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  The others seemed to make some effort at recovery so she jogged away before they could gather the confidence to try her again. Jarten’s words reached her from a distance but were clear nonetheless. “You’ll be sorry you messed with us. Count on it.”

  “I’m already sorry,” she retorted over her shoulder. If they’re smart, they’ll leave it alone. If not…well, guess I’ll deal with that problem when it arrives. With a start, she realized that Zeb had been on his own in the bar for almost ten minutes and increased her speed. If anyone else decided to cause trouble, she’d need to be there to intercept it. She had never seen and had no desire to know what her boss was like when he was truly angry.

  Chapter Two

  Tanyith cowered in his bare cell as the storm raged on the opposite side of the dark stone wall. The other captives housed within Trevilsom Prison doubtless perceived the cacophony as yet another threat added to the madness-invoking properties of the island that was home to the structure. To him, it was a balm, a reminder of who he was.

  And it came barely in time. He’d thought that this would be the one that broke him. The stretch of what others in his old life would describe as “decent weather” provided him with no surcease from the whispers that muddled what was real and what was imaginary. Those murmurings would eventually shatter his ability to discern the difference between the two and condemn him to madness eternal.

  But the storm had come, the tempest as soothing the Atlantean portion of his nature, which had become more and more ascendant as the months passed and everything less stubborn was consumed by the prison. To the best of his knowledge, he had survived with his sanity intact for longer than any prisoner before him. He’d asked the silent sentinels who oversaw the facility, but they refused to respond. Even if they had, he wouldn’t have been able to trust their words or truly know whether they really had replied or if it was merely his imagination.

  He focused on the sounds of the crashing waves, timed the thunder to the flashes of light that stabbed through his small window, inhaled the scent of the rain, and surrendered his mind to those known things as a way to keep the unknown and untrustworthy away.

  The storm was long and furious, and as time was meaningless in Trevilsom, he had no idea how much had passed when other strange sounds emerged through the tumultuous sound of the weather. A rhythmic pounding sounded like metal on stone, almost buried under the crash of the waves on the jagged rocks that marked the perimeter between land and water. This was followed by a lighter version of the same sound and finally, a scrabbling that made him think a small animal was scaling the wall outside his cell.

  Such a thing was impossible, of course. Animals were not immune to the madness, and the ones that stumbled onto the island didn’t live long enough to play any role other than a meal for the prisoners. Tanyith shrieked and crabbed away from the window when a dark face appeared. He hadn’t heard a voice other than the whispers and the other inmates’ screams for so long that when it spoke, he almost couldn’t comprehend the language. The eye-roll was instantly understandable as she—it sounded like a she—spoke again. “Are you Tanyith?”

  He nodded, then forced the words from his throat. “Yes. Tanyith. Yes. How? Who?”

  She shook her head, clearly exasperated. “Call me Nylotte. The rest can wait. And don’t move.”

  Her face disappeared from the window, and it required all his restraint not to rush over to ensure she’d been real. Lightning flashed and he counted for the thunder. When it sounded, the outer wall cracked and a portion fell away to reveal a hole to the outside about three feet up. He delayed, his brain slow to process, and she hissed in irritation. “Now, Tanyith. There’s no time.”

  The prisoner ran forward and pushed through the opening, his formerly muscular body slender enough to fit easily. Her strong arms helped him to climb free and stand, and she steadied him with one hand while she pressed a vial into his palm with the other. “My boat is destroyed and the island defeats my ability to portal. I can’t get us out of here. You have to do it.”

  He looked down idly and prepared to tell her that the trip had been in vain and that his power had abandoned him. The sight of the bright blue liquid coursing in the clear container, glowing with energy of its own, almost killed him with desire. He yanked the top off, drank it quickly, and threw the bottle aside as magical energy swept through him. Tanyith spun, grasped the Dark Elf, and launched himself over the rocks in a powerful jump that carried them both into the lake ahead of the late-reacting guards’ crossbow bolts.

