I stroke the glass ball, widening the image. One of my fingers brushes the ornament on the top of the globe, and suddenly I can hear sounds—hoarse, bestial breathing and the heavy fall of giant paws.
I reverse the accidental motion of my finger against the ornament, and the sound cuts off.
These magical spheres provide not only images, but sound as well. Fascinating, if not very helpful.
Sighing, I thread my way between the pedestals toward the table, hoping to find something useful among the books and papers there.
But again, I spot movement, this time from a globe at waist height. When I turn for a better look, I see four dark figures standing outside the exterior wall of Annordun.
At first my heart leaps. Maybe the wishing stone threw my team outside, and they’re either waiting for me out there or trying to get back in.
But as I manipulate the image for a closer view, dread turns my guts to stone.
The people outside look human, dressed in black, wearing a variety of gear. But they’re all men, and their shapes are unfamiliar to me, except for one—a tall, lanky figure with broad shoulders and a casual grace to his movements.
“It can’t be.” I lean closer, my body heating with shock and anger. “No fucking way.”
I slide my fingers along the sphere, looking for the telltale white stitches flanking the mouth-hole of his knitted mask.
He turns slightly, perhaps to speak to one of his men, and the crisscross stitches appear, making him look just as cocky and malicious as he did the other night, when he broke into the Hearth and then ran from me.
It’s the mysterious intruder, the man who saved me from falling by grabbing my throat.
He’s here. In Faerie. Outside Annordun. With a gang of his own.
How? How is he here? No one else was supposed to know about this. Annordun was supposed to be mine. My triumph, my salvation, my path to one of two futures: a relaxing retirement, or a place of strength among the gangs of Belgate. I haven’t yet decided which one I want more—a quiet life free of crime, or the moral satisfaction of cleansing the city. With the kind of renownand power this job would have given me, I’d be better positioned to take on the real criminals of Belgate: the corrupt politicians, the hessen lords, and the ruthless merchant magnates.
Either way, the Javelins and I were going to be the first and only humans to pull off a heist in Faerie, and now this asshole is here, fucking with the plan.
He and his people have somehow managed to clear away the acidic snow from a section of the fortress. But rather than climbing the wall, the tall bastard starts marking something on it. The sphere can’t provide me with the exact angle I need, so I switch to a different one which gives a slightly better view.
He’s painting lightning-shaped lines on the dark stone, crooked branches snaking between and around the blinking eyes. He gives the wall a final swipe with his brush, seals the small bucket he was using, then stows both the bucket and the brush in his pack. Bending, he touches something to the wall, then gestures for his companions to back away. He dances backward too, like an excited child running in reverse to watch a kite soar up into the air.
I fiddle with the ornament on top of the sphere, trying to hear what he’s saying to his companions, but the only sound that comes through is a prolonged hiss that grows louder and louder. I twist wildly at the ornament, turning it down just in time.
A massive explosion whites out the image inside the sphere and causes the whole island to tremble. I hear the distantboom,and I feel the reverberations rolling through the watchtower.
A memory from several months ago niggles at my brain—someone in the Night Goose talking about a thief in Talgus, up north, who caused havoc by blowing up the palace of some reigning oligarch. He used an explosive of his own invention, they said, a substance whose recipe he’d share with no one else—a type of volatile gel paint. What was it they called him? Wreck? Roar? Ravager?
That was it.Ravager.
A few of the nearby spheres have gone completely dark, destroyed by the explosion. I fiddle with the sound control on my sphere until I can hear the crackle of sparks, the tumble of stones, and the rattle of pebbles as the dust settles. The smoke clears, revealing a jagged hole in the outer wall.
This guy thinks he can blast his way into Annordun. If my crew didn’t already set off any magical alarms, his bumbling, chaotic method of thievery is bound to draw attention.
“You absolute idiot,” I mutter. “What do you think you’re doing?”
There’s a strange echo to my words, and the four men beyond the wall react immediately with startled exclamations. The tall one holds up his hand for them to be quiet and strides closer to the wall, gazing up at the eyes like he’s searching for something.
Does the sound on these devices work both ways? Did theyhearme?
“Devilry?” says the tall man. “That you, sweetheart?”
Shit. He recognized my voice.
“Looks like you and your crew beat us here,” he calls out. “I thought I told you to lay low for a few days. Guess you have trouble listening to advice, eh? I don’t blame you. I’m not so good with following orders myself. But I really wish you’d taken my warning to heart, love, because now, if you get in my way, I’m going to have to kill you. We’re coming in, and we’re taking what we came for. Don’t try to interfere.”
I retreat a few steps, cupping my hand over my mouth to stifle my breathing. My butt bumps into a sphere behind me and I have to whirl and catch it before it falls off its pedestal. I set it back into place with shaking fingers, trying to slow the pounding of my heart.
