Chapter 7
Nelle
The first thing I did was kick off the godsdamned shoes.
The ballet flats tumbled across the colorful rug and skidded beneath a small table with bird-claw feet. Then I was gone, fast as a mouse scurrying through a maze.
But this mouse wasn’t looking for a way out.
This mouse was hunting Zrenyth’s mites.
I ducked out from under Brangwene’s outstretched wing and slipped around the corner before either Graysen or the Purveyor of Rarities could spot me, disappearing between a row of mismatched shelving units.
Florin’s lair wasn’t large, but everything inside it was built to accommodate the towering Horned God. Tall, oversized, and looming. Even the glass jars were enormous.
Moving fast, I poked my head over small tables, crouching to sift through silvery stems shoved into an urn, then zipping to the next shelf, scanning jar after jar.
Yet a darker fear began to fester. That Florin had either sold the mites or locked them away in a treasure trove because they were so rare.
I prayed to Skalki that they were stashed in a secluded part of the shop where I could get my hands upon them.
That fear sharpened into panic, and I couldn’t stop my frantic flight.
Hurry, hurry, hurry. Desperation strangled my nerves.
Everything became a blur of indistinguishable shapes and blended colors, a whirlwind of fragmented thoughts spinning inside my head.
All of them screaming to move faster, search quicker, find the mites before I forever lost this chance. Now. Now. Now!
I flipped over a label with shaking fingers, then the next, then the one after.
Hells, hells…
I was panicking so hard that I wasn’t even reading the names properly.
There was no plan, no clear direction on how to tackle this monumental task.
Just toxic fear charging through my bloodstream.
What if Graysen cut his conversation short?
What if I only had minutes? I’d never get back here. This was it, my only opportunity.
I stumbled, slamming my hip into the edge of a stone table.
Thorny heat stabbed, and I bit back a startled cry.
Sweat slicked my palms as I tried to calculate where I hadn’t searched yet, what spots I’d missed.
My breath came too fast, too shallow. Oh gods, I’d need a full week to comb through this place, and I didn’t have that kind of time.
My father’s voice, gentle yet firm, echoed through my mind.
Calm, Nelle, calm…
As I always did when I needed to settle my wild emotions, I focused on the tone, deep and warm, rich with love and pride while I unconsciously kneaded imaginary adamere beads with trembling fingers, working through the length of the necklace that once wrapped around my wrist like a bracelet.
Warm air expelled from my lips, and I dragged in a breath through my nose, letting it fill my lungs before pushing it out slowly.
To find the mites, I needed to be logical and clear-minded.
To concentrate on where I was, what was in front of me, and search through the shop quickly, systematically, and carefully.
The bleak anxiety seeping through my veins bled away, and my hammering heartbeat slowed. I rubbed my sweaty palm on my smarting hip and steeled my spine, restarting my hunt with purpose.
I can do this.
I will do this.
Tiptoeing stealthily to the end of the row, I curled my fingers around the cabinet’s edge and leaned sideways to peek past the corner.
Graysen stood beside the Purveyor of Rarities at a workbench in the office.
Even as tall as he was, Florin dwarfed him.
The Horned God bent over the bench, scrubbing with a bristled brush, his emerald feathered cloak ruffling and wisps of elemental smoke curling from his ears to shimmer around his ram horns with each sharp stroke.
Graysen fussed with a vial containing something red.
A wintry shiver rushed over my skin as he stoppered the vial.
His drawn features looked pensive, a touch melancholy.
Conflict rooted me to the spot. I needed to keep searching, but part of me wanted to wrap myself around him, to soothe the sorrow etched between his brows and soften the despairing line of his mouth with a kiss.
Reluctance tugged at me as I withdrew to scan the surrounding shelves.
Curios crammed every inch of available space—rows of glass jars brimming with wonders, statues carved from every imaginable material, and urns stuffed with slender wings, spindly branches, and long daggers.
Like a gift shop of oddities, the tables displayed keys fashioned from iron and finger bones, rough-cut gems glowing like burning stars, weapons honed from thorns and burrs, iridescent shells, and enormous pearls.