  The sensation of being submerged was everything. Water had always been his solace, and it had been denied him during his time behind the prison bars. A translucent magical cocoon surrounded them to ensure they’d have air. As much as he wanted to feel the liquid on his skin, he’d been separated from his power for so long that he didn’t trust his ability to make such minute adjustments to the spell. She whispered, “Northeast,” and his senses reached out to chart the currents and the magnetic fields that influenced them. He altered course to the correct direction and applied a special version of force magic that worked most effectively in water to speed their progress.

  In minutes, she climbed out of the lake while he lay on his back with only his nose above the surface, luxuriating in the opportunity to simply float. After what seemed like only an instant, she called out, “Tanyith, we’re not out of danger yet. We have to keep moving.” He left the water reluctantly and she handed him a long cloak and a belt, which made him realize his nakedness for the first time in an age. He shrugged into them with a lopsided grin.

  “Prison life didn’t suit me all that well.”

  She laughed. “It’s amazing you were able to survive for so long.”

  He frowned. “I…lost track of time.” There was no point in trying to explain how the prison had broken parts of him or how it had almost broken all of him. The sooner I start putting it in the past, the better.

  A man spoke and surprised him. He’d seen him before but forgotten him almost as quickly, his skittering attention making it difficult to keep thoughts in his head. “You’ve been in there for thirteen months. I was approached a month ago, and Nylotte joined the team two weeks ago. It took most of that time to work out a plan that wouldn’t get us all killed. The prison’s defenses are formidable. Only importing a certain kind of explosive from Earth made it possible.”

  Tanyith chuckled darkly. “If there’s one thing my home planet is good at, it’s creating ways to hurt people.” He frowned. “And if there’s a second thing, it’s a penchant for betrayal.”

  The man tapped the patch he wore over his eye. “I am well aware of the risks that come with getting involved with your planet. I am, by the way, Chadrousse.”

  Nylotte, who had gathered packs resting on the ground nearby, pushed one into his hands. “And we all have to move. Now. The guards might not be able to leave the island easily but that doesn’t mean they lack allies who can come in pursuit. We have miles to walk before it will be safe to portal, so we’d best get to it.”

  He held up well for the initial half-hour of the trek through the sparse forest, trading his dwindling magic for muscle fuel, but reached a point where his body succumbed and he sank to the ground in a small clearing. Nylotte and Chadrousse agreed to a halt, and she handed him actual food, the first non-disgusting fare he’d had in over a year. He nibbled carefully around the edges of the fruit and nut rectangle and sipped from the canteen she provided.

  Chadrousse complained, “Certainly we’re far enough now.”

  The Drow shook her head. “There’s a reason Trevilsom is so feared. I’m not sure how far its influence spreads or at what range it can detect and possibly intercept magic. We need more distance.” She handed him one of the bars, and he took it with another grumble. She turned to the escapee and kept her smile hidden from the other man. “He’s crabby—more of a delegator than a doer if you know what I mean. But this task required both of us. We needed a backup in case I didn’t
survive the break-in.”

  He sighed away a tiny sliver of the collected stress of his imprisonment. It’ll take a long time to get over this experience. His brain seemed to click better, though, and a question occurred to him. “Why did you do this? What do I owe you? Or him?”

  The Dark Elf lowered herself to the ground beside her pack and rifled through it. “I did it because Chadrousse made it a condition in exchange for some knowledge I needed. That’s what he does. He trades information for favors.” She made a noise of victory and pulled another vial out of the satchel, this one filled with a dusky red liquid that looked somehow viscous. “Why did he do it? I guess because he received something valuable for being the broker in the deal. I don’t think he anticipated having to jeopardize his own skin in person, though.”

  She extended the vial, and he leaned forward to take it. “Healing?”

  “Yes. I didn’t have access to any Atlanteans to test it on, so its potency will be low. I couldn’t risk an adverse effect, so I merely made it sustaining rather than fully rejuvenating.”

