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five

Griff

What the Light was I thinking?

That was the question at the forefront of Griff’s mind as he approached the entrance to The Last Drop with ‘Cal’ in tow.

He must have suffered a blow to the head during that brawl to agree to this insanity.

For now, he’d reluctantly allowed Cal to return the void orb to the extradimensional space in his magical tattoo for safe storage.

Whoever had tried to purchase such a dangerous magical artifact represented a grave threat to the city—that much was clear.

Faced with such a threat, however, he should have called for backup and turned Cal and those Brotherhood thugs over for questioning.

Instead, he was about to march straight into a Brotherhood stronghold while working with the infamous Blackjack—the very thief he’d been so desperate to hunt down mere hours ago.

He cast a wary glance over at Cal.

For now, the thief seemed content to play along with this fool’s errand.

But Griff wasn’t fooled by his apparent nonchalance.

The man was an accomplished liar and master of disguise.

Griff had dealt with this sort of criminal all his life.

Men like Cal didn’t care about anything but themselves.

The first chance he got to betray Griff, he’d seize it without a second thought.

Griff would have to make sure to keep a careful eye on Cal to ensure he didn’t do anything funny.

At least the pacifier cuff offered some peace of mind.

Griff’s steps faltered mere paces from the door to the tavern.

He hesitated, ignoring the questioning look Cal gave him.

There was still time to turn around.

Those Brotherhood thugs were likely long gone, but he could still return to headquarters with the greater prize.

Capturing the infamous Blackjack would likely be the crowning achievement of his career—enough to earn him whatever promotion he desired.

It would make all the long nights he’d spent away from his home and his wife worth it.

Clenching his jaw, he thought of the corrupt magic that had seeped from the void orb when he’d attempted to delve into it with his power.

He could still feel the slick stain of its aura like a vile film over his skin.

Whatever that thing was, it had him worried.

It was powerful magic, highly illegal—and highly dangerous.

If there was even a hint of truth to Cal’s assertions that protectors were involved, then unmasking such a conspiracy definitely trumped arresting a single thief.

Even one as wily as Blackjack.

As much as it galled Griff, this joint investigation seemed worth the risk.

And if Cal actually upheld his end of the bargain, Griff would let him go.

A promise was a promise, and he was a man of his word.

“Everything all right there, Inspector?” Cal asked.

“Having second thoughts about confronting the Brotherhood?”

“Nope.” Griff grabbed Cal by the arm and shoved him through the door ahead of him into the tavern.

“Just second thoughts about agreeing to this insane plan of yours.”

“Don’t worry,” Cal replied, his voice low.

“This’ll work out. Trust me.”

Griff barely managed to hold back a disbelieving snort.

He led Cal past the rough tables that filled the dingy tavern.

By the time they’d reached the bar along the back wall, Cal’s demeanor had completely changed.

The cocky, confident thief from outside was gone, replaced by a weary prisoner, his head bowed and shoulders slumped.

“I need to speak with Bald Locke,” Griff told the barkeep.

The barkeep slowly set down the dirty glass he was polishing and gave the two of them a once-over, looking deeply unimpressed.

“Yeah? What makes you think he wants to speak with you, prottie? Pretty sure he made that clear enough the last time you marched in here.”

“Trust me, he’ll want to see the gift I’ve brought him.”

Griff jerked Cal’s head up by his hair to show his face.

The barkeep squinted at it.

Griff was gratified to see his eyes widen a fraction.

Good—Cal had been telling the truth about at least that much.

This was indeed the Blackjack persona he’d used while doing business here.

“Wait here,” the barkeep grunted.

He left the bar, moving to a door in the back and slipping through.

Griff didn’t miss the discrete gesture he gave the pair of muscle there, who casually drifted toward the front entrance.

Probably to make sure he and Cal didn’t try to run.

He cast a wary eye over the half-filled tables scattered about the filthy room.

No doubt a good chunk of the people here were ready to offer backup if needed.

Griff didn’t much like those odds, even with his reloaded revolver.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.

