by A. D. Winter
“Is that your thing?” I asked. “Keeping an eye out for helpless young women to save so you can take them out?”
“If that were the case,” he replied, “I’d be dead by now.”
“Perhaps,” I said. “But maybe that’s what you’re into.”
His brow furrowed. “I helped you because it was the right thing to do.”
As an inquisitor, I’d been trained to tell when someone was lying. I studied him closely, looking for signs of falseness. Nothing.
When the server returned, he rested the drinks and food on the table. The scent of roasted meat filled my senses, and I was suddenly struck by how hungry I was.
Using the chopsticks, I shoved one of the tender squares of meat into my mouth and let out a tiny moan as my taste buds exploded from the salty pleasure.
“You like it?” Dryden asked with an expectant smile.
I nodded like a wild woman. “Like it? You’d better eat yours before I finish it for you.”
He returned to his plate, seeming pleased with my answer.
I dug into my food, nearly breathing it in. I’d never tasted something so delicious, nor had I ever been able to afford such a dish. I relished it with every bite.
But after a while, I was thrust back into my world of problems. I thought about the fae in the church, her back cracking with awful force. How could a warlock have done that, and to a fae, no less? I knew a thing or two about magic users, but there was obviously still a lot more I had to learn.
“Are you okay?” Dryden asked.
I looked up at the blond wizard, ignoring his question. “Tell me about wizardry,” I said.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
I listened closely as he explained. He spoke clearly and concisely, like a professor reading from a book. It was done so well that I actually found myself paying attention.
“In the end,” he continued, “there are three types of magic users.”
“What are the differences?” I asked.
“Money, knowledge, and influence.”
I threw my head back in frustration. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he replied. “Look, we all start out the same. You find a wizard. You offer your services, and in return they give you knowledge.”
“Like an apprenticeship?”
“Exactly.”
“So, what type of knowledge?” I asked.
He shrugged. “How to pick herbs. How to concoct remedies. Simple stuff like that.”
“Potions?”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You really are obsessed with this potion maker, aren’t you?”
“I need to find him,” I said. “And soon. But in order to do so, I need to know all I can about wizardry.”
“Very well,” he said. “Now, if the apprentice shows great promise, the master may choose to sponsor them onto the Isles.”
The Isles. I knew this place. A college for witches and wizards that was located off the northern coast of Salvation. I’d never been to them before, but from what I’d heard of them, I knew they weren’t a vacation spot.
“The Isles are … difficult,” Dryden explained. “But important. If you can avoid assassination while passing your classes, you can become a graduate.”
“Is that what you are?” I asked.
He shot me a suspicious glance before continuing. “I studied there for a time,” he admitted. “But that was before I was forced to leave.”
“You were forced?” I asked. “Why? Let me guess—you were caught sleeping with a teacher.”
He laughed softly to himself and then leaned over the table with a grin. “I was never caught.”
“Nice,” I said. “So, what’s the third?”
“I’m sorry?” he asked, about to take a sip of his ale.
“The third,” I replied. “You said that there are three types of wizard. What’s the third?”
His face darkened, and he lowered his gaze to the table. “Have you ever seen a dragon die?”
I shook my head.
“They lie on the ground, wheezing and panting, until suddenly, all at once, they explode from the inside. It’s an amazing sight. Many people don’t know this, but the reason dragons breathe fire is because they can’t control it. It builds and builds until finally the dragon has to let it loose, or it’ll be consumed by it. And that’s how masters are.”
“Masters?”
“They’re internally consumed by magic, or rather, their obsession with it. They have to get better and better until their entire existence is built upon it. They lose touch with the real world, with their families, with reality itself.
“The fae do their best to conceal it. But they exist, even if their numbers are few. I personally have only come across one in my entire life.”
“And who was that?” I asked.
“Someone I’ll never see again.”
I quieted as an old man with a cane hobbled by our table. He glanced at us through his glasses and smiled, as if thinking we were young lovers on a date. At his side, a young girl struggled to steer him through the restaurant. When they were gone, Dryden spoke.
“So, are you going to tell me why you’re looking for this potion maker?” he asked.
“Because of this.” I tossed the vial across the table, and he caught it with a levitation spell. “You’ve seen that before?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said, taking another sip of his ale. “It’s a possession charm. So what?”
“Not this one,” I said. “This one’s different.”
“What are you talking about?”
“This isn’t for humans,” I said. “This is for fae.”
He halted the brim of his mug before his lips, and I saw the look of puzzlement on his face. “Impossible.”
“It’s true,” I said. “I saw it happen before my own eyes.”
“If that’s true, then you should forget about it and go back to the Order.”
“Why?”
“Because it’ll mean your death.”
“I’ve got news for you, mate. I’m already past that point. Now, I need your help. I need you to help me find the warlock who made that.”
