time someone’s started exploring them, city workers die, and access points get cemented in real quick.
I rubbed my face. Why did this sound like a place I was going to end up having to visit?
But, Willard continued, the dark elves have never given me trouble personally, and if you didn’t know they existed, it seems unlikely that they would be behind this. Even if they had a reason to hate me, why would they come after me and risk bringing the light down into their tunnels?
To get to me?
Willard was getting the brunt of all this, but I couldn’t help but think someone might want to take both of us out of the picture. If she was gone and Sudo was in charge, I wouldn’t have a job, and I wouldn’t be going after the magical—or so someone might think. I would still kill murdering wyverns even if I wasn’t on anyone’s payroll.
They’ve spent over a hundred years convincing the city that they don’t exist, Willard added. They clearly like it that way. I think it’s more likely that someone found one of their recipe books and made a potion.
That’s what I was thinking. I’ll hope for that. A human dabbler should be easier to find and deal with. I didn’t point out that creating the vial would have required more than a recipe book—that hadn’t been some bauble picked up at Walmart. It had been handblown by an artist. And the glow-in-the-heat sigil was definitely magical.
Yes. I don’t know where you would go to find an entrance into their portion of the Underground.
“We’re here.” Dimitri found street parking he could wedge his van into.
A homeless guy wearing five coats and pushing a shopping cart eyed Bessy, admiring the galaxy curtains, perhaps.
“Good. Thanks.” I finished my conversation with Willard. I’m going to talk to Nin, see if she has any suggestions on alchemists. I’m confident I’ll be able to get to the bottom of this, so hang in there, all right? If there’s an alchemical potion that did this, whoever concocted it can damn well come up with an antidote, and I’ll bring it in personally. Along with your cat.
I didn’t share my concern that the cancer wouldn’t be something that could be treated with a potion. I had to hope—had to believe—that if there had been a magical cause, there would be a magical solution.
I do miss my cat. Thank you for working on this for me, Thor— Val. But be careful. Our people were originally trying to find you and deal with you in-house, but Sudo got the police involved and said there’s going to be a warrant for your arrest soon. If there isn’t already. You better get a hood for that duster of yours if you’re going to roam around downtown.
I’ll look into it.
I grabbed the door handle. “You coming with me or hitting that nightclub?”
“What are the odds that you’ll take your tiger out tonight?”
“His name is Sindari, and given my last two phone conversations, the odds are excellent.”
“I’m going with you. Can I pet him?”
“If he lets you, sure.”
“Will he let me?”
“Call him regal and noble, not a pet or a service animal, and he’ll let you rub his ears.”
We met on the sidewalk, and the homeless guy scooted away when he saw Dimitri’s imposing height and brawn.
I lifted a hand to stop him. “How much for one of your jackets? That one with the hood.”
He scratched a gray beard with gum stuck in it and eyed me up and down. “I’ll give it to you for a kiss.”
“I deal in cash only, friend.” I pulled out a couple of twenties and rubbed them together.
“I’ll trade it for your coat.” He pointed at my duster.
“Another nope. This is part of my look. Werewolves would be distressed if I showed up to kill them without it.”
“Shit, I hate werewolves.” He spat on the street.
“Don’t we all. Forty bucks. Deal?”
“Deal.” As he pulled off the jacket, the streetlight caught a few dubious stains, making me regret my decision already.
We traded and I headed off down the street, putting on the jacket over my duster and pulling up the hood. The scent of pot and body odor almost made me gag.
“It’d be better to be arrested,” I grumbled.
“What?” Dimitri was walking several steps to my side.
I had a feeling I wasn’t the only one who could smell the jacket. “Nothing.”
Nin’s truck was still there when we walked into Occidental Square, but I doubted the three big men