There was no telling how long the bartender would be, so Griff settled in at the bar to wait.

He reached up to fiddle with his silver aura blockers as Cal slid in beside him.

“What are those for anyway?” Cal murmured.

“Are you trying to spark a new fashion among Derimay’s elite?”

Griff considered ignoring him, but it seemed a harmless enough question.

Besides, he needed Cal’s cooperation for this plan to work.

Best to keep him in a good mood.

“They’re designed to block my aura-sight,” Griff said.

“Without them, it’s much harder to filter out all the white noise.”

“Wait, so you mean you see auras, like, all the time? It’s not something you have to spend energy to do?”

Griff jerked a nod, sneaking a glance toward the back door.

How long was the bartender going to take?

Cal gave a low whistle.

“Eternal Dark, that sounds exhausting. I’d probably be looking for a way to tune it out as well.” He peered keenly at Griff’s face.

“Still, an ability like that must come in handy in your line of work. How does it work?”

“I don’t know,” Griff said.

“I’m an investigator, not a magical scholar.”

Cal rolled his eyes.

Griff couldn’t help noticing that they were a deep ocean-blue, at least in his current disguise.

It offered a striking contrast to his black hair and angular face.

“Sure. What I meant was, what’s it like . Do you just see swirling colors everywhere?”

The conversation was making Griff increasingly uncomfortable, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why.

Perhaps it was the simple knowledge that he was sitting here in a tavern, sharing something so personal with the man he’d spent the past couple years hunting.

Like they were friends instead of hated enemies.

“Sometimes. I often think of them in terms of colors, but it’s more like…a sensation. Everything—every object, every person—has an aura. Some are faint, some are strong. But each is unique.”

Suddenly feeling like he’d said too much—way more than he’d meant to—he turned away from Cal, hoping the thief would take the hint.

But of course, he didn’t.

“And mine?” Cal asked eagerly.

“You mentioned something before about sensing duskflame in my aura. What did you mean?”

Griff recalled the aura he’d sensed from Cal’s Cassandra disguise: bright and warm, like a splash of mid-morning sunlight against his cheek.

He shoved the memory away, scowling at the back door.

By the Goddess, what’s taking the Void-cursed bartender so long?

“It doesn’t matter,” Griff said, his voice terse.

“Your aura was a lie, just like everything else about you.” His fingers played with the silver band around his left wrist. “But don’t think that just because you fooled me once, it will be so easy again. Not now that I’m onto you.”

Cal snorted.

Griff resisted the urge to turn when he heard the thief shifting around on his stool.

“Wow. You think everything about me is a lie? You give me too much credit, Inspector. I didn’t realize you thought so highly of me.”

Anger flared in him, and he spun toward Cal before he could think better of it.

“Highly? People like you think they can step all over everyone else without a care in the world. You don’t care about anyone or anything but yourself.”

Cal met his glare without flinching.

He gave a dark chuckle as he rested his hands together on the bar.

The silver band on his wrist caught and reflected the torchlight.

“That’s rich, coming from a prottie. Tell me, what’s it like to gaze down at us common folk from up there on your high horse? Does it feel good, being so certain that you’re better than us just because of that badge you lot flash around with such unearned pride?”

Griff’s hands tightened into fists in his lap.

His eyes narrowed on Cal.

“My badge signifies my commitment to serving the people of Sanjarka. I’ve devoted my life to keeping this city safe from those who wish to take advantage of it. Men like you and Bald Locke—you’re all the same. Looking to make a quick gallant or stroke your ego, and to the Void with everyone else!”

“Really?” Cal leaned in.

An uncomfortable sensation jittered in Griff’s gut at the slanted smirk the thief flashed him.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it was one of your prottie buddies I saw strolling out of here with an illegal relic leaking voidflame. I may only be looking out for myself, but at least I’m self-aware enough to admit it.”

“If you’re not lying about that, too,” Griff said.

The two of them stared at each other for a long, tense moment.

When Griff heard the creak of an opening door, he finally ripped his gaze away, struggling to calm his racing pulse as the bartender stepped back into the room.

