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seven

Griff

Griff wasn’t sure if he was awake or dreaming when he saw Cal peering down at him.

Everything since the thief left to go fetch medicine had been a confused haze.

The part of him that remained rational knew he was in rough shape, slipping in and out of awareness.

Though in his brief moments of lucidity, he wondered if perhaps he’d already lost his sanity.

How else could he explain his decision to remove Blackjack’s pacifier cuff and send him gallivanting off on his own unsupervised?

The man was a rogue and thief.

He had no code of honor.

He was probably already on a ship booking passage out of Derimay, laughing about how gullible Griff was while Griff lay here and rotted.

He stood up for that dock boy.

And he didn’t hesitate to charge Bald Locke when he fired at you.

Both true…and both things Griff didn’t know how to reconcile with the image of the devious mastermind he’d built up in his head over the past few years hunting his quarry.

Blackjack was supposed to be cunning.

Merciless. Evil. Not so, so…

human.

Above him, Cal’s face seemed to waver.

He was saying something, but in his dazed state, Griff could barely process what.

All he could focus on was Cal’s brilliant aura, the colors bright and warm and so pure.

No matter what disguise Cal wore, he would always recognize him.

He tried to reach toward it but was too weak to raise his arm.

So instead, he fixed Cal with a broad grin.

“Cal! It’s good to see you.”

Cal’s brow furrowed as his face split into a confused smile.

“Um, you too, bud.” He held up a jar and waved it.

“Mission accomplished. I got the medicine. I just need to apply it.”

“Are you real?”

“The eternal question. Are any of us?”

Griff’s attention wavered again, and he started to slip back into a daze.

At least until a sudden, sharp, cold pain pierced his wounded side.

His eyes flew open as he snapped back to reality with an agonized groan.

“By the Goddess, you’re definitely real, all right.” He glared up at Cal, who flashed him an apologetic wince.

“Sorry, sorry. Just demonstrating what not to do so that you have a proper frame of reference for how well I apply this stuff from now on.”

Griff bit back an amused snort that turned into a grimace at another dull throb of pain.

“Are you sure you’re doing that right?”

“Not even a little bit,” Cal said cheerfully.

Griff clenched his jaw against another lance of agony.

“But hey, good news: we’ll get to find out together. Besides, I probably can’t make it any worse, right? Don’t answer that.”

That time, Griff did let out a small snort.

He tried to mask it with a cough, but judging by the sly grin Cal shot him, it didn’t work.

To his surprise, he realized he was genuinely glad Cal of all people was there with him.

Probably a side effect of his odd aura…

or evidence of more delusions.

Griff fell silent while Cal worked, lathering his wound and the surrounding skin with liberal amounts of some foul-smelling goop until he’d exhausted the entire jar.

Only then did Cal began to gently rub it in, making smooth circular motions with his fingers as he went.

Griff braced himself for more pain, but to his relief, all he felt was a soothing numbness.

It must be an effect of Nathaniel’s magic taking hold.

An unexpected mercy—Griff knew from harsh experience that dulling the pain required extra ingredients and effort the Sunkeeper rarely bothered with.

Nathaniel must’ve been feeling particularly merciful today.

He took the opportunity to study Cal while he worked.

Now that he was a little more lucid, he could tell from the hue of Cal’s aura that he was no longer channeling duskflame.

Cal’s real appearance wasn’t too far off the Blackjack persona he’d worn—the same average height and thin frame.

Griff guessed he was younger—probably mid-twenties versus Griff’s late thirties.

His eyes were a muddy brown like Griff’s, his dirty blonde hair a ruffled mess.

The biggest change was his surprisingly delicate features: not exactly what Griff would’ve imagined for a hardened criminal.

“So,” Cal said as he continued to rub in the poultice.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Sunkeeper was your father?”

Griff suppressed a grimace entirely separate from the pain and gave a half-shrug, looking away.

“Didn’t seem relevant.”

“Not relevant? I could’ve made a fool of myself if I accidentally said the wrong thing! Besides, that seems like a pretty big deal to me. If I had a father, I’d want him to know if I’d gotten hurt.”

There was a certain tightness in Cal’s voice, an almost longing, that made Griff glance back at him.

Though still alive with dancing colors, a new heaviness hung over Cal’s aura, making it droop.

Compelled to restore it to its previous luster, Griff shared more than he’d meant to.

“Things have been tense between me and Nathaniel since my mother’s death. He doesn’t approve of my decision to become an inspector.”

That was putting it mildly.

But Cal didn’t need to know the whole sordid story.

Hopefully, that would be enough to whet his appetite.

Griff should’ve known better.

“But you became an investigator anyway,” Cal noted.

“Why?”

Griff gritted his teeth.

He didn’t like dredging up the past. Better to leave it where it belonged.

“I wanted to help people.”

Cal paused in his ministrations.

Griff glanced up and found him raising an eyebrow.

“And your father, a Sunkeeper sage devoted to aiding all in need, took issue with that?” Heavy disbelief laced his voice.

Griff sighed. He tried to shift, suddenly feeling too confined here in this unfamiliar bed.

But even that little bit of movement conjured a renewed ache in his numbed side.

Reluctantly, he stilled and said, “Nathaniel wanted me to pursue law. To become a magister like my mother.”

