6. Cal
six
Cal
Elation surged through Cal as he followed Griff out of Bald Locke’s office. He couldn’t resist casting one last smug look back at the Brotherhood leader laid out on the floor. Serves the Void-eater right.
He still couldn’t believe his plan had worked so well. Or that Griff had actually held up his end of the bargain. Cal had half-expected him to accept Bald Locke’s deal and hand Cal over, washing his hands of the whole affair. It’s probably what Cal would’ve done in his place
Instead, Griff had stood up for him. Cal knew that supporting him was mostly incidental—it was the threat of the void orb that Griff cared about, not Cal’s well-being. Still, it was a nice feeling to have someone else in his corner for the first time since…well, since Kelsith.
Yeah, and look how that turned out…
Cal grimaced and focused back on their surroundings. They weren’t out of the woods yet. At any moment, Locke might start shouting for his guards. The only reason he hadn’t already was probably Griff’s threat with the ledger.
Making sure no one was watching them, Cal shifted his disguise into a random Brotherhood thug, their signature crossed swords tattooed on the back of his neck. There. That should make it easier for them to slip out unnoticed.
He gave a gap-toothed grin to Griff beside him. “You really put Bald Locke in his place. Maybe you’ve earned that badge after all. Remind me never to cross you—well, more than I already have, anyway.”
Griff just grunted.
Cal’s smile faded as he took in the inspector’s pale face. “Are you all right? You don’t look so good.”
“I’m fine,” Griff said, sounding strained. “Never felt—”
He cut off as he stumbled barely a handful of steps from Locke’s office. He would’ve fallen, maybe even toppled off the edge of the dock into the murky water, if Cal hadn’t snagged his arm. The maneuver left Griff flush with his chest—a position Cal didn’t particularly mind.
“Care to finish that sentence?” he said with a smirk. “Because it looks to me like…”
He trailed off as he noticed something hot and sticky on his fingers. He glanced down, his eyes widening when he saw the fresh blood coating Griff’s side.
“Eternal Dark, you’ve been shot! I thought he missed!”
“I’m fine,” Griff repeated through clenched teeth. He struggled feebly to extricate himself from Cal’s arms. “I’ve had worse.”
“Your tough-guy act doesn’t impress me.” Well, okay, maybe it did. Just a little. “We need to tend to that wound before you lose any more blood. You can barely keep your feet!”
“Later,” Griff hissed. “Once we’re out of here.”
He tried again to pull free of Cal, but Cal refused to loosen his grip.
“Fine,” Cal said. He resumed walking, ushering the wounded inspector along with him.
“So long as you let me make sure you don’t go tumbling into the cove.
I don’t want to see what this bracelet of yours makes me do if you start to sink to the bottom of the bay. ”
Griff grimaced but relented in his resistance. Cal couldn’t help noticing the sensation of the inspector’s hard muscles pressed against him as they walked.
They drew a fair few stares from the dockworkers they passed, but no one interfered. Guess that was one benefit of working for a violent criminal syndicate—everyone minded their own Void-cursed business.
The stairs were the hardest on Griff. They were forced to take their time, each step eliciting a pained grunt from the inspector. Cal remained on edge for anyone coming to accost them, but no one did.
When they reached the top, Cal took a moment to fiddle with Griff’s coat, doing his best to cover up the worst of the blood. The less attention they drew, the better. Then, affecting his best bad-guy snarl, he shoved open the door.
The barkeep glanced up. His brow rose as he took in the disguised Cal assisting a stumbling Griff. “What the Void happened to him?”
Cal shrugged and spat on the ground. “Boss got a little carried away. Not that I can blame him—Void-cursed protties. Told me to see our guest out.”
He started across the bar toward the exit, then skidded to a surprised halt when he suddenly found the glaring bartender in his face. “What the Void was that?”
Cal blinked. “What was what?”
The bartender gestured angrily to the wet splotch Cal’s spit had left on the dirt-streaked floorboards. “How many times do I have to tell you lot not to do that in my bar!”
Cal found himself at an uncharacteristic loss for words. Furrowing his brow, he made a sweeping gesture to indicate the floor. “But…this whole place is one enormous mess. If anything, I helped clean it up a bit.”
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 want anyone’s bodily fluids—spit or otherwise—infecting my workspace.
The boss gave me authority 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.
“I could go 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.