The barkeep gestured at them, and Griff rose.

“Come on,” Griff muttered, pointedly avoiding Cal’s eyes.

“Let’s go get this over with.”

Cal silently followed him over to the bartender, who led them down a narrow flight of stairs.

Griff made a point of surveying his surroundings as they went.

Cal had explained the rough layout on the way to The Last Drop, but it was Griff’s first time here, and he found the warren of narrow walkways and dark recesses confusing.

When the barkeep’s back was turned, he casually removed his glasses so he could use his aura-sight to better watch for any magical traps or hidden ambushers.

Cal snuck a curious glance at him but remained silent.

Griff had to hand it to Cal: the arrogant thief was good at playing the cowed captive.

Griff might’ve even believed it himself if not for their conversation above.

He couldn’t resist sneaking a peek at Cal’s aura now that his glasses were off.

He was half-convinced what he’d seen in the apartment had been an odd fluke, but he found the aura largely unchanged.

The kaleidoscopic swirl of colors still shone, calling out to him in a way that was difficult to ignore.

It left him more confused than ever.

How the Void could a thief like Blackjack have an aura like that?

It didn’t make any sense.

Over the years, Griff had grown used to trusting his instincts, and that aura made him want to put his faith in Cal: a foolish proposition if he’d ever heard one.

They emerged from the stairs into a hidden cove lined with docks.

Forcing his eyes away, he spotted a young boy no older than ten out along one of the many scattered piers.

The boy stood hunched over, an older grizzled man scolding him for having done something wrong.

Griff winced when the dockmaster smacked the boy in the side of the head hard enough to knock him off his feet.

Griff tightened his grip on his pistol but resisted the urge to step in.

He couldn’t risk their mission by getting involved.

The best way to help the boy and others like him would be to gather enough evidence that no amount of bribed city officials could stop Bald Locke from ending up behind bars.

Shock rippled through him when Cal tore free from his grip.

“Hey, leave him alone!” Cal shouted, striding toward the dockmaster.

They were close enough that the pacifier cuff should remain in range so long as Griff didn’t move.

The dockmaster glanced toward Cal with a throaty, wheezing laugh.

“What nonsense is this? Who are you to be telling me how to run my dock? Keep walking and mind your own business.”

Cal inserted himself between the dockmaster and the boy, his fists raised.

“This is my business.”

The dockmaster’s face twisted in a scowl.

Griff tensed when he saw the dockmaster ready a swing.

His fingers trailed toward his revolver in case things got out of hand.

But Cal must’ve seen the same telegraph as Griff because he easily bobbed to the side around the dockmaster’s wild strike.

Grabbing the man’s arm, he used his momentum to tug him down and ram a knee into his crotch.

The dockmaster cried out, doubling over.

A final elbow to the back of his neck sent him crumpling to the wooden planks.

It was a brutal show of force, the kind Griff would never have opted for himself.

Still, he couldn’t help admiring Cal’s efficiency.

He’d known the thief could fight after that brawl earlier, but he hadn’t seen how Cal had taken down those two Brotherhood thugs.

Now he could make a pretty good guess.

Cal’s movements looked too rough to be trained, but he’d clearly picked up a thing or two about hand-to-hand combat.

And judging by that knee to the crotch, he also wasn’t afraid to fight dirty.

While the dockmaster rolled and moaned on the wooden planks, Cal knelt beside the boy.

Griff couldn’t hear what he said, but whatever it was seemed to ease the boy’s coiled tension.

Griff caught the glint of silver as Cal passed the boy a handful of sestas—a small fortune for someone working in a place like this.

Coins in hand, the boy cast one last fearful glance toward the fallen dockmaster, then scampered off.

The barkeep had watched all of that unfold with a look of mild disinterest. “Hurry up,” he snapped as Cal rejoined them.

“The boss is waiting.”

Acting the part of an annoyed inspector, Griff yanked on Cal’s arm to forcibly tug him along.

“You heard him, thief. Pull a stunt like that again, and I’ll make you regret it.”

