Chapter Twenty-One
Callum
Fuck. Come with me instead . Fuckin’ shit. You’re miserable here! Fuckin’ shit fuckin’ gods damnit. You’re a coward and a liar, Callum. Fuck…
Callum left the cabin. He burst right out his front door and flung himself down the steps into the murky, darkened paths of Gloomsdale. He stewed under the thick canopy of trees, unable to even glare at the moon if he wanted.
What are we doing? His mind raced for understanding but there was none. He had nothing left inside. He left everything with her. Like his filthy, rotten heart was worth half of hers, even broken. Even bleeding out on his bathroom floor, nothing of his was worth an ounce of her.
Avelina wanted him to go with her. She offered him an escape.
It would be bloody work. They’d never be able to escape all the outlaws that wanted him dead.
The Paladins would hunt her down because she’d always be associated with him.
Her face would be on posters next to his, and this life would never end. They’d be on the run but never free.
No, he couldn’t. He was so close to freedom, truly disappearing and leaving all this behind. What was he doing? Letting a silly little girl and her fantasy romance get in between him and his happily ever after.
A life with her on the run would be a nightmare!
It would! He’d constantly worry about her getting hurt or if she resented him for the danger he brought to her life.
She’d want him to meet her best friend, to try and be a better person.
She deserves a better person. Callum was not a hero in one of her books.
He wouldn’t rescue her from a terrible fate.
Callum was the terrible fate.
Her being in love with him was a death sentence.
It might not be tomorrow at the vault, it might not be in a few weeks if they went on the run…
but being in love with him would mean they’d die in a terrible way.
Going down in flames, that’s what the bard’s say.
She would meet her maker kicking and screaming.
That was no life worth living. He swore to himself that he would get out. If Callum took her with him…no, he couldn’t take her with him. Alone. Always alone.
Which is why, under that darkened canopy, swatting away mosquitos with a hardened scowl on his face, he slithered up to Grahm’s cabin.
It was a tiny shack place nestled between three trees.
It had one window, one door, and the stilts were partly roots.
The door had been replaced six times since he took up the mantle of Cottonmouth.
Its newest iteration was paler in color but thicker than the last one.
I’m at fault for three of them…the other three is because he’s a fool.
His knuckles hesitated by the door, but he replayed her words again and started to bang on the scaley bastard’s door. Grahm pulled open the door swiftly then froze. “Boss?”
“That twerp we sent to Eshorion? To spy on the monk…we heard from him?”
Grahm’s face fell. He glanced back at his meager dwelling, then returned his attention to Callum. “Nu-uh.”
“Damn.” There went his original plan. Without a man in the capital city, he couldn’t snag the feisty friend and bring her back here to the swamp.
It wasn’t much of a plan; he’d not put a lot of thought into it on the way over.
His mind swarmed like wasps, and he was grasping at straws.
He’d originally had a man awaiting to murder the monk as leverage should he need it, but he’d never needed to pull that card.
Avelina was surprisingly obedient all on her own, self-contained.
Part of that was him, indulging in things he ought not to, but consequences be damned.
More like, hello, consequences to my actions. Ya fucked around with the warlock. Now yer findin’ out, fuckwit.
“Come in,” Grahm stepped aside, opening his arm to the burdened outlaw.
Callum slipped inside, his tail curling around the edges of the cabin.
It wasn’t much. A bed, a cushioned chair, a stone, freezer box, toilet and shower, all crammed like puzzle pieces into the room.
There was enough room for the bulky Drakonis to move around, but it was a shoe box.
Callum’s tail tip flopped up around the leg of Grahm’s bed.
“What’s up, boss? You think the Tala lady’s gonna spoil this for us?
She’s four days ride, minimum, by train.
” Grahm was thinking like an outlaw. Each person a threat to the outcome of their heist. Clearly, that would be why Callum was here, anxious and furious that some random person might up end their crime.
“Nah, but I need you to do something for me. And no one can know.” He licked his lips.
This is it. This is the kindest thing I can do for ya darlin, I hope ya fuckin’ appreciate it.
She couldn’t come with him, and he couldn’t save her a lifetime of misery from being a wanted warlock… but he could do this for her.
“Oookay?” Grahm squinted.
“Tomorrow, after the warlock gets us inside in the vault, when the coast is clear and we’ve got cover, I want you to blindside her. Hog tie her, gag her, and put her on a one-way wagon to Eshorion.”
“What? You want me to boot the warlock?” Grahm squawked.
“Shush, ya windbag!” Callum hissed, slapping Grahm upside the back of the head.
“Sorry,” Grahm grimaced, shrinking, and put both his hands on the sore spot on his head. “Boss, what the fuck?”
“Yer too loud,” Callum snarled lowly. The soil, the trees, even the fucking wind had ears in Gloomsdale.
If anyone heard he was smuggling the warlock out, they’d wonder why.
Cottonmouth didn’t send anybody anywhere without a reason, and there was none for Avelina.
She was his plaything. His crew saw her as his bed warmer and his pawn.
