It had also been a surprise to learn that he was vargulf. The report had seemed to suggest it, but most outcast wolves look like the guys I’d met in the drain. They weren’t hard-muscled types with thick dark hair and assessing brown eyes. And although the few I’d come across still smelled like Clan, there had always been a faintly sour undertone to it. Cyrus had smelled good, rich and male and musky-sweet.
I looked around and wondered what surprise I was supposed to find here.
I decided to start with the couch, because it was the most disgusting thing in the room and I wanted to get it out of the way. I’d already been over it once and had found nothing under the dust and ash except a few hundred cigarette butts shoved between the seats. The fire had eaten away one side, but given up halfway, probably because of the soggy state of the moldy cushions.
The remaining fabric was coming apart and a hole gnawed in one end raised the possibility of rats. I pushed my useless flashlight in there and rattled it around. Nothing ran out, so I formed a shield around my hand and poked it through the hole. And immediately felt something weird.
I pulled out a small velvet pouch that looked pretty new—no mold, no smoke damage, no bite marks—and opened it. Inside were three gold charms, each in the form of a miniscule wolf. All were different, all were beautifully made, and all were powerful. I could feel the hum of their energy even through the shield, a thrumming beat, almost like the pulse of tiny hearts.
Despite working with Caleb and Jamie for two weeks, I wasn’t an expert on wards. But I knew quality when I saw it. These had to be worth a small fortune, especially now, with prices inflated due to the war. So what the hell were they doing here? And what, if anything, did they have to do with Cyrus?
I wrapped them in one of my socks, having run out of handkerchiefs, and stuffed them in an inner pocket of my coat. I tagged the body on the way out, to let patrol know it was mine, and picked up the slug ward—now extra slimy—off the floor. I stuck it back on my skin without looking at it.
Calling in had to wait until I made it back to the mouth of the drain, where I was able to get decent reception. Caleb must have still been at lunch, because I actually got through.
“Sedgewick’s frothing at the mouth,” he told me, without so much as a hello. “The man is pissed.”
“He’s always pissed.”
“Yeah. Not like this. You need to get back here.”
“I’m working on that. By the way, have any licensed wardsmiths reported a robbery lately? A big one?”
“The Black Circle’s hit a few places,” he said slowly. “What are we talking about here?”
“Wolves. Powerful. Expensive. Three of them. I don’t know what they do yet.”
“I thought you were looking for your boyfriend?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’ve noticed that with you. But no, no wolves.” And that settled that. Because Caleb would know. He didn’t usually work in the Dungeon, but he’d been there for three months since his injury. And he was the kind who paid attention.
“Thanks. Uh, and can you let patrol know that there’s a body in that drain off 91?”
“Another one?”
“Yeah. Tell them to bring a baggie.”
“Lia…” He sighed. “Just be careful, all right?”
“Aren’t I always?” I hung up before he could answer that, and went to collect my guide.
He was taking photos for a family, but dropped the camera when he saw me emerge from the wash. I waited until the tourists drove off, then crossed the street. He looked a little pale. In retrospect, I probably should have used the handkerchief on my face before making it into a bandage. Oh, well, too late now.
“What…what…”
“You were right. Those kappas are a bitch. Any other mysterious new monsters suddenly turn up anywhere?” He shook his head, wide-eyed. “How about wardsmiths? You know any of them?”
He blinked. “Like personally?”
“Like any way.”
“There’s lots in the tunnels. Everybody’s making wards now.”
Yeah, like the idiot who had done the protection ward on the cave. But the charlatans getting rich off people’s wartime paranoia weren’t who I needed. Becoming a master or even a journeyman wardsmith took decades of training. No fly-by-night con man had made those wolves.
“I’m talking about someone good. Someone professional.”
“If they were good, they wouldn’t be in the drains.”
Normally, I’d have agreed, but I didn’t think the guys who attacked me had had the money to buy those wards. And no local, licensed wardsmiths had been robbed. So whoever had made the wolves either wasn’t from around here, or wasn’t licensed.
“I guess we’ll just have to stay here, then,” I told him. “And clean out those kappas.”
“There’s a guy who hangs out at Tilda’s Place, over by the Tropicana,” Dieter said quickly. “They say he’s pretty good.”
I smiled. “Let’s go find out.”
Chapter 7
I peered into the dark drain dubiously. “There’s a bar down there?”
Dieter nodded. “Tilda’s. It’s been there forever. The dwarves like to drink at her place, so they cut her a deal on the rent.”
“Dwarves?”
He scowled. “Yeah. Nasty little fuckers. They run the market.”
I peered into the maybe eight-by-six tunnel again. I spotted cockroaches, spiders and a few creepy orange crawfish. But no people—of any kind. “There’s a market down there?”
He shot me a pitying look. “You don’t know much, do you?”
“Lately, it doesn’t feel like it.”
“It’s one of the biggest in Tartarus. And they know it, too. You wouldn’t believe what they wanted to charge me for a booth. So I tried just walking around, hitting the entrances and stuff, you know? And they still wanted to charge me! Like, I wasn’t even sitting down and—” He stopped abruptly. “You know, come to think of it, there are probably other wardsmiths if I ask around.”
I grabbed him by the back of the shirt as he started off. “Let me guess. The dwarves don’t like you, either.”
“They might have said something about not coming back.”
“For how long?”
“Like, you know. Ever.”
“Then we’ll do this quick.”
The tunnel curved after half a dozen yards, blocking out the rectangle of light behind us. Smothering blackness came crushing in on all sides, and the ward hiding the market had no telltale light leaking through to help me zero in on its location. I could feel it, buzzing somewhere up ahead, but couldn’t quite—
A skinny young guy with spiked red hair came barreling out of a wall on a wash of light, pushing an overloaded shopping cart. He skidded to a halt, the cart’s wheels making tracks in the muck. “Potion supplies?” he asked, not missing a beat.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s one of the main reasons your type comes down here,” Dieter said, as the vendor started pawing through his mobile shop. “It’s either buy contraband, hire an assassin or find a good time. And you look like you could do your own killing.”
“What about the good time?”
The vendor suddenly thrust something into my face—something brown and scaly, with a gaping maw of teeth. I put two bullets in it before I realized it wasn’t moving. It landed on the floor a few feet away, spinning slowly on its curved shell.
“If you ask me, you could use one,” Dieter said, swallowing. “You’re real tense.”
“You shot it, you bought it,” the vendor added, picking up the still-smoking carcass.
“What the hell is it?”