They resumed their winding course through the makeshift docks.

Once Griff was certain the bartender wasn’t listening, he leaned close to Cal and whispered, “Why did you help that boy?”

At first, he thought Cal wouldn’t reply.

Then, his voice tight with restrained emotion, Cal said, “Because someone should.”

Surprise ricocheted through Griff.

He stared at the back of Cal’s head as Cal quickened his pace.

That wasn’t the sort of answer he’d expected from Blackjack.

Noting the roiling emotion in Cal’s aura, blotchy red mixed with deep streaks of sorrowful blue, he let it go.

Perhaps there was more to the thief than simple greed after all.

At last, the barkeep stopped before an unmarked door deep in the heart of the complex.

Steeling himself, Griff mentally ran through the plan he and Cal had come up with before entering.

Bald Locke sat inside behind a surprisingly elegant desk.

The smuggler lord grinned menacingly as he rose and proffered a hand to Griff, which he reluctantly shook.

“Inspector. So good to see you again!” Bald Locke’s smile sharpened when he glanced at Cal.

“And it looks like this time you’ve brought me a gift. I’m flattered.”

“After your men jumped me, I thought it prudent to try and sort this out,” Griff replied, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

Bald Locke adopted an apologetic wince.

“Sorry for the mix-up, Inspector.” His gaze flicked to Cal.

“It seems we were both interested in the same prize. How about this? Hand Blackjack over to me along with what he stole. In exchange, I’ll make this nasty business between us go away—wipe the slate clean. You can even have Blackjack to turn in…or at least, what’s left of him once I’m done making an example of him for stealing from the Brotherhood.”

“Technically,” Cal chimed in from beside Griff, “I stole from that protector, not from the Brotherhood. You’d already made the exchange.”

Griff watched Bald Locke closely for his reaction.

His stomach sank when neither Bald Locke’s face nor his aura registered any confusion or surprise.

He’d been holding out hope, but Bald Locke’s lack of denial all but confirmed Cal’s assertion correct: at least one protector was involved with the orb.

Locke shrugged, narrowing his eyes on Cal.

“True. But it’s the principle of the thing. Can’t have word getting around and others afraid to do business with us.” He turned back to Griff.

“Now, do we have a deal, Inspector?”

Griff glanced at Cal.

He pretended to consider the offer for a moment before shaking his head.

“I have a counterproposal. How about you give me all the information you have on whoever hired you to procure that void relic, and I don’t arrest you for smuggling such an incredibly illicit object or sending your henchmen to attack an officer of the law.”

Appearing amused rather than impressed by Griff’s threat, Bald Locke leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers on his desk.

“Come now, Inspector. We both know any charges you brought against me would never stick.”

“Maybe not,” Griff admitted.

“But I can’t imagine all that extra scrutiny would be much good for business either. Especially once word got out about what tipped us off.”

Locke’s smiled vanished, replaced by a glare.

Throughout their exchange, Griff had kept a close eye on his aura.

Like most criminals Griff had encountered—minus the rather large and perplexing exception of Cal—his aura was a tattered mess, its colors dark and splotchy, evoking a sense of something torn beyond repair.

Still that scrutiny saved his life.

Locke’s aura flaring crimson was the only warning Griff got as he raised the Vantoric shotgun hidden behind his desk and pulled the trigger.

Griff leaped to the side just in time to avoid taking the blast directly to the chest. Heat flared in his side as the expelled force ripped at his flesh.

He hit the floor hard.

Gritting his teeth against the fiery tendrils of pain racking his wound, he rose in a crouch, unholstering his revolver and aiming it toward Locke.

His eyes widened when he saw that Cal had already leaped across the desk.

He and Bald Locke were grappling for control of the shotgun as Cal attempted to wrench it from his grasp.

Griff hesitated, the barrel of his revolver wavering.

Merciful Light! With the two of them so close, he couldn’t get a good shot.

As he watched, Cal’s skin rippled with shadowy flames.

Within seconds, the visage of Blackjack had disappeared.