The rug cushioned my footsteps as I paced beside a stack of miniature books bound in human skin, thinking. Dark magic bristled throughout the shopfront—Zrenyth’s magic—in the weapons he’d forged, in the shield of mist and shadow leaning against a beastly statue, in the dagger jutting from an urn.
Florin wouldn’t let the mites roam freely. They’d be contained, not sitting in an open bowl or hanging from the ceiling. They’d be in a glass jar, feeding on something infused with Zrenyth’s magic. And Dustin’s book had said Florin didn’t have many mites.
A terrifyingly beautiful thought took hold. Of course! They were so tiny that the jar would look empty. And if I were hunting for an almost empty jar, that narrowed down the search considerably.
My back went rigid, my gaze snapping upward.
An empty glass jar.
Exactly like the one right up there.
Feverish excitement had me hurtling across the aisle.
Thank Skalki!
Stretching up on my toes, I braced a hand on a mid-shelf for support and latched my fingers around the glass. My blood thundered in my ears, anticipation prickling all over my skin. Salvation was right here in my hands.
I peered inside…and frowned. The jar really was empty.
I should have seen mites crawling along the bottom, but there was nothing.
Yet something pulsed from within, a faint vibration thrumming against my fingertips.
I lifted it closer to my ear, tilting my head, sharpening my hearing.
Soft murmurs brushed the air. A voice… No, several voices.
“You breathe a word of this, and I’ll bury you alongside him.”
“I twisted the truth until he doubted his own memory.”
“I kept the letter… I never meant for anyone to find out.”
A black ribbon circled the neck, holding an old-fashioned price tag. Elegant cursive script spelled out the name: Whispers from the Guilty.
A flash flood of crushing disappointment crashed through me. My shoulders sagged as I lowered the jar. Was I ever going to find the mites?
A second later, I bolstered myself up with determination, sliding the jar back into place on the shelf. Just because this one didn’t contain the mites didn’t mean they weren’t here. I simply hadn’t found them yet.
I sprang into motion, mentally splitting the lair into small sections. Squatting to check lower shelves, stretching up for higher ones, combing through oddities as I swept the rabbit-warren aisles. Fast but systematic. Checking off each row, double-checking them once more.
But the longer I searched, the tighter distress plucked at my nerves with anxious fingers. Time was marching on far too quickly. Panic burrowed beneath my skin, wriggling deeper with every heartbeat. I chewed my thumbnail as a cold realization sank in. I’d searched everywhere except one place.
Right in front of Florin’s office.
With a frustrated sigh, I leaned against a squat statue. With my fucking luck of late, I should have known the mites would be out there, right within sight of the Horned God. I didn’t know which would be angrier if they caught me stealing—Graysen or the Purveyor of Rarities.
But there was nothing for it. I had to go out there and seek them out.
Pushing off the statue, I slunk forward, keeping to the shadows as I peeked around the cabinet.
Graysen stood in the office with his back to me, while Florin lounged in a massive wooden chair, sinking into bright orange cushions as he ate a croissant stuffed with the squished opossum Graysen had scraped off the road.
My mouth puckered as revulsion churned in my stomach. Ew.
My feet pattered across the rugs as I scurried out of the shadows and stepped into a candelabra’s golden spill of light. I’d circled back to where we’d first entered the shop, and I slipped beneath Brangwene’s outstretched wings, his enormous warhammer raised as if ready to smash down on my skull.
Here, the aisle widened, as if this were the main thoroughfare to Florin’s office. Soft murmuring seeped through the doorway, but I forced myself to look bored, wandering aimlessly as if killing time while Graysen finished up with the Horned God.
Yet it was impossible to stop the awe-inspired smile.
This place was a treasured grotto of the macabre.
Rich brocade draped the walls, and motes glowed like fireflies, drifting in a glittering swarm as candlelight burnished them aflame.
Statues carved from stone and bone loomed over me.
From the ceiling hung blackened entrails strung like sausages, ropes braided from fur or human hair, and tapestries of flayed lizard skin painted with a strange, slashing language in dark green blood.
And right above me was a Stormbird feather.
A gasp whistled from my throat.
I’d encountered a Stormbird in the swifting void, and this majestic feather stretched from one corner of the shop to the other. Energy pulsed along the ghostly vane like lightning gathering within a brewing storm cloud.