  Tanyith chuckled. “You’re not from New Orleans, then. We’re all over the place down there.” He twisted the top from the container and took a sip, then smiled as a taste of honey spread over his tongue and brought strength and warmth along with it. His smile of thanks earned a brief nod. He gave her time to offer information about herself, but she remained silent and stared at him like she was judging him. “What?”

  “I’m waiting for the story.”

  “What story?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “What you did to get locked up in Trevilsom, of course. What kind of person have we set free?”

  He laughed darkly. “You don’t know?”

  “No.” She turned to the other man. “Rousse, any idea what he did to get planted on the island?”

  Her co-conspirator swiveled his head from where he stood in profile and stared at the surrounding land like he could see trouble coming if he only looked hard enough. “It didn’t come up. They were willing to give me what I wanted and he was the price. Why would I care?”

  Nylotte shrugged as she faced him again. “So, what’s the deal?”

  “You won’t believe it.”

  She laughed. “After the last year, I’m prepared to believe one hell of a lot.”

  Tanyith spread his hands to the side. “I didn’t break the law at all. What I did do was tick off the wrong person.”

  Her head tilted. “Who?”

  He shook his head with a sad chuckle. “Yeah, that’s the question, isn’t it? I’ve tried to think of the answer for a little over thirteen months. All I’m sure of is that they’re connected to a certain group of Atlanteans in NOLA. And, when I get back, I’ll find out and have a very serious conversation with whoever was behind this.” He tilted the rest of the vial into his mouth, and the flow of health felt like fate promising him that his vengeance was guaranteed.

  The woman blew a breath out. “Fantastic. Exactly what I need in my life, another person with hidden enemies. I’m not sure what supreme being I annoyed, but at this point, I’d be willing to make a sweetheart of a deal to set it right.” She flowed to her feet and lifted the pack to shrug it onto her shoulders. When she pointed at him and at the one nearest him, he rose in response. The last one, she grabbed and gestured at her partner. “Let’s go, Chadrousse. Tanyith needs to get back to his hometown. Apparently, there are secrets to be discovered. You haven’t actually collected them all.”

  The other man sauntered over, stylish and clean in a way that neither of his companions could currently achieve. He made a distasteful face as he submitted to her efforts to put the pack on his back, then smiled. “You know, my new friend, if you discover you need information, I have access to almost any knowledge you could desire to possess.”

  From behind him came a deep sigh, followed by the Drow’s wry voice. “Hopefully, he’ll be smarter than that. Learn from my lesson, Tanyith. Trading favors is nothing but trouble.”

  Chapter Three

  Cali yawned as she ran the dry mop over the large mat that filled the center of the Aikido dojo. She’d managed six hours of sleep, which was about her average, before her phone woke her with the jangly cover of “Thunderstruck” by Steve’n’Seagulls. After sleeping through every alarm or song she’d tried, her last option was to buy an app that randomized her alarms with selections from a list of high-intensity songs one of her friends curated for her. And we’ll have a conversation about including banjo in my wake-up music as soon as I see him.

  The dojo opened at ten, and she arrived four days a week by eight-thirty to get things ready. For the first six months, Sensei Ikehara Goro had been present each morning. After she’d proven herself, he had entrusted her with a key and the responsibility to prepare the training space. It was a fair trade—free instruction whenever she could fit a class into her schedule in exchange for mindless cleaning and straightening. In truth, she enjoyed the alone time and reveled in the silence that was the antithesis of her main job.

  It gave her an opportunity to think and today, she thought about Jarten and his friends and wondered when the other shoe from that encounter would drop. While she’d been careful not to overly damage anyone, wounded pride might push them to a rematch. She shrugged as she stored the mop and went up front to clean the windows. You can’t control what they do, only what you do. Another of her father’s favorite sayings, and she missed him more with each one that surfaced in her memory.

  Ikehara entered and made a point of reviewing her work, as he always did. At first, it had been real, she was sure. Now, she was ninety percent positive that it was only for show but that didn’t stop her from taking the task seriously. The admonition, “Do your best or don’t bother doing it at all,” came from her mother, who she missed as much as her other parent. She doubted she’d ever get past the pain of their deaths.