In its place was an exact replica of Bald Locke, right down to the same grimy ponytail and angry snarl.

It wasn’t much, so far as tricks went.

But suddenly being face-to-face with himself caught the real Bald Locke off-guard just long enough for Cal to finally win the tug-of-war.

Shotgun in hand, Cal stepped back.

The instant Cal was out of the way, Griff aimed at Locke, flicked a button in the revolver’s side to select the fourth cartridge, and fired.

A net erupted around Locke in a brief flare of azure runeflame, ensnaring him as easily as it had Cal earlier.

Griff puffed out a breath as the captured crime lord toppled to the floor.

The threat had been neutralized.

He staggered, suddenly lightheaded.

Only then did he notice the blood soaking his side beneath his torn coat.

That shotgun blast might’ve only been a glancing wound, but it was still serious enough to take him out of commission if he let it.

First things first.

Forcing himself to remain steady and project strength, he leveled his revolver at the struggling Locke.

“So,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Do we have a deal?”

Locke ceased his struggles long enough to direct a furious glare at Griff.

Griff didn’t budge, keeping himself from swaying on his feet via sheer force of will.

A moment later, Locke jerked his head toward his desk.

“Bottom drawer on the right. Combo is 176436.”

Griff gestured at Cal.

Cal glanced down at the shotgun he held.

“You know, he probably stole this anyway. Maybe I could keep—”

“No.”

Sighing, Cal gave the shotgun one last mournful look, then tossed it aside, well out of Bald Locke’s reach.

Crouching down by the desk, he quickly entered the combination Bald Locke had given them.

The drawer opened with a click, and Cal held up a leather ledger.

He waggled it at Locke.

“What’s this?”

“Business records,” Locke said.

“You’ll find what you’re looking for on the last page. It’s the most recent entry.”

Cal flipped open the book, indicating a notation near the bottom.

“Here it is!” He squinted at it, furrowing a brow.

“But it’s just a series of numbers. How is this supposed to help?”

Locke shot Griff a derisive look.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the detective?” Griff didn’t reply, and Locke sighed.

“It’s an account number at the National Treasury. The client didn’t give any more info than that—no names, and they never handled the money directly.”

“What about that man who picked up the void orb?” Griff demanded.

“I’ve only met him a handful of times. Always wore a mask and used magic to disguise his voice. Pegged him as a prottie right away though.” He glared at Griff.

“You lot always have a certain way of acting.”

To Griff’s annoyance, Cal nodded in agreement at that.

“Anything else?” Griff demanded.

“If I find out you’re holding something back, it’ll be me and a hundred other protectors storming in here next time.”

Locke did his best approximation of a shrug within the confines of the net.

“You’re welcome to try. But that’s all I know.”

Cal whistled, drawing Griff’s attention.

The thief was skimming through the rest of the ledger.

“Eternal Dark, there’s a half-dozen more entries for that account over the past month. Each is more exorbitant than the last, even by my standards. That last payment alone was over a thousand gallants!”

Griff’s breath caught.

No wonder they were working through the Treasury.

With those kinds of sums involved, anything other than direct account transfers would’ve been ridiculously impractical.

Still, who would be willing to pay such a fortune for a void artifact?

Perhaps reading the uncertainty on Griff’s expression, Locke sneered, “You’re biting off more than you can chew, Inspector. Trust me, you don’t want to stick your hand in this. My client’s definitely got friends in high places— maybe even IS one themself. You don’t know what you’re stepping in.”

“Maybe not,” Griff said.

In as smooth a motion as he could manage with the growing pain in his side, he reholstered his pistol.

“But I’ll manage, same as I always do. Thank you for your cooperation. I expect not to hear from you or your people again.”

Cal hurried over to join Griff, waving the ledger in Bald Locke’s direction.

“We’ll be keeping this too for collateral, in case you get any ideas. May Allaria smile upon your business.”

Swaying a little on his feet, Griff hobbled toward the door, Cal right there beside him.

Still trapped in the net, Locke watched them leave in silence.