She was his warlock, but she wasn’t trustworthy enough to go solo.
Not in so short a time, they were idiots, but they weren’t that foolish.
They’d sniff out a birdie springing free of her cage and hunt her down just for the pleasure of it.
Because that’s what I’d do if I were them…what I would have done when I was one of them.
“No, I mean, what the fuck about the warlock?” Grahm whispered, throwing his hands about. “Why am I smugglin’ yer girl out?”
“Because I fuckin’ said to, that’s why.” He lunged like he might smack Grahm again, but the slick bastard jutted out of the way. “Look, I don’t care how ya get it done but get her out of the city safe and make sure she can’t come back. For you, that vault ain’t the objective, got it?”
“Yeah, boss,” Grahm grimaced.
“Good.” Callum pulled back toward the door. “And never fuckin’ question me again.”
Grahm said nothing as Callum pulled the door open and slid out into the night once more.
The air was hot and humid, like usual. It made his still damp hair stick to his back more as he moved through the mud.
His skin itched but he was too far gone to turn back now.
Cottonmouth was going to die tomorrow, and when he was curled up on the Chroma Coast with a new name and a new life, he’d always think about his warlock.
He’d wonder if she made it out alive.
There was no sleep to be had, not with her in bed.
He didn’t even enter the room. Merely opened the door to check and see she was spread out on the mattress, then shut it again.
Instead, he worked through the night to prepare for his escape.
He pulled the bag of gems and coins he stashed in the floorboards out.
They fit nicely in one of his holding satchels on his waist. The next was his fake papers, the ones he had made up when he realized one day he was jumping ship.
Then finally it was his disguise enchantment.
He was taking no chances with this escape.
The disguise only worked for about an hour, so he’d need to time it perfectly with getting on the train and getting settled. Once he was on the docks, it’d be too hectic and packed for anyone to tell him apart from anyone else.
His gaze shifted to the bedroom door again, longing to go through it.
One last time, to curl around her and get something to bury their last interaction.
She was an addiction and he needed one more taste.
He almost fell for his own lure too. Caught himself inches from the door, reaching for the handle.
What will you do? Huh? Slide into bed with her and pretend like you didn’t yell in her face? ‘Oooh, darlin, that’s my bad, let me kiss it better?’ Piss off, ya fuckwit.
He burned that bridge. It was better this way. If she hated him, then he wouldn’t worry about her. If she loathed his existence, thought of him as a rotten bastard, she’d never come looking. If she wanted nothing to do with him, then she wouldn’t cry when she heard he died.
Maybe she’ll spit on my name, say good riddance…and finally make a life for herself. Damned as she is, she could have a good one. A powerful one. People will tremble in her wake.
Callum pulled his hand away from the metal orb that separated him from his warlock and slithered from the room once more.
All his stuff in his possession, he dipped down the stairs and back out into the night.
He bent over to peek under his porch. Callum spotted the boat floating in the large pond.
The roots and reeds had grown up through the water, crafting the boat the perfect nest to rot in. He hissed softly, “Rat!”
“Yeah-huh, boss?” Rat groggily pushed back the tarp he used for a door. The scrawny kid crawled out from his boat and stumbled after Callum.
“Gather the crew at sunrise and meet me at the tavern. I’m goin’ ahead.”
“Oh, okay, everythin’ okay?” He glanced around the inky swamp.
Callum considered that maybe Rat heard more than he should from the cabin above his boat.
He’d never been quiet. The kid was a little too loyal.
Then, Rat returned his gaze to Callum and he knew that the only thing behind those eyes was a need for mischief.
“Everythin’s fine. I’m just tired of traitors casin’ the place. I’m considerin’ all info they gave us bullshit.”
“Fair,” Rat grimaced. “They’re not gonna find it weird, you slithering through the gate?”
“Let me worry about how I get in and out. You get your shit and get the crew up at sunrise. Grab the warlock too.”
“Oh…she not comin’ with you?” Rat’s face fell.
So, no, he didn’t hear us earlier. Callum shouldn’t have been surprised.
How he loathed his crew to the very center of his core.
All of them were fools. Unobservant, unmotivated, unpassionate, they just took their orders and moved on.
None of them can run this crew. It would wind up an all-out bloodbath in the end.
“Don’t need her attractin’ attention with the Paladins. She knows her place,” he snarled.
None of them are half as smart and perceptive as Avelina. Gods damnit.
He still felt the sting from the moment she called him a coward. Him? Cottonmouth? The slipperiest bastard in all of Vyrthsalis? The outlaw with a plan? He didn’t get where he was being a coward.
And yet it stung to hear it from her lips.
Callum slapped at the air, ushering Rat from his presence.
He needed to find a body. Something to be found, a chunk of ‘him’ they could use to claim the great Cottonmouth was dead.
It’d be easy, he’d just give the tavern a visit and take the closest looking, wayward slathair in the place.
It just needed to be the tail, and maybe a few fingers just to be sure.
Then he’d be ready…then his exit plan would begin.