“Warlock?” He nearly spit out his ale. “You’re chasing down a warlock?”
“It’s the only type of magic user who could make something like this.”
“Warlocks don’t exist,” he said. “They’re gone, dead, rounded up and done away with.”
“Just like the Thorns?” I asked.
He set his mug on the table and looked at me.
“I need to do this,” I said. “And you’re the only one who can help me.”
He considered me for a moment, his eyes like aquamarines. “And what do I get in return?”
“What do you want?” I asked.
“There’s a case,” he said, “a convicted criminal who’s doing time in the cells. If I help you, you have to promise me that you’ll reopen his case.”
“What case?” I asked.
“Elias Winslow.”
Elias Winslow? I scoffed, nearly laughing. “The serial killer?”
Dryden looked away, shame tightening his features. “I have a reason to believe he’s innocent.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked. “And what makes you think that?”
“Let’s just say I have my sources.”
“No,” I said. “You’ll have to do a lot better than that.”
“I can’t,” he said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because I can’t betray their trust.”
“Look,” I said. “You obviously have a good heart. But this goes way too far, even for a crusader like you.”
“Then I can’t help you.”
I stared at him across the table. If I’d still been an inquisitor, I could’ve forced him to cooperate. But I wasn’t. I was just a vigilante trying to save my life. And because of that, I had no choice but to negotiate.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll se
e what I can do.”
“No,” he said. “I need a promise. I need you to swear to me that you’ll reopen the case and do what you can to clear his name.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Swear it,” he demanded.
I stared at him, startled by the determination on his brow. “Fine,” I said. “I swear it.”
He studied me for a moment, as if sniffing my magical signature for mistruth, and finally nodded. “Very well. In that case, we’ll need another round.” He waved over the server.
“When do we go?” I asked.
“The sun will be up soon,” he said. “That’ll be the best time, especially where we’re going.”
“And where’s that?” I asked.
“To the Cauldron.”
13
James
James Barton looked up from his desk as he heard a knock at the door. He didn’t like to be interrupted, especially when he was hard at work.
But the young fae’s death had stirred the entire department into a frenzy, and he could feel the eyes of the high inquisitor glancing over his shoulder like a shadow on the wall.
He shut the file of the murdered fae and quickly slid it into his drawer, making sure there was no sign of it left on his desk. When it was clear, he turned to the door and replied in a commanding voice. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Barton saw a young man with a shaved head. It was Kalligan, his new initiate.
“Pardon me, my lord,” the young man said. “But it appears there’s been a problem.”
Barton snorted. There’s always a problem. “Very well. What is it?”
“An assault, my lord … in the Forgotten Quarter.”
Barton frowned. “An assault in the Forgotten Quarter? You interrupted me just to tell me about an assault in the Forgotten Quarter, the most dangerous part of the city? What’s next? That ice is cold. Get out of here before I assign you to toilet duties for the rest of the year.”
The initiate blinked in fear. “Um, yes, my lord.” He was just about to shut the door when he added, “I just thought you should know that the description of the suspect is that of a female inquisitor.”
Barton stopped what he was doing, struck by a familiar ache in his belly, and sat up in his chair. “Take me to the cells.”
“Who knows about this?” Barton demanded as he marched down the hallway to the interrogation room. He was fuming. Worse, he was worried. Something like this could ruin everything.
“Just the desk clerk, my lord,” Kalligan answered, hurrying to keep pace. “And myself.”
“No one else?”
Kalligan shook his head. “No, my lord.”
“Good. Keep it that way.”
Barton’s hands curled at his sides. There was only one person in the entire Order who would’ve helped her escape. Igama. His teeth nearly cracked as he thought of the old shaman. But he couldn’t do anything. Not now. Not when he was so close. No, he would deal with him later.
“My lord,” Kalligan began in a cautious tone.
“What is it?”
“Are you sure we shouldn’t involve the high inquisitor? Surely something of this magnitude needs to be—”
Barton slammed the young initiate against the wall. “Let me make this perfectly clear,” he warned through a clenched jaw. “If I discover that you or anyone else went over my head to notify the high inquisitor, I’ll make sure that your next post is directing traffic in the Forgotten Quarter. Is that understood?”
Kalligan quickly nodded.
“Excellent.” Barton released his grip and stepped back from the young man. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I’d like to interview the victims—by myself.”
“Very well, my lord.”
Barton watched as Kalligan set off down the hallway. Once he disappeared around the corner, Barton opened the door and stepped into the interrogation room.
The reek of burnt skin and body odor slapped his senses with brute force, and he had to cover his mouth to keep from retching. By Salvation’s gutters, what is that stench?
The victims—a group of orcs and one troll—were crowded around a wooden desk, barely able to fit as they clutched their bleeding wounds and broken appendages. They perked up when they saw Barton.
