of calculation that made my skin prickle.
The scene felt cinematic in its predictability, like I'd walked into a Western where strangers were automatically suspect.
The bartender leaned back, polishing a glass in a methodical way that spoke of years spent in this routine.
A woman with bleached hair and tired eyes abandoned her bar stool for the restroom, but not before giving me a once-over that catalogued everything from my shoes to my posture.
A waitress emerged from the shadows like a wraith, empty pitcher clutched in hands that had seen too much hard work.
I claimed an empty stool that wobbled slightly under my weight and met the bartender's questioning look. The leather was cracked and patched with duct tape, but it held.
"Pint of stout."
He finished with the glass, placed it on a rack with others that had seen better decades, and nodded once.
A coaster landed in front of me with sheer indifference—cardboard advertising a beer brand I'd never heard of.
The beer that followed was dark as midnight and bitter as my mood, but exactly what I needed to steady my nerves.
"Four bucks." He waited, dishrag draped over his shoulder like a badge of office.
I reached for my wallet, fingers brushing against the collection of business cards and fake IDs I'd accumulated during this investigation. "I'm looking for someone named Matthias. Ring any bells?"
The atmosphere shifted like a pressure drop before a storm, conversations dying mid-sentence as if someone had thrown a switch.
The door opened with another rusty protest, framing a large silhouette against the orange streetlight beyond.
I turned with the rest of the room, part of the choreographed response to another stranger's entrance, though this one commanded attention in a way that made my pulse quicken.
The newcomer approached the bar with purposeful strides that screamed military training. His shoulders filled out a dark jacket that had seen some wear, and when he nodded at the bartender, I caught a glimpse of muddy gray eyes.
"I'm looking for a man named Matthias. I'm told he frequents this establishment. Do you know where I might find him?"
Adrenaline spiked through my system like electricity through my veins. What the actual hell? . Two people seeking the same man in the same dive bar on the same night? What was going on?
The bartender glanced between us with the wariness of someone who'd seen too many confrontations start over less. "Matthias isn't here."
The man surveyed the cramped space like he was cataloging every exit, every potential threat. "When did you last see him?" He leaned toward the bartender with the kind of casual authority that suggested he was accustomed to getting answers, and the tension in the room ratcheted up several degrees.
"Excuse me." I kept my voice level but firm. Who did this guy think he was?. "I was in the middle of a conversation when you so rudely interrupted."
He raised his hand like a wall between us, not even bothering to glance in my direction. "This is important."
The audacity was breathtaking. Heat built behind my ribs like a small fire, and I had to consciously resist the urge to weave an unpleasant curse into his immediate future. "Look, I was talking to the bartender first. Whatever urgent business you think you have can wait until I'm finished."