“Any shady characters in recently?”
He raised a brow. “Seriously?”
“Shadier than usual.”
All humor wiped from his voice. “What’s going on?”
“I’m being watched. Or I was. Iky noticed a shift.”
Dez’s hardened gaze spied the lopsided coatrack tucked against the wall. Forgotten threadbare coats clung to the hooks like leaves that wouldn’t die. It was Iky’s favorite place to lurk. Dez discovered Iky once when he most unceremoniously tossed another left-behind cloak and missed. A floating red garment gave even the regulars a scare.
“All right. Promise me you’ll take care?”
“Of course.” I rested my hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Sure.” Dez stood, spreading his hands wide and gesturing to the crowd. “I just came up with a new special, folks! Cured pig with red flakes.” A signal only local outlaws would truly understand: danger, potential spy.
For a moment, everyone stiffened. Eyes darted in erratic patterns before the slow murmuring of mundane conversation—weather, the royal family’s upcoming ball, anything other than what we were all here for—flitted through the air. With his coded warning in effect, Dez took up his place behind the counter, polishing glasses with one eye on the door and the other on his patrons.
Always assume they’re snitches.Dez’s previous warning rattled through my brain as I reached for the busted iron doorknob, a still-invisible Iky right on my heels. How long had my deal with the businessman taken? I’d stationed Iky behind me before that, which meant his hours in our plane were waning. I’d have to send him back to the beast sanctuary soon. With no time for delay, I pushed through the door and met the evening air with guarded eyes.
Staying in the tavern wasn’t an option. What if the Charmers Council had finally caught on to my crimes? I couldn’t jeopardize Dez or his establishment. This place was a haven for those who had nowhere else to go. Myself included.
I glanced east in the direction of Wilheim, our capital city. I’d never had the opportunity to pass through those gleaming white walls of marble and diamond. Stretching tall to kiss the underside of the clouds, the concentric, impenetrable towers guarded an impressive mountain where the royal family lived. Where the fortunate lived. Most of us scavenging on the outskirts were banned for one reason or another from passing through the magic-clad ivory gates.
Shaking my head, I quickened my pace. Though the royal family’s jurisdiction technically covered the continent of Lendria, everyone knew that law didn’t apply past those glistening stones. Out here, magic and darkness and questionable dealings reigned supreme. Iky let out another private whine, and my gaze jumped to the forest line. My stalker was back. Invisible to me, but not hidden from my beast’s senses. My destination was the train station, but if this lurker was from the Council, I didn’t want them getting a whiff of the Myad and stealing my beast. I needed to deal with the threat first.
I know you’re there, creep.
Flipping the collar of my jacket up, I picked my way down the winding dirt path away from Wilheim and the train depot. Lure them out, trap them, free and clear. Easy enough. The descending sun crept toward the riotous treetops of the Kitska Forest. Steeped in shadows, the dark leaves shivered in the dusk air, and a small whistling met my ears. The sheer density of the woods invited a certain level of hysteria to the unfamiliar—out here, one couldn’t tell the difference between a pair of eyes and oversize pinesco pods.
Needles and mulch crunched beneath my knee-high boots, and my feet screamed at the ache of unbroken leather pressing against my joints. Soon enough, I’d wear the boots in and be wishing for more bits to replace the holes.
A twig snapped in the distance, and I splayed out my right hand. One of the forest’s many monsters, or my stalker?
The Charmer’s symbol, a barren rosewood tree on the back of my right hand, exploded to life. A crisscross network of roots inked down my knuckles and wrapped around my fingertips in gnarled directions. Iky responded to the flux of power and distanced himself from me. Searching. Pursuing. The lack of his watery scent left me unnerved, but I needed to give my lurker a chance to strike. Then Iky would snare him.
A frigid breath skated along the back of my neck.
I whirled, thrusting my hand forward and focusing on the well of power humming beneath the surface. But Iky had done his job without fault. Just beyond my reach stood a tall, slender man dressed entirely in black. With a voluminous pompadour, thin-rimmed silver specs, and freshly polished dress shoes, he looked suited for a night in Wilheim—not a stroll in the Kitska Forest. His arms pressed flush to his sides, he was rendered immobile, and an unused, glittering black knife limply dangled from his gloved fingertips.
I dropped my hand, and the ink work along my skin receded. “Iky, be a dear.”
Iky materialized at last. Tall and amorphous with see-through skin, he adjusted his body constitution, color, and shape to suit my needs. With elongated arms, Iky had wrapped the man in a bundle, pressing him so tightly his chest struggled to inflate.
“Give him a bit more breathing room.”
Iky loosened his arms, and the man let out a sharp gasp. The shadows clinging to the forest’s limbs seemed to darken.
“Who are you?”
No response. Harsh ice-green eyes speared me. The high planes of his face sharpened, and a small vein throbbed along his temple.
“Why were you trying to kill me?” I glanced pointedly at the knife. He dropped it to the ground, and Iky nudged it toward me with a newly formed extremity. It receded as quickly as it appeared, folding back into his body mass with a quiet splash.
The man pursed thin lips, and a rattling breeze ushered in more thin shadows. It was no secret that these woods were cursed, but this darkness was thicker. Unfamiliar. Something else was going on here.
Deal with the threat, and get the hell out.
