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three

Griff

Griff hesitated outside the wrought iron gate in Derimay’s quieter Garden District.

He hadn’t slept more than an hour or two last night, and exhaustion weighed heavily on him.

He’d been up all night searching the Siren’s Call theater for any clues or potential leads.

Nothing had turned up save those Void-cursed cards.

But that wasn’t what gave him pause as he studied the modest estate that lay beyond the gate.

The house where he’d grown up seemed the same as he remembered.

Its bright yellow tiles still gleamed in the morning light.

Silken banners flapping in the breeze bore the Sunseeker mark, proudly proclaiming that a sage could be found there to help any citizens in need, free of charge.

Once, this had been a welcoming refuge for Griff, too.

Even after he’d moved out on his own at eighteen, he’d come by most nights for dinner or conversation.

But that had been while his mother was still alive.

Now, the mere thought of entering left him unsettled.

A brief image of a slumped form and a splash of blood flickered before his mind’s eye, and he grimaced, adjusting his coat.

Too many memories to haunt him.

This is the best chance I have to find a lead before the trail goes cold, he reminded himself.

That had always been the issue with Blackjack.

The slippery blink monkey had proven impossible to pin down, always remaining one step ahead.

If there was anything Griff had learned from past investigations, it was that the longer he gave Blackjack to cover his tracks, the less likely he was to get anywhere.

Shoving down his discomfort, he forced himself to stride through the open gate and up the narrow path through the garden.

That was one change from Griff’s memories: gardening had always been more his mother’s hobby than Nathaniel’s.

She’d once told him that it helped her unwind after a stressful day at court by making her feel more connected to the Goddess Allaria.

Since her passing, Nathaniel had paved over the flower beds with rocks.

Griff didn’t bother knocking on the front door.

It was unlocked as it always was during the day, and he knew Nathaniel wouldn’t bother coming to answer.

It was one of the Sunseeker tenants to leave their home open to visitors in need.

He found Nathaniel in the small open courtyard at the house’s center, enjoying his morning tea and breakfast. Nathaniel glanced up when Griff hesitated in the doorway, not seeming at all surprised to see him.

Very little ever surprised Nathanial Denton.

“You’re here early,” Nathanial grunted.

He squinted more closely at Griff.

“Or is it late? You look like you’re about to keel over. Have you eaten yet?”

“I’m working,” Griff said.

“You’ll work better on a full stomach.” Nathanial gestured to the spread of fruit and bread on the table.

“Come, sit. Eat. I insist.”

Griff wanted to refuse.

But there seemed no good way to do so without missing his chance to seek Nathaniel’s aid.

He’d need to wait for him to finish breakfast anyway before he’d let Griff talk business.

Reluctantly, he took the seat across from Nathaniel and filled a small plate patterned with leaping dolphins.

When he took his first bite of bread with jam, his stomach rumbled, and he realized how hungry he was.

“I knew it,” Nathaniel said with a chuckle, watching him eat.

He filled a mug with Razakethi coffee from a carafe as Griff devoured his breakfast. “When you focus on something, you lose sight of everything else. Your mother was the same way.”

Griff stiffened at the mention of his mother.

No longer hungry, he slid aside his half-eaten plate of food.

“I didn’t come here to discuss my work habits. I need your help.”

Nathaniel sighed and took a sip of his coffee.

“Always another case with you. This obsession with your job isn’t healthy—it’s why Amelie left, you know.”

Griff’s jaw tightened.

First his mother, then his ex-wife.

Nathaniel was replaying his greatest hits even quicker than usual.

For the hundredth time, he ground out, “There are a hundred reasons Amelie and I didn’t work out. My job was only one of them.”

True, it had been the final blow that sank the sinking ship.

But their marriage had been going under for a long time before that.

People changed—that was the heart of it.

Nathaniel snorted. “From where I’m sitting, most of those so-called reasons all come back to the same thing.” He shook his head.

“I still don’t see why you insist on wasting your potential like this, Griffin. You have a brilliant mind! Always have. You should be putting it to use in a courtroom, making laws rather than bashing in skulls.”

Griff knew better than to try yet again to explain that his work as an investigator rarely required violence.

That was more the purview of the protectors.

In Nathaniel’s head, there was little difference: he would always see Griff as nothing but a glorified soldier.

Still, feeling an echo of the kid he’d once been trying to please his father, he couldn’t help saying, “I am making a difference. The Pentarchy honored me last night for my recent case with—”

“Bah!” Nathanial waved a handful of bread, sending bits of crumbs and jam tumbling across the table.

