Just when the knight was about to give up his vigil and head to his alley bed, the door to the darkened bookstore opened. Bran emerged into the night.
Richard stood still, watching.
The boy locked the door behind him. He wore a dark sweater and jeans, his hair as wild as in the morning. At first Bran did not move. Then with furtive eyes scanning his surroundings, he hiked a brown knapsack upon his shoulder and moved southward along First Avenue.
Richard separated from the gloom and followed.
The knight kept at a safe distance, thinking. Myrddin Emrys was a sneaky old bastard. He never made a choice that did not suit his ends. The boy had some role to play in Merle’s plans, and Richard could not—would not—let another innocent become a pawn. Richard no longer cared if the old man had a well-intentioned purpose or not; the knight had witnessed firsthand what that meant and wished it on no other.
He would learn all he could about the new worker for Old World Tales.
And decide how best to progress with Merle.
Never deviating from the shadows, Richard watched Bran cut deeper into the heart of Pioneer Square. The knight hung back far enough to not be observed but close enough to keep up. He had no trouble; he knew every street, alley, and niche. The tall spire of Smith Tower lorded overhead, its white stucco gleaming, the light at its apex blazing amethyst over blocks of squat brick buildings. The night was mostly silent. As the boy avoided those leaving bars and traveled deeper into the Bricks, Richard passed bundles of sleeping bags, blankets, and flattened cardboard jammed into almost-hidden spaces. Homeless addicts, the mentally handicapped, criminals—or worse—they were the underbelly of a city that largely disdained them.
No matter the new clothing he now wore, Richard had a great deal in common with the denizens of the Bricks.
The self-contempt he carried in his heart made it so.
Within the bowels of the building he walked passed, the portal to Annwn thrummed, a reminder of his duty and why he tracked Bran. Pioneer Square was the oldest part of Seattle, but in 1889 a great fire had decimated it, giving the city council of the time an opportunity to improve it in the rebuild. It had originally been built upon tide flats that flooded twice daily; as a way to fix the problem of backed-up sewage, the council decided to sluice a nearby hill into the flats and raise Seattle above Puget Sound. The business owners could not wait for the project to finish before reconstructing their stores, resulting in thick buffering walls between the buildings and the dirt. The entrances to the businesses soon vanished beneath the modern-day street level.
The ruins below Richard’s feet were what used to be the first floor of Old Seattle.
Much later, the portal to Annwn had been placed there where few ventured, a concrete defensive cap encasing the entry into this world from the fey one.
Richard exhaled sadly. He had watched over the portal for years, ever since graduate school. It felt like a lifetime ago, and the memories he carried seemed to be those of an entirely different man—one who had dreamed, hoped, and loved.
Merle had destroyed all of those things.
Bran turned down Second Avenue and passed Waterfall Garden Park, remaining in the shadows as much as possible. The boy was being careful, but for what reason? Was he on an errand of import for Merle? Or was he on his own after-hour venture?
“Come on, kid,” the knight whispered. “What are you doing?”
As if hearing Richard, Bran paused, head tilted like a wolf catching a scent.
And then disappeared.
Richard blinked in shock. He pressed himself into obscurity, unsure of what had just happened. One moment Bran had been in clear sight.
The next, the boy had vanished.
Long minutes passed.
Richard peered deeper into the gloom where Bran had last stood. Two buildings sat next to one another. No alley existed between them, no doorway he could discern. Nothing presented itself.
The knight was about to investigate when movement stopped him. Two police officers walked out of an alleyway farther down from where Bran had vanished. They were young men, new to the force, Richard wagered, placed on night shift in one of the darkest parts of Seattle. They spoke in hushed tones as they passed where Bran had been and beyond where Richard hid, laughing at some shared joke before entering the next block.
After the cops had strolled on, Bran reappeared as