Cal nodded like that made perfect sense.

He resumed rubbing slow, concentric circles into Griff’s side.

A pleasurable tingle rippled over Griff’s skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Griff couldn’t help noticing how long and nimble Cal’s fingers were.

A thief’s fingers.

“So, why didn’t you?” Cal asked.

Griff considered shrugging the question off.

He certainly didn’t owe a criminal his life story, even one currently in the process of saving his life.

Yet something about the moment and Cal’s intimate touch prompted him to open up, at least a little.

“I intended to. I spent years studying cases with her, learning the ins and outs of Sanjarkan law. The plan was for me to accept an apprenticeship under her as a clerk and work my way up from there. But then, one of the countless criminals she’d helped put away broke into our house one night. She was up late working in her office. We didn’t find her body until the next morning.”

Cal’s hands briefly stilled.

For once, he didn’t speak.

Griff once more averted his eyes.

He didn’t want the thief’s pity.

Instead, he stared at one of the eclectic paintings that filled the walls.

It was a ship, he realized—a sleek sailboat slicing through the cerulean waves.

The sight of it, powerful and free, gave Griff the courage he needed to continue.

“That night changed things for me. Sentencing criminals already caught no longer felt like enough. I wanted to take a more active role and put my ability to read auras to good use, solving crimes to ease the suffering of others who went through what I had. Nathaniel disagreed with my choice. I don’t think he’s ever forgiven me.”

Cal hesitantly resumed administrating the poultice.

His fingers were unsure at first, faltering and fumbling.

Gradually, however, he regained his earlier groove.

Which was good: Griff could already feel the poultice beginning to harden, especially where Cal had rubbed it in.

If he took too much longer, it would be wasted.

Cal worked quietly for a time before he spoke, his voice low and serious, “Maybe he’s worried about you.”

Griff snorted and shook his head.

“Nathaniel enjoys feeling like he’s in control. He’s always hated not getting his way. It’s the fact that I defied him, that I keep defying him, that really rankles.”

Cal shrugged.

“Maybe. But I don’t need your aura-sight to tell he was worried about you. He cares, Griff. Even if he won’t admit it to you.”

Griff’s chest constricted, and he roughly cleared his throat, desperate to change the subject.

“What about you? How did you end up in a life of crime?”

Cal gave a lighthearted chuckle that belied the tremor in his aura.

“My backstory’s not nearly so dramatic as yours. Just your usual tale of childhood abandonment and growing up on the streets. When you have nothing, you learn to take what you can get.”

Though Cal’s voice remained light, a smile plastered on his face, Griff wasn’t fooled.

“I’m sorry. That can’t have been easy.”

Cal gave another shrug.

“Don’t be. It made me who I am today. And while you and I might not see eye-to-eye, I enjoy what I do.”

Griff knew he should probably let it go at that.

They were entering dangerous waters that veered a little too close to Griff’s pursuit of Blackjack.

Still, he couldn’t help but ask, “Why? Stealing to survive, I can at least understand. But you must have more than enough to live comfortably by now. So why keep living a life of crime?”

Cal flashed him a rakish grin.

Griff barely noticed it, too focused on the trembling state of Cal’s aura.

Its erratic colors churned with suppressed emotion, like paint spilled across canvas.

“I suppose I just like to live dangerously,” Cal said.

Though his tone suggested he meant it as a joke, his aura gave him away.

Maybe it was the medicine or a fever talking, but Griff found himself saying, “You don’t have to, you know. With a gift like yours, you could do so much else besides stealing and thieving. I can tell there’s more to you than that.”

Cal’s fingers faltered, smearing some of the poultice along Griff’s side.

“You barely know me. Not five hours ago, you thought I was a despicable rogue and were determined to arrest me and haul me in to face justice. How can you possibly have changed your mind so quickly?”

Griff met and held Cal’s uncertain gaze.

“Because you came back.”

His words seemed to rock Cal to his core.

The thief hurriedly finished applying the last of the poultice, rubbing it in with far less care than he’d shown before.

The instant he was done, he leaped to his feet.

“There,” he said, his voice overly chipper.

“All patched up. It just needs an hour or so to do its thing. Anything else I can get you in the meantime? Food? Water?”

Griff stared at him, unsure what to make of the abrupt shift in attitude.

His aura was no help—it was still a churning mess.

“Some water would be nice,” he said with a dry cough.

Nodding, Cal hurried across the room.

Griff stared after him with a frown.

What the Void had gotten into him?

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he called.

There was no response.

Cal returned a few moments later, offering him a clay cup filled with lukewarm water.

Griff downed it in a few quick gulps.

Despite being warm and tasting stale, it was still refreshing.

He smiled at Cal. “Thank you.” He held up the empty cup, then gestured carefully at his wounded side caked in the poultice.

“For the water, and for everything else. Without you, I’m not sure I’d have survived.”

Cal blinked at him.

Griff could read his indecision, both on his face and in the flickering cast of his aura.

Abruptly, Cal turned and darted for the door.

“I’m going to go get some fresh air and grab us some food. I don’t come here all that often, so there’s not much in the way of supplies. I’ll be back in a bit. Try not to get shot again while I’m gone.”

Before Griff could reply, Cal had already fled out the door, slamming it behind him.