“I’m sure you’re excelling at whatever you attempt. But I mean a real difference. Doing genuine good for this city and its people. You know, I spoke to Cecilia just the other day, and she agreed. Said there would always be a spot with the magisters waiting for you, should you want it.”

Recalling his encounter with the High Judge last night, Griff suppressed a grimace.

So that was what that had been about.

There was no point arguing with Nathaniel when he was like this, so Griff took the path of least resistance to get to his business quicker.

Meeting Nathaniel’s hopeful expression, he gave a curt nod.

“I’ll think about it.”

That at least seemed to mollify the old Sunseeker sage.

They passed the rest of breakfast in silence save the clinking of dishes and crunch of food.

Griff picked at some fruit and begrudgingly sipped the coffee.

Razakethi brews were far too strong for his taste, but he’d need the energy boost if he was going to remain alert throughout the day.

At last, Nathaniel set aside his empty plate, studying Griff with a heavy sigh.

“I suppose you might as well tell me why you’re here. Because the Goddess knows it wasn’t to visit your old man.”

Shoving down the tiniest twinge of guilt, Griff pulled a small pouch out of his coat and tossed it onto the table in front of Nathaniel.

Nathaniel leaned in and opened the pouch, dumping its contents onto the table.

He frowned as he studied them.

“Playing cards?” He raised an eyebrow at Griff.

“I never took you for a gambler.”

“They were left at the scene of a theft last night,” Griff said.

“I know I recognize the image on the back, but I can’t place from where.”

Nathaniel’s expression darkened.

“It’s Blackjack again, isn’t it?”

“You know I’m not allowed to discuss the details of an ongoing—”

“By the Goddess, Griffin, haven’t you wasted enough time hunting for that vagabond? He’s already stolen your wife from you—don’t let him steal any more.”

“He didn’t…” Griff clenched his jaw, cutting off.

What was the point in explaining when he knew it would fall on deaf ears?

“Someone has to stop him.”

“But it doesn’t have to be you!”

“Yes. It does.”

Nathaniel stared at him for a long moment before sighing and rubbing his eyes.

He suddenly appeared weary.

“Is one man really worth all this effort?”

Griff didn’t answer.

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure how to explain his near-obsession with catching Blackjack.

Part of it might be that it had been the final case that drove him and Amelie to finally end things, but that wasn’t really it, at least not entirely.

Blackjack was his great black wyrm: the elusive hunt that had gotten away.

It was the only case he’d ever been given that he’d never solved.

And while no one held that against him—Blackjack had, after all, confounded everyone else too—that failure continued to eat away at him.

Whatever it took, he would see Blackjack behind bars.

And with any luck, these cards might hold the key.

Studying his face, Nathaniel puffed out another sigh, then held out his hand.

“Give me your hand.”

Griff did, shifting his chair around the table.

It left him uncomfortably close to Nathaniel—close enough that it was impossible to miss the weary set to his shoulders, the extra wrinkles lining his face.

Growing up, Nathaniel had always seemed a larger-than-life presence.

But now, he just looked old and tired.

Yet for all his advanced age, Nathaniel’s grip remained firm and steady when he clutched Griff’s hand.

A golden glow enveloped their linked fingers as Nathaniel called upon his dawnflame.

Unlike Griff, who’d been born with his natural gift to sense auras, Nathaniel had pledged himself to the Sunseekers and given his oaths to earn his magic.

Now, he put that magic to good use.

Griff shifted his vision to the playing cards on the table and the crude image of a half-naked woman embossed on their backs.

What Nathaniel and other Sunseekers could do wasn’t quite true divination, though it was similar.

By focusing his power on Griff’s mind, he could help coax Griff’s latent memories to the surface, using the playing cards as a mental link.

A hazy image began to form in the air above the cards.

At first, it was little more than swirling pinpricks of golden light.

“Focus,” Nathaniel murmured.

“Remember to relax your thoughts. Don’t fight it.”

“I am relaxed,” Griff muttered, his grip on Nathaniel’s hand briefly tightening.

Still, he breathed deep and tried to manage what calm he could considering the dozens of things both minor and major demanding his attention.

Gradually, the pinpricks of light began to expand, sketching out the glowing outline of an image.

Griff squinted, studying what it revealed: a scarred table surrounded by chairs.

Cards and coins lay scattered across its surface.

So, that was where he’d seen these particular cards before.

But where had this game taken place?

He’d been in a hundred spots all across the city that might host such tables, from taverns to private homes.

“Broaden the scope,” he said.

“I need to see more to tell where this was.”