  “Caliste,” he said sharply and she cringed. The only time people tended to use the long form of her name was when she was in trouble.

  “Yes, Sensei?”

  “You have done an excellent job, as always. How are your studies?”

  She shrugged. “Progressing, but slowly.”

  He nodded. His facial structure and dark eyes displayed his Japanese heritage, and both his dark crewcut and his thin shadow of beard and mustache showed his attention to martial detail, denying an enemy something to latch onto. His accent was notable even though he’d been in New Orleans for most of his fifty years, and she loved the sound of it. “The important part is staying on the path. One day, you will be a fine—what is it, criminal investigator?”

  “Yes, Sensei.” One day a long long way from this one at the rate of six courses a year, that is. She lacked time, funds, and focus to do more than that. Losing her parents had dashed the hopes she’d had for a typical college experience and for a normal life. Now, she worked at the tavern, lived alone in a small room in a historic boarding house, did homework for her online classes at the public library, and traded cleaning for learning at the dojo. In the hours that remained, she hung out at Jackson Square, busking with her friends. She often thought it suited her better than a traditional path might have.

  The sensei smiled broadly. “Very good. Now, go prepare for class.” He insisted she take ten minutes to meditate and clear her thoughts, and it took another ten to dress in the aikido uniform. Those twenty minutes allowed her to change her headspace from worker to learner. It also improved her ability to block off parts of her mind at need. Sometimes, when a customer was being particularly annoying at the tavern, that skill was the only thing that saved the offender from eating a force bolt.

  She used several items as touchstones while meditating. Wide silver rings engraved with ornate designs encircled each thumb. She pressed her hands together and touched the metal bands to the brass and silver disc that hung from a matching chain. It was as thick as a locket but had no seams or opening mechanism. Her parents had given the jewelry to her a year before their deat
hs, instructing her to never take them off. At the time, she’d obeyed because they were the authority in her life. Now, she continued in honor of them.

  One thing she packed away into a corner of her mind was her intention-reading ability. While it would be potentially valuable in a real fight, it would be a crutch in her training. No one was aware that she could do it, not even Zeb. The power had developed after her parents were gone and she didn’t feel comfortable discussing it with anyone. It was personal to her in a way that her other magics, which she knew were shared by many others of Oriceran descent, weren’t.

  When the arrival of her classmates banished her solitude, she emerged and began her stretching. Her chosen position was in the corner of the room farthest from the changing areas and the entrance. She worked through poses and mimed throws until the mat filled and her teacher clapped to signal the start of class. The students quickly arranged themselves, and Ikehara-Sensei took his place facing the front row. He wore a white top, black belt, and the split-legged hakama that was the telltale of an Aikido master. First, he led the white-uniformed and belted men and women through the warmups and stances, then into tumbling and break-falls.

  Cali wasn’t much of an acrobat but she was agile, and her diligent practice showed as she landed cleanly and rolled easily into the next position. She was partnered with a woman who was a little shorter than her and looked to be about ten years older. Sweat glistened on her forehead and she breathed heavily. If they’d been grappling opponents, she would have worked to tire her, stayed on the move rather than going for the quick victory, and trusted that her own endurance would win out. Together, they practiced throws and joint locks under the watchful eyes of the teacher, who interrupted them several times to adjust and advise.

  The end of the class varied each day. They would finish sometimes grappling, sometimes focusing on the kicks and punches that were not technically Aikido but Ikehara valued anyway, and sometimes, like today, weapons instruction. Again, her sensei bucked tradition by including not only the traditional bokken, jo, and tanto, but escrima sticks as well. He claimed dual-wielding the weapon added useful pathways in the mind, different from the directness of the sword and knife and the flourish of the staff. The room was filled with swishes, slaps, and cracks as they fought one another at slow speed, training the muscles to remember the movements.