“Are you the one we need to speak to?” asked the one in the middle.
“That depends,” Barton replied. “Are you the ones who wish to make a complaint?”
“Yeah, that’s us.” The orc sat up straight, as if he was the voice for the entire group. “One of your inquisitors beat the living snot out of us, and we want decompensation.”
“I think you mean compensation,” the orc at his side said.
The leader punched him in the face, nearly knocking out the other orc’s teeth. “Yeah. What he said.”
Barton leaned over the desk, glancing at the troll, who was sitting in the corner. He was teary-eyed, and his hands were clutched between his legs. “What’s wrong with him?” Barton asked.
“Punched in the crown jewels, so to speak,” the orc replied. “But he’ll be all right.”
Barton heaved a sigh. He’d seen this mess before, the never-ending violence that seemed to follow Ivy like a plague. He remembered when he’d sent her to get him lunch from a local deli once, only for her to return with two shifters and a witch, who she’d thought had been stealing.
Still, he couldn’t leave any stone unturned. “Can you describe the inquisitor who did this to you?”
“Sure,” the orc replied. “About your height, dark hair, pretty face.”
“A bit rude,” added the other orc.
The leader scowled, frustrated by the interruption, and the other orc recoiled in his seat.
“What he said,” the leader added.
“Do you know why she did this to you?” Barton asked.
The leader gave an innocent shrug. “We were just walking down the alley, minding our own business.”
Barton nodded. “Of course you were.”
Enough of this.
He grabbed the orc by his nose ring and yanked him over the table. The orc screamed out in protest, but Barton held on firmly, relying on the strength of his spirits.
“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Barton said, glaring at the other orcs. “Why did she do this to you?”
Disturbed by the suffering of their leader, the group quickly looked up and began to talk.
“I overheard her talking about a potion,” one volunteered quickly. “With one of the witches.”
“Yeah,” another added. “Something about the Thorns.”
The Thorns? On instinct, Barton glanced at the door. It was common for the Order to have mages listening in on interrogations. He could only hope that Kalligan had kept his promise. “Where was she headed?” Barton asked.
“We don’t know,” said one of the orcs.
Barton gave a twist to the orc’s nose ring, and the leader’s screams grew even louder. “I’m sorry?” Barton angled his ear to the group.
“I think I saw them heading over to the next street,” one of the orcs finally confessed.
“What street?” Barton asked.
“In the Qin district,” another added.
Qin district? Barton snorted. Of course.
Barton let go of the ring, allowing the orc to fall back into his seat, then turned his attention to the corner of the room, thinking.
So Ivy was still following the case. His fist tightened as frustration coursed through his veins. Her trail would draw attention, and with it, the eyes of the Order. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let her impulsivity unearth everything he’d been working on for the past few years. He had to stop her—at all costs.
“What about our compensation?” the leader asked, his voice muddy with blood.
Barton looked at him, awakened from his thoughts. “I’ll tell you what—I’ll let you walk out of here on your own two legs. How does that sound?”
The orcs exchanged a glance, and
he could see the delicious trepidation in their eyes.
Slowly the group rose as one, careful as they passed by the lord sergeant, and rushed out into the hallway.
Barton waited until they were all gone before he set off to find Luis. The young man was at his desk, poring over the files that were impeccably arranged before him.
“Luis,” Barton said.
The young inquisitor bolted to his feet. “My lord?”
“Follow me.” Barton opened the door to his office and motioned for Luis to enter. When they were inside, Barton opened the safe in the wall. Inside was the cat’s maw he’d stolen from a murder case he’d investigated decades before.
Luis’s eyes went wide as he saw it. “Is that a—?”
“I need you to assemble your best inquisitors,” Barton whispered carefully. “Only the ones you trust. No one outside your group. After you’ve finished, meet me outside in half an hour. Tell no one.”
“But, my lord, for what?”
Barton’s eyes narrowed as he studied the young man. He was a sniveling sycophant. But he was also dependable, and his need for promotion made him controllable. Still, Barton needed to be careful. “How committed are you to the Order?”
Luis thought for a moment, then quickly straightened. “With my entire soul, my lord.”
“Good.” Barton pulled his white gloves from his jacket and slipped them on. “Then I’m sure I can rely on you to do what is necessary.”
“And what is that, my lord?”
“Help me tie up a loose end.”
14
Ivy
I knew this place, unfortunately.
It had been a part of my life once, and like all things rotten, I’d done everything I could to forget it.
“Is something wrong?” Dryden asked, seeming to notice the worry in my face. “You look paler than before, if that’s even possible.”
“Why did you bring me here?” I asked.
“Because you asked me to.”
I motioned at the dilapidated buildings lining the street. “But this is Orphan’s Row.”
“Correction,” Dryden said. “It used to be Orphan’s Row. Now it’s called the Cauldron.”