“You know the drill,” Nathaniel replied.

“I’m just supplying the magic. The rest is up to you.”

As unhelpful an answer as ever.

Griff stared at the conjured image while straining to focus his mind on a singular thought: where.

He still couldn’t place the location in his conscious memories.

Yet the lights blurred as they resumed spiraling.

The image of a table vanished, replaced by a rough sketch of a building’s exterior.

Gradually, the lights resolved into a ramshackle front along the edge of a dock.

Griff recognized the place: a tavern called The Last Drop.

Shady place, owned and operated by a known associate of the Brotherhood who styled himself Bald Locke.

Griff had had the displeasure of crossing paths with him once or twice before in the course of investigations.

He’d have loved to put the Void-eater away for good, but the Brotherhood had hands in far too many pockets to make anything but the most ironclad accusation stick, and Bald Locke knew better than to give Griff that.

If he was involved with Blackjack, it would be tricky getting him to talk.

Then again, linking the two might be exactly what Griff needed to take him down as well.

Either way, it was a solid lead, and that was more than he’d had an hour ago.

He snatched his hand back from Nathaniel.

The instant he broke the physical connection, the dawnflame lights winked out.

His chair skidded over the stone tiles in the courtyard as he rose.

“That’s all I need. Thanks.”

Returning the playing cards to his coat pocket, he turned to leave, but Nathaniel’s voice gave him pause.

“Be careful out there, Griffin. No matter how good you are, never forget that someone else is always better.”

The unexpected show of concern—even if it was a bit of backhanded compliment—caught him off guard.

He shivered, and for a moment, he was a young man standing in a darkened office elsewhere in the estate, staring at the blood soaking into the scattered papers on the floor as his mother’s lifeless eyes stared back at him.

Shaking away the memory, he glanced back at Nathaniel and gave a reluctant nod.

“See you around.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he fled.

Griff stepped back just in time to avoid the front door of The Last Drop from slamming in his face.

That had gone about as well as expected.

It seemed his reputation preceded him.

Either that, or Bald Locke had spread the word about him to his associates because Griff had barely taken a single step into the tavern before all eyes were fixed on him.

Then again, maybe they’d have reacted the same to any inspector poking his nose into their business.

He’d kept one hand lightly on his revolver as he’d spoken with the barkeep, just in case the roiling tension in the room overflowed.

Fortunately, the thugs there had shown better restraint than that.

Bald Locke, however, had proven less than helpful.

He’d claimed no knowledge of Blackjack or the cards Griff showed him, merely shrugging when Griff pointed out the matching decks being used at the nearby tables.

And when Griff had pressed him, he’d clammed up entirely, refusing to talk with a prottie —common slang in this part of the city for protectors—without a warrant.

Bald Locke’s aura hadn’t been much help, either.

Constantly shifting and comprised of dark hues, it was the tattered aura of someone who wasn’t too scrupulous about what they did or who they hurt.

Griff could tell instantly he had something to hide.

But then again, who in a place like this didn’t?

That didn’t mean it had anything to do with Blackjack.

It was entirely possible Blackjack had procured the cards from the tavern without ever making his presence known, just another random customer.

Or there could be no connection at all, Blackjack yanking Griff’s chain.

After all, he’d have to be supremely reckless or overconfident to use cards that could be traced back to him.

Yet Griff’s instincts were screaming at him that Bald Locke was somehow involved.

He knew more about Blackjack than he was letting on.

Griff took a moment to ponder his options.

He could speak with a magister, see if he could convince them to grant his warrant.

Even if they refused due to lack of evidence, an appeal to the High Judge would likely work…

though that would undoubtedly require sitting through another tedious lecture on his future.

But the Brotherhood’s involvement made things messy.

No doubt they’d hear about a warrant from one source or another long before Griff arrived.

By the time he actually got inside The Last Drop to look around, they’d have ensured everything was squeaky clean for his benefit.

Another dead end, then.

But that was fine. Detective work rarely went according to plan.

Even if Blackjack eluded him for now, the Brotherhood connection was a new angle he could dig into.

Eventually, he was bound to find something not even Bald Locke could evade.

Turning to depart, he pulled his aura blockers out of the pocket where he’d stashed them and went to put them back on, then paused.

A strange aura trail lingered outside the tavern, leading away into the distance.

Usually, only particularly potent magic left a visible trail like this for any length of time.

This one was faint, barely visible.

Likely, it had either been there for quite some time or had been partially suppressed.

Yet even faded, it felt oddly potent, the ripple it left in the air sending an unpleasant tingle down his spine.

