Page 22 of The Thief's Mark

“I don’t know,” Griff said. “I’m an investigator, not a magical scholar.”

Cal rolled his eyes. Griff couldn’t help noticing that they were a deep ocean-blue, at least in his current disguise. It offered a striking contrast to his black hair and angular face. “Sure. What I meant was, what’s itlike. Do you just see swirling colors everywhere?”

The conversation was making Griff increasingly uncomfortable, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. Perhaps it was the simple knowledge that he was sitting here in a tavern, sharing something so personal with the man he’d spent the past couple years hunting. Like they were friends instead of hated enemies.

“Sometimes. I often think of them in terms of colors, but it’s more like…a sensation. Everything—every object, every person—has an aura. Some are faint, some are strong. But each is unique.”

Suddenly feeling like he’d said too much—way more than he’d meant to—he turned away from Cal, hoping the thief would take the hint. But of course, he didn’t.

“And mine?” Cal asked eagerly. “You mentioned something before about sensing duskflame in my aura. What did you mean?”

Griff recalled the aura he’d sensed from Cal’s Cassandra disguise: bright and warm, like a splash of mid-morning sunlight against his cheek. He shoved the memory away, scowling at the back door.By the Goddess, what’s taking the Void-cursed bartender so long?

“It doesn’t matter,” Griff said, his voice terse. “Your aura was a lie, just like everything else about you.” His fingers played with the silver band around his left wrist. “But don’t think that just because you fooled me once, it will be so easy again. Not now that I’m onto you.”

Cal snorted. Griff resisted the urge to turn when he heard the thief shifting around on his stool. “Wow. You think everything about me is a lie? You give me too much credit, Inspector. I didn’t realize you thought so highly of me.”

Anger flared in him, and he spun toward Cal before he could think better of it. “Highly? People like you think they can step all over everyone else without a care in the world. You don’t care about anyone or anything but yourself.”

Cal met his glare without flinching. He gave a dark chuckle as he rested his hands together on the bar. The silver band on his wrist caught and reflected the torchlight. “That’s rich, coming from a prottie. Tell me, what’s it like to gaze down at us common folk from up there on your high horse? Does it feel good, being socertain that you’re better than us just because of that badge you lot flash around with such unearned pride?”

Griff’s hands tightened into fists in his lap. His eyes narrowed on Cal. “My badge signifies my commitment to serving the people of Sanjarka. I’ve devoted my life to keeping this city safe from those who wish to take advantage of it. Men like you and Bald Locke—you’re all the same. Looking to make a quick gallant or stroke your ego, and to the Void with everyone else!”

“Really?” Cal leaned in. An uncomfortable sensation jittered in Griff’s gut at the slanted smirk the thief flashed him. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it was one ofyourprottie buddies I saw strolling out of here with an illegal relic leaking voidflame. I may only be looking out for myself, but at least I’m self-aware enough to admit it.”

“If you’re not lying about that, too,” Griff said.

The two of them stared at each other for a long, tense moment. When Griff heard the creak of an opening door, he finally ripped his gaze away, struggling to calm his racing pulse as the bartender stepped back into the room.

The barkeep gestured at them, and Griff rose. “Come on,” Griff muttered, pointedly avoiding Cal’s eyes. “Let’s go get this over with.”

Cal silently followed him over to the bartender, who led them down a narrow flight of stairs. Griff made a point of surveying his surroundings as they went. Cal had explained the rough layout on the way to The Last Drop, but it was Griff’s first time here, and he found the warren of narrow walkways and dark recesses confusing.

When the barkeep’s back was turned, he casually removed his glasses so he could use his aura-sight to better watch for any magical traps or hidden ambushers. Cal snuck a curious glance at him but remained silent.

Griff had to hand it to Cal: the arrogant thief was good at playing the cowed captive. Griff might’ve even believed it himself if not for their conversation above.

He couldn’t resist sneaking a peek at Cal’s aura now that his glasses were off. He was half-convinced what he’d seen in the apartment had been an odd fluke, but he found the aura largely unchanged. The kaleidoscopic swirl of colors still shone, calling out to him in a way that was difficult to ignore.

It left him more confused than ever. How the Void could a thief like Blackjack have an aura like that? It didn’t make any sense. Over the years, Griff had grown used to trusting his instincts, and that aura made him want to put his faith in Cal: a foolish proposition if he’d ever heard one.

They emerged from the stairs into a hidden cove lined with docks. Forcing his eyes away, he spotted a young boy no older than ten out along one of the many scattered piers. The boy stood hunched over, an older grizzled man scolding him for having done something wrong.

Griff winced when the dockmaster smacked the boy in the side of the head hard enough to knock him off his feet. Griff tightened his grip on his pistol but resisted the urge to step in. He couldn’t risk their mission by getting involved. The best way to help the boy and others like him would be to gather enough evidence that no amount of bribed city officials could stop Bald Locke from ending up behind bars.

Shock rippled through him when Cal tore free from his grip. “Hey, leave him alone!” Cal shouted, striding toward the dockmaster. They were close enough that the pacifier cuff should remain in range so long as Griff didn’t move.

The dockmaster glanced toward Cal with a throaty, wheezing laugh. “What nonsense is this? Who are you to be telling me how to run my dock? Keep walking and mind your own business.”

Cal inserted himself between the dockmaster and the boy, his fists raised. “Thisismy business.”

The dockmaster’s face twisted in a scowl. Griff tensed when he saw the dockmaster ready a swing. His fingers trailed toward his revolver in case things got out of hand.

But Cal must’ve seen the same telegraph as Griff because he easily bobbed to the side around the dockmaster’s wild strike. Grabbing the man’s arm, he used his momentum to tug him down and ram a knee into his crotch. The dockmaster cried out, doubling over. A final elbow to the back of his neck sent him crumpling to the wooden planks.

It was a brutal show of force, the kind Griff would never have opted for himself. Still, he couldn’t help admiring Cal’s efficiency. He’d known the thief could fight after that brawl earlier, but he hadn’t seen how Cal had taken down those two Brotherhood thugs.

Now he could make a pretty good guess. Cal’s movements looked too rough to be trained, but he’d clearly picked up a thing or two about hand-to-hand combat. And judging by that knee to the crotch, he also wasn’t afraid to fight dirty.