And the Night Stalkers… they were more than a band of unruly misfits—they were all they had. Ryder and Leif must be like sons to the Wizard.
Sweat beaded his temples, one of the few parts of his face not covered in ink or hair. “Afraid my boys ’ave fallen into somethin’ much darker than organized crime.”
My nose squinched. “What’s worse than that?”
“Organized warfare.”
I broke out in goosebumps as if the temperature had suddenly dropped. “So, if it wasn’t your Stalkers that invaded Crescent Rock… whose were they?”
“Tere’s a fringe group. Didn’t tink much of it, to be honest. We get a lot of those ’ere. Serve a lot of ’em too.” He met my gaze. “But this one, it’s gainin’ steam. Usin’ my resources, recruitin’ my men, causin’ chaos where we ’ave no business causin’ chaos.”
My stomach sank. “Like tonight.”
Emotion brewed in his visible eye—disappointment? “What kind of leader are ye if yer own syndicate is actin’ behind yer back?”
Yudfren swiveled around.
The Wizard cleared his throat and straightened his spine, slipping back into that gruff, ruthless mask. “So anyway, tere are markings in te stone. Ancient ones in a tongue we cannot read. ’Tis a boundary, spelled to repel certain beings.”
“Or the ones with sticky hands,” I muttered.
The artist hovered over my veins, giving them a tap.
With my wrist clean, she wasn’t going anywhere, which meant I wouldn’t get any more information out of the Wizard.
I sighed.
Aside from the unpredictable magic I was working with, state parks closed at sunset. To get to this remote a location within Natural Bridges, not only would I have to hop the gate and sneak past the rangers, I’d have to scale quite a bit of eroded rock.
Come to think of it, the circumstances around this mission had to be perfect for me to succeed. “Say I meet the requirements and am allowed into the cave… What if it’s just full of water?”
He wiggled his fingers. “Weren’t ye just threatenin’ me wit those special powers of yers? I’m sure ye can figure somethin’ out.”
Well, shit. I’d really dug myself into a hole with that one. “All this for a magical eight ball?”
“Te Pearl of Truth is for a very special client.”
“What happens if I f—” Words tangled on my tongue as a sharp tip dug into my skin.
“Keep talkin’. It’ll help wit te pain.” He gestured to my wrist. “Interestin’ choice, by te way. Natural Bridges bein’ a monarch sanctuary. Looks like it was meant to be.”
Surprise flared through me, numbing the discomfort for a beat. I hadn’t put that together.
Out of the corner of my eye, Yudfren grabbed a sheet of gauze.
“What happens if I fail?” I managed to squeak out between the relentless stings.
But when the needle arced over my vein… every ounce of awareness, every last bit of confidence left me, and I almost passed out. Then I felt it—a small second pulse, beating in my wrist. And an urge, a tug on my intuition, drawing me away from the room…
It was all too much. My eyes fluttered shut. Instead of the steady tick of the tattoo gun, I heard a whooshing, like ocean waves crashing on jagged, hollowed-out rocks.
And then I saw it under my eyelids, clear as day: a pearl, shining like a beacon in the night, lodged within a crevice. It was bigger than I’d imagined—about the size of a softball. The thick outer layer protected a shimmering, iridescent interior that swirled with the steady rhythms of the tide.
“The Pearl of Truth. I see it,” I whispered when my voice finally found me. The vision vanished, as if I’d spooked it.
When I opened my eyes, the unbearable sting was gone. The space around me had grown far less stuffy—the dwarves had actually given me some breathing room, spreading out along the walls.
Filling my lungs with air, I glanced down at my arm. A small butterfly spread its near-translucent orange wings across the upper left corner of my wrist, permanently perched on the tendon. No wonder it hurt like hell.