There was something off about the magic—like a dark slash left in the very fabric of reality.

He’d learned to always be skeptical of coincidences, and discovering an oddity like this precisely where his investigation had taken him seemed like a fairly big one.

Could this have something to do with Blackjack?

He tucked his aura blockers back in his coat and set off after the trail, carefully tracing its path down the street.

It went for quite a while, heading toward the central Cathedral District before abruptly veering off down a narrow alley.

Griff eyed the alley, scanning for any threatening auras.

Sensing nothing but the weary aura of a sleeping beggar, he set off down it, continuing to follow the trail.

It led him on a winding journey, mostly through back alleys and across rooftops.

These, he tracked from the ground until he picked up the trail again.

At last, he found himself outside the entrance to a shabby apartment building near the docks.

The door opened easily at his touch.

He scanned the hall inside with one hand on the butt of his revolver.

Empty. The inside was relatively clear of trash or other refuse, but the smell of mildew hung in the air, like everywhere else here this close to the water.

The wooden panels on the walls were partially rotted while a single tattered banner flopped sadly in the breeze.

Not exactly threatening.

Still, that aura had him on edge.

If its owner was here somewhere, then this place might be more than it appeared.

Griff had once cracked a case where a small temple had been used as cover for a cartel of assassins.

Once you’d seen a dungeon staircase hidden beneath an altar dedicated to the Dawn Virtues, you learned to expect the unexpected.

Remaining on guard for any signs of a trap or ambush, he continued to trace the aura up a set of rickety stairs to the fourth floor and down a hall, where the trail abruptly ended at a closed apartment door.

Griff hesitated only a moment before deciding the direct approach was best here.

Every minute he wasted gave Blackjack or whoever this was more opportunities to cover their tracks.

Best to catch them unawares.

He rapped lightly on the door.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” When no answer came, he knocked again, harder this time.

“My name is Griff Denton. I’m an inspector with the Derimay Watch. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Still no answer.

Did that mean no one was home?

Or were they even now making their escape out a window?

Before he could decide whether or not breaking down the door was worth the potential paperwork, it opened of its own accord, revealing an older woman dressed in a clean but weathered dress.

She peered out at him, squinting as if struggling to make him out.

“Well now, what’s this racket all about? An inspector, you say? It was that creep Larf from 7b, wasn’t it? He always struck me as the type to get into trouble.”

Griff didn’t reply.

He couldn’t, so stricken was he by the woman’s aura.

It was unlike any he’d ever seen before.

Despite their shabby surroundings, it burned so brightly that it was hard to look at.

Its mix of colors bled and swirled together in a constant flux he couldn’t help finding beautiful despite its tattered edges and darker streaks.

A thin black ring surrounded the rest which he wasn’t entirely certain what to make of.

Such flaws only seemed to enhance its ethereal beauty.

Merciful Light, who is this woman?

The woman frowned at him.

“Are you all right, Inspector? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Blinking, Griff shook his head to clear it.

The urge to shield his eyes from the stunning sight was strong, but he resisted the impulse to grab his aura blockers.

He had to remain watchful for any potential clues.

This was still the site of an active investigation.

While the woman’s resplendent aura made it difficult for him to concentrate on anything else, he sensed the thread of that darker aura continue past her into the room.

Could this elderly woman really be involved somehow?

He finally found his voice.

“Apologies for disturbing you, madam,” he said, clearing his throat.

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss details of my current investigation, but I have reason to believe a suspect I’m searching for may be in this building. Is there anyone else here with you?”

He tried to look past her into the apartment, but all he caught were glimpses of an empty sitting room and a tiny kitchen that was little more than a stove and wash basin.

“If there is, it’d be news to me,” the woman said with a gap-toothed grin.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Inspector, but I’m afraid it’s just little old me here ever since Albert passed last winter.”

He ducked his head.

“Sorry to hear about your loss.”

She waved a hand.

“Eh. We knew it was coming. Old codger never did learn how to take care of himself.”

Still feeling thrown off-balance, Griff awkwardly nodded.

“Would you mind answering a few questions? They might help in my investigation.”

The woman stepped back from the doorway with a bony shrug.

“Why not? Don’t know how much help I’ll be, mind you, but it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do. Come in and take a seat. I’ll fetch some tea and biscuits.”

“Oh, that’s not really…” His protest trailed off, the woman already bustling over to her tiny kitchen.

He stared after her alluring aura a moment longer before he finally managed to jerk his gaze away.

Stepping inside, he scanned the room.

