Page 23 of The Thief's Mark

While the dockmaster rolled and moaned on the wooden planks, Cal knelt beside the boy. Griff couldn’t hear what he said, but whatever it was seemed to ease the boy’s coiled tension. Griff caught the glint of silver as Cal passed the boy a handful of sestas—a small fortune for someone working in a place like this. Coins in hand, the boy cast one last fearful glance toward the fallen dockmaster, then scampered off.

The barkeep had watched all of that unfold with a look of mild disinterest. “Hurry up,” he snapped as Cal rejoined them. “The boss is waiting.”

Acting the part of an annoyed inspector, Griff yanked on Cal’s arm to forcibly tug him along. “You heard him, thief. Pull a stunt like that again, and I’ll make you regret it.”

They resumed their winding course through the makeshift docks. Once Griff was certain the bartender wasn’t listening, he leaned close to Cal and whispered, “Why did you help that boy?”

At first, he thought Cal wouldn’t reply. Then, his voice tight with restrained emotion, Cal said, “Because someone should.”

Surprise ricocheted through Griff. He stared at the back of Cal’s head as Cal quickened his pace. That wasn’t the sort of answer he’d expected from Blackjack. Noting the roiling emotion in Cal’s aura, blotchy red mixed with deep streaks of sorrowful blue, he let it go.

Perhaps there was more to the thief than simple greed after all.

At last, the barkeep stopped before an unmarked door deep in the heart of the complex. Steeling himself, Griff mentally ran through the plan he and Cal had come up with before entering.

Bald Locke sat inside behind a surprisingly elegant desk. The smuggler lord grinned menacingly as he rose and proffered a hand to Griff, which he reluctantly shook.

“Inspector. So good to see you again!” Bald Locke’s smile sharpened when he glanced at Cal. “And it looks like this time you’ve brought me a gift. I’m flattered.”

“After your men jumped me, I thought it prudent to try and sort this out,” Griff replied, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

Bald Locke adopted an apologetic wince. “Sorry for the mix-up, Inspector.” His gaze flicked to Cal. “It seems we were both interested in the same prize. How about this? Hand Blackjack over to me along with what he stole. In exchange, I’ll make this nasty business between us go away—wipe the slate clean. You can even have Blackjack to turn in…or at least, what’s left of him once I’m done making an example of him for stealing from the Brotherhood.”

“Technically,” Cal chimed in from beside Griff, “I stole from that protector, not from the Brotherhood. You’d already made the exchange.”

Griff watched Bald Locke closely for his reaction. His stomach sank when neither Bald Locke’s face nor his aura registered any confusion or surprise. He’d been holding out hope, but Bald Locke’s lack of denial all but confirmed Cal’s assertion correct: at least one protector was involved with the orb.

Locke shrugged, narrowing his eyes on Cal. “True. But it’s the principle of the thing. Can’t have word getting around and others afraid to do business with us.” He turned back to Griff. “Now, do we have a deal, Inspector?”

Griff glanced at Cal. He pretended to consider the offer for a moment before shaking his head. “I have a counterproposal. How aboutyougive me all the information you have on whoever hired you to procure that void relic, andIdon’t arrest you for smuggling such an incredibly illicit object or sending your henchmen to attack an officer of the law.”

Appearing amused rather than impressed by Griff’s threat, Bald Locke leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers on his desk. “Come now, Inspector. We both know any charges you brought against me would never stick.”

“Maybe not,” Griff admitted. “But I can’t imagine all that extra scrutiny would be much good for business either. Especially once word got out about what tipped us off.”

Locke’s smiled vanished, replaced by a glare. Throughout their exchange, Griff had kept a close eye on his aura. Like most criminals Griff had encountered—minus the rather large and perplexing exception of Cal—his aura was a tattered mess, its colors dark and splotchy, evoking a sense of something torn beyond repair.

Still that scrutiny saved his life. Locke’s aura flaring crimson was the only warning Griff got as he raised the Vantoric shotgun hidden behind his desk and pulled the trigger.

Griff leaped to the side just in time to avoid taking the blast directly to the chest. Heat flared in his side as the expelledforce ripped at his flesh. He hit the floor hard. Gritting his teeth against the fiery tendrils of pain racking his wound, he rose in a crouch, unholstering his revolver and aiming it toward Locke.

His eyes widened when he saw that Cal had already leaped across the desk. He and Bald Locke were grappling for control of the shotgun as Cal attempted to wrench it from his grasp.

Griff hesitated, the barrel of his revolver wavering.Merciful Light!With the two of them so close, he couldn’t get a good shot.

As he watched, Cal’s skin rippled with shadowy flames. Within seconds, the visage of Blackjack had disappeared. In its place was an exact replica of Bald Locke, right down to the same grimy ponytail and angry snarl.

It wasn’t much, so far as tricks went. But suddenly being face-to-face with himself caught the real Bald Locke off-guard just long enough for Cal to finally win the tug-of-war. Shotgun in hand, Cal stepped back.

The instant Cal was out of the way, Griff aimed at Locke, flicked a button in the revolver’s side to select the fourth cartridge, and fired. A net erupted around Locke in a brief flare of azure runeflame, ensnaring him as easily as it had Cal earlier.

Griff puffed out a breath as the captured crime lord toppled to the floor. The threat had been neutralized.

He staggered, suddenly lightheaded. Only then did he notice the blood soaking his side beneath his torn coat. That shotgun blast might’ve only been a glancing wound, but it was still serious enough to take him out of commission if he let it.

First things first.

Forcing himself to remain steady and project strength, he leveled his revolver at the struggling Locke. “So,” he said through clenched teeth. “Do we have a deal?”