Page 26 of The Thief's Mark

That was apparently the wrong thing to say. The bartender crowded in even closer, right up in Cal’s face. His eyes flashed. “Dirt is one thing. A floor’s supposed to be dirty, especially in a place like this. But I don’t wantanyone’sbodily fluids—spit or otherwise—infecting my workspace. The boss gavemeauthority over how things are done up here. And I say that you and the other bilge rats keep your spit in your mouth where it belongs. Is that understood?”

The absurdity of the situation made Cal want to laugh. An hour ago, he’d been relaxing in one of his usual safe houses after a successful heist. Now, here he was helping his wounded captor escape from a mob boss while a criminal thug lectured him on proper bar etiquette.

“Sorry,” he said, struggling to keep a straight face. “My mistake.”

The bartender glared at him a moment longer, then slowly nodded, retreating back behind the bar. “Yeah. It is. If you’re so worried about the cleanliness up here, you can grab a mop and bucket and help out once you’ve taken out the trash. I’m sure the boys’ll be happy to help.”

The scattered people at the tables laughed and leered. Somehow, Cal doubted that.

He hurried as fast as he could with Griff propped against him past the tables and out the door. Thank the Dark he’d never need to return to fulfill that particular duty.

Once they were outside, Cal took a moment to glance up and down the street. Clouds gathered in the sky overhead, casting a dreary pall over the city.

Their hasty plan had only gone as far as confronting Bald Locke for information on the void orb. Now that that was done, he wasn’t sure where to go next.

His Cassandra safe house was closest to here, but it had already been compromised. He didn’t put it past Balde Locke to send more goons after them the first chance he got. Most of his other safe houses were too far from here to reach safely in Griff’s current state. Certainly not without risking unwanted attention.

That only left one option.

“Come on,” Cal sighed, steering Griff left toward the ocean. “I’ve got a place we can go.” He took it as a worrying sign when Griff didn’t argue.

The journey didn’t take long, even with the limping inspector. The little house sat nestled along the shoreline amid a section of broken rocks too jagged to offer much use to ships. Though little more than a shack on the outside, Cal had taken pains to make the inside cozy. He’d gone so far as to decorate with a handful of paintings that caught his fancy, and a comfortable rug that was as soft and plush as it was faded and threadbare.

The place wasn’t anything fancy—Cal had plenty of other more lavish safe houses to maintain his wealthier personas or to stash portions of his ill-earned loot. This was where he came when he wanted to relax and unwind.

It had been the first place he’d bought in the city after setting off on his own. It was the closest thing he had to a true home…which made it weirdly intimate to have Griff there bleeding over everything.

Griff must’ve been keeping himself upright through sheer stubbornness because the instant Cal got him inside to the bed, Griff collapsed onto it with a groan. Cal eyed the inspector, hesitating a moment before reluctantly allowing his duskflame disguise to drop.

Though he could maintain the magic for long stretches without much issue, it did gradually drain his internal reserve of duskflame. And with how much he’d been using it, he could do with a chance to recover. It meant revealing his true appearance to the inspector for the first time, but that couldn’t be helped. Besides, one glance at Griff was enough to tell that he had other things on his mind right now than what Cal looked like.

Once he had Griff situated on the bed, he checked the wound in his side, then winced. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but he could see the torn flesh through the hole in Griff’s tunic. At least Vantoric weapons fired blasts of force rather than actual bullets so there was no need to worry about any shrapnel lodged in the wound.

“I don’t suppose you know how to treat this?” he asked Griff hopefully. For all his other skills, Cal was no healer.

Griff’s eyes were closed, but he managed a weak shake of his head. “You should…put something…on the wound.”

Right, of course. Cal searched around the space before mournfully selecting one of his favorite blankets from the foot of the bed. He wrapped it around the wound as best he could, grateful that Griff at least pretended every touch wasn’t utter agony.

That taken care of, Cal studied Griff’s wan face with a frown. “I’m not sure if that’ll be enough.” A sudden thought sprang to mind. “Icouldgo fetch help or medicine for you.” He raised his wrist and waggled it before Griff’s face. Though Griff’s eyes were closed, he couldn’t have missed the light tinkling of the pacifier cuff there. “Of course, that would mean letting me off my leash.”

Slowly, Griff’s eyes creaked open. Despite his current frailty, they remained sharp as ever as they regarded Cal.

Cal realized the inspector still wasn’t wearing his glasses. Did that mean he was reading Cal’s aura right now? Anuncomfortable tremor scoured his back at the notion. It left him feeling far too exposed.

After a long, interminable moment, Griff closed his eyes again and gave a weary nod. “All right.”

Cal felt certain he must have misheard. “All…right?”

But Griff nodded again. “All right, I’ll remove the cuff.” A brief grimace flickered across his face, perhaps from a flash of pain. “I know a Sunseeker sage you can go to—someone who will help and be discreet about it.”

The inspector rattled off an address. Then, with a strength that must have rivaled that of the Immortals, Griff forced his eyes back open and shifted in bed to raise a trembling hand. “Here, give me your wrist.”

Cal could hardly believe his luck. The inspector must be more out of it than he’d realized. Or just that desperate, if he was willing to risk his quarry like this.

A large part of him still expected some sort of trick as he held out his wrist. But true to his word, Griff unhooked the cuff’s clasp. His trembling hand, along with the unbound cuff, fell back to the sheets.

Cal stared down at the bracelet, rubbing his freed wrist. So much for all his scheming to get out of it. With a rueful shake of his head, he started for the door.