It looked like any other run-down apartment in the city he’d seen: a step up from true squalor, but a far cry from the pristine villas one found closer to Derimay’s center.

Yet despite its apparent normalcy, that awful aura hung over the place like a pervasive rot.

He wrinkled his nose as he took a seat on an ancient couch, certain he could smell it like a foul stench permeating the air.

It clung to everything inside, even the woman slowly preparing her pot of tea.

He eyed her while she worked.

It seemed unlikely Blackjack or any other Brotherhood associates could’ve been here without her knowledge.

Yet at the same time, he found it hard to believe she was involved.

After all, how could someone with an aura that resplendent be up to no good?

“Here we go,” the woman said, returning with a tray containing the steaming teapot, a pair of cups, and a plate of obviously stale biscuits.

Her hands, he noted, were surprisingly steady as she set down the heavy tray.

She sat down across from him in a patchwork chair leaking stuffing.

“So,” she said, pouring herself a cup of tea.

“Lay it on me, Inspector.”

He nodded.

Reaching into his coat, he took out a small notepad and a Vantoric pen with a nearly unlimited supply of ink.

He flipped to a blank page.

“Let’s start by getting your name, please.”

“Of course. You can call me Cassandra.”

He dutifully copied down the name.

“You said you live here alone. How do you usually spend your days?”

“Reminiscing about the good old days when I had more to do than sit and reminisce about the good old days.” She gave him another of those toothy grins and took a sip of tea.

“My knees don’t much like the stairs these days, and it’s not as if I’ve anywhere to be. I head to the market every Sunday, and sometimes I take a walk along the water to stretch my legs. But most days I’m right here.”

“And yesterday? Did you leave at all, day or at night?”

Cassandra shook her head.

He scribbled some more notes, logging her response.

“So, you were right here in this room all night?”

“Sure was,” she said.

He kept a close eye on her aura as she answered, doing his best not to let its unusually bright, swirling colors distract him.

If she was lying, she was a pro at it—he didn’t catch so much as a flicker of nerves.

“And did you see or hear anything suspicious?”

“Suspicious how?”

“Anything that struck you as out of the ordinary. That stuck in your mind as peculiar.”

“Can’t say as I did,” she said.

“Please. Take a moment to really think hard about it. Even the smallest thing might be important.”

Cassandra frowned and tapped her chin, seeming to ponder the question.

“Well…now that you mention it, I guess something did wake me last night.”

Griff perked up at that.

“When was this?”

“I’m not sure…around midnight, maybe? I’m a light sleeper, so it’s not unusual for me to wake up throughout the night. But last night, I remember being jolted awake by a loud noise.”

“Can you describe it for me?”

“I’m not sure—sort of a loud bang? Like clanging metal.”

He furrowed his brow as he considered that.

That could mean a gunshot, though Vantoric firearms were still fairly rare in Derimay.

More likely, she’d heard trashcans colliding.

Maybe someone skulking about in an alley?

The interview continued, with him asking more follow-up questions about the noise and who she’d seen coming and going from the building last night.

All the while, he kept a careful watch on her aura.

Yet there was nothing that struck him as suspicious.

If she was hiding something, she was a master deceiver.

He would’ve already dismissed this as another dead end if not for the tainted aura still lingering in the room and on Cassandra.

That inherent contradiction drove him to keep digging.

With every one of her innocent responses, however, his confusion only grew.

Just what in the Light is going on here?

When he’d exhausted every possible question he could think of, he rose, shoving down his frustration as he tucked away his notepad.

Their empty teacups sat on the tray.

The stale biscuits remained untouched.

“I think that about covers it,” he said, reluctant to let the lead go.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

“Of course, Inspector.” Cassandra rose on shaky legs.

Grabbing the tray, she hobbled with it to the kitchen.

“I must say, that was most thorough! I hope I gave you at least one worthwhile insight. I’d hate to think I wasted your entire afternoon on a wild goose chase.”

Though that was exactly what this felt like, he forced a smile.

“Not at all, madam. This has been most illuminating. Thank you again for the tea. I’ll be in touch if I have any more questions for you.”

“Come by anytime, Inspector. It would be a pleasure to see you again.”

Griff was almost at the door when it suddenly splintered inward.

His hand flew to his revolver as a group of rough-looking men and women appeared in the doorway.

The woman in front looked vaguely familiar, and it took him only a moment to place from where.

One of Bald Locke’s muscle from The Last Drop.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

“This is unlawful breaking and entering!”

The thugs ignored him, their leader peering about the room with narrowed eyes.

“All right, where is it?” she demanded. “Where is the orb?”