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When I thought of artificing and arcane engineering, my mind went to cogs and gears, smiths and forges, not these twisting towers of what appeared to be giant beanstalks that spiraled into the sky. There was something organic about these structures, as if they’d grown out of the earth itself. Their exteriors were carpeted in colorful flowers, making the guild look like an enormous art installation, an absolute explosion of gorgeous blooms.

This guild was markedly quieter than the others, fewer people milling about, popping in and out of doorways carved into the bases of the stalks. Peering in I could see that they were all hollow, all of the artificing equipment and machinery set up inside the flowery buildings.

Before I had a chance to hail any of the artificers, a levitating crystal stopped just short of our faces, like two slender pyramids glued together at the base, spinning and gleaming in the sunlight.

Uh-oh. This was what I meant about security. This was probably one of their sentries that patrolled the grounds to make sure no one snuck in to steal the secrets of artificing. I fully expected the crystal to blaze red and blue while blaring like a siren.

Instead it trilled at us in a cheerful voice, sparkling in a series of vibrant colors.

“Hello, there! Welcome to the Halls of Making. How can I help you today?”

“Oh, um,” I stammered. “Hello. You artificers sure are full of surprises.”

More colors glimmered from the crystal’s many facets as it laughed. “That’s very kind of you, but I am not exactly a guild member. Not of this guild, at least. I was just dropping off some muffins.”

I could tell that Morrow was also caught off guard, but he made an admirable effort of ignoring the absence of both muffins and appendages to carry them with.

“My name is Theodore Morrow, and this is my partner, Jericho Frost. We’ve come to consult an artificer about some unusual trinkets circulating in our city.”

“Oh, here’s me forgetting my manners. My name is Lore. I highly recommend speaking to Jackson Pryde, in that building, right over there.” A beam of light projected from the crystal like a laser pointer to indicate the building in question. “He should be able to take a look at your problem. Sometimes he pretends to be busy to look important. If he does, tell him I sent you.”

I chuckled. “We will. Thanks for your help, Lore.”

In the fraction of a moment that I considered asking Lore who or what he was — both very rude questions, I acknowledge, but I was so, so curious — he trilled a friendly, “You’re most welcome!” and zipped off into the street.

Morrow blinked at the crystal as it disappeared into the crowd, then blinked at me. “Well, that was — different.”

“You’re telling me. Come on. Let’s go talk to this Jackson guy, see if he can’t answer some questions.”

Questions about the charms, obviously, but also about the friendly levitating crystal who’d greeted us.

Lore could have told us to follow the scent of freshly baked muffins, their sweet smell of brown sugar wafting out of the building. Machines lined the walls, the ambient clicking and clanking like white noise in the workshop. Large wooden tables laden with tools filled the rest of the room, each one holding an artificer’s work in progress.

Morrow and I carefully navigated the workshop, tiptoeing around the detritus on the floor: scraps of leather, twists of wire, a scattering of brass screws. We found our quarry deeper in the workshop, his hand deep in a large picnic basket as he groped around for his second brown sugar muffin of the day. Or so I assumed. Just guessing.

“Jackson Pryde?” I said.

The man with the crumbs in his mustache spoke around a mouthful of muffin. “Who’s asking?”

CHAPTER 14

We were three for three. Every Black Market guild member I’d met just happened to be blistering hot. First there was Theodore Morrow, and then Flint Lockstone, and now, the very sweaty and possibly inappropriately dressed Jackson Pryde. Was there something in the water? What were they feeding these guildies?

Not to judge Jackson or anything, but he was only wearing a black tank top, blue jeans, and work boots. Very little protection from any potential accidents in the workshop, but maybe he was just that skilled in artificing. Not that I had any reason to complain.

Either these artificers built plenty of muscle naturally from banging hammers and turning wrenches, or Jackson made sure to take time after work to hit the weights. Woof. Black curls fell in ringlets over his eyes, glossy from sweat or some hair product, I couldn’t tell, but it still had the effect of making him hotter. Smoldering. That was the word.

In my peripheral vision, I could tell that Morrow was once again holding himself taller, flexing every muscle in his body so tightly that his face verged on constipation. I knew I shouldn’t get used to his curious brand of not-so-subtle jealousy and possessiveness, but it felt nice to be — wanted? Was that the word? Valued? Protected?

“I’m Jericho Frost, and this is my associate, Theodore Morrow.” Using the same script as Morrow. Nice. He wasn’t going to call me his partner, I wasn’t going to, either.

“We’re from Occultech,” Morrow added. “There’s something unsavory going on in our city — arcane distortions everywhere — and it’s affecting the mundanes. We were hoping you could help us with our — ”

“Out of the question,” Jackson said. “Don’t work with corpos. You’ll have to take your business elsewhere.”

“Flint Lockstone sent us,” I said. “And Lore, too. They said we should at least ask.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Flint’s a pain in my ass, and Lore’s nice to everyone. Doesn’t mean you’re worth my time. On my lunch break. Come back later. Maybe never.”