Precursor – Chapter 2

Garrett found himself dreaming another stunningly realistic dream once again. He surveyed his surroundings quickly, out of habit and was instantly confused. He was standing on the ceiling? He looked up at the floor. Where the hell was he?

Garrett blinked, surprised as a figure, clad in black and moving rapidly, passed through him.

The figure stopped and crouched and looked behind his shoulder. Garrett thought at first he was looking at himself, but the man lacked his own obvious blue-green eye and looked a bit older than himself.

The man faced the other way and stilled, listening. The sound of footsteps could be heard around the corner. The man quietly withdrew a blackjack from under his cloak. The footsteps stopped. A man grunted and coughed, then mumbled something to himself before once again resuming his walk back down the hallway, away from the man.

The cloaked figure swiftly and silently rounded the corner. Garrett followed and turned the corner in time to see the man expertly bring his blackjack across the head of the guard, catch the unconscious body and lie it carefully down before resuming his journey down the confusing hallway.

Garrett followed the black-clad figure, watching his every move. He couldn't help but notice the obvious similarities between them. He was very lean, his movements swift and precise. The man was a thief, no question, on the prowl for a very specific object. A simple bow graced the thief's back, secured alongside a quiver that held various looking arrows. Perhaps the thief used arrows similar to his own?

This was confirmed a few moments later when the man withdrew an arrow, pulled and released it from the bow, effectively dousing a lit torch on the other end of the hallway. A water arrow.

The thief reached a locked door. Garrett watched him pull several lockpicks and set to work on the lock. Within seconds the door was opened and the thief was gazing inside. The room was lit by a large fireplace and the floor was void of any carpets.

Coughs and footsteps from guards could again be heard. Garrett almost felt like slapping himself when he witnessed the man withdraw a moss-tipped arrow and used it to cover the hard floors, allowing him to walk without generating extra noise. Why hadn't he ever thought of that?!

Suddenly, Garrett felt himself being pulled out of the dream. Almost angrily, he snapped his eyes open and gazed at his surroundings. His clock tower was showered with orange; it was dusk. He looked across the City—his City—settling into a restful night, much like its citizens, whose pockets and safes sat, awaiting to be plundered.

The City was slowly picking up its pieces and putting them back in place. With the untimely death of Orion what remained of the Graven had shrunk back into the shadows, most hoping that their association with the faction would be forgotten and their lives would go back to normal. A new family was taking the place of the Northcrest's. More than likely just as corrupt, but hopefully not as eager to try to wield strange artifacts with the power to destroy the City.

After the events on Orion's boat, Garrett had stashed the Primal in a place only he knew and then settled in his tower to wait for things to calm down. His own little piece of the stone remained lodged in his eye. It had become a useful trait, allowing him to focus his abilities to achieve his goals, which had been rather thinned out due to the City being in economic shambles.

The flutter of wings on the windowsill caught his attention. Basso had used the past six months of downtime to his advantage, training a new bird to take the place of Jenivere. This one he named simply Jenny, as a tribute to his deceased companion, but Garrett was sure this bird made him angrier than the last. Not because of an orneriness that exceeded that of Jenivere, but because of this bird's absolute obedience. Her personality was passivity, and Basso couldn't stand it. For the first time in years his fingers lacked the typical bird bites and pecks.

The bird dropped the message and flew away. Garrett picked up the matchbox, and scanned it. Basso had a job for him. Garrett felt a sudden rush of adrenaline, more than he had felt since the events of six months ago.

Garrett quickly moved around the tower, gathering his leather and tools. Although he knew all his gear was in top condition, the result of six months of little to do, he checked over everything anyway. Better safe than sorry, he reminded himself, even though he had no idea how challenging the job would or wouldn't be. He was excited; there was no denying that.

As he cinched up his armor and harness, he couldn't help but think about the last huge job he had taken a year and a half ago. The last time he had seen Erin as her normal self. Once again he wasn't sure where she was or if she was even alive. She had made no effort to contact him and he had spent quite a few uneventful nights looking for her, even checking the prison to see if she was there. He thought of making another trip to the asylum but figured that would be the last place she'd go, considering the things done to her there.

His pride told him that everything that happened was her own fault. If she hadn't been so compulsive and had stuck to what he had taught her they would have left the mansion roof before the Primal had been unleashed. They would have gone their separate ways once again; angry with each other, but safe.

His undeclared brotherly affection for her told him that a lot of the fault was his own, for simply snatching the claw from her. He regretted even allowing himself to get attached to her. Hell, even getting attached to Basso could have been a mistake. It almost cost him his life six months ago. What about the Queen of Beggars? Garrett had an odd sort of relationship with her, having known her for most of his life.

He suddenly worried that maybe he had too many friends.

Is that why you let me go, Garrett? Erin's voice rang in his head.

He cinched his last buckle, making sure that everything was secure and ready for a night on the Thieves Highway. He lowered himself out the window and descended down the side of the clock tower.

The night was clear and chilly. The moon was bright and full and there were no clouds. The stars twinkled like gems. If he wasn't careful, he could be easily spotted by any patrolling guards or conscious citizens.

Let them see him. He missed the rush of being chased, only to lose his pursuers within minutes or even seconds as he expertly weaved his way through the shadows.

He remembered suddenly that he was no longer the only one traveling the rooftops. Sure, others who liked to fancy themselves as accomplished thieves used the Highway, but he wasn't worried about them getting in his way.

He worried about the vigilante, a man that had started his own crusade against the lingering corruption in the City. Would he consider Garrett a part of that corruption? What would happen if the two of them happened to cross paths?

Garrett crept along a ledge, peeked around the corner to look for guards, then dropped to the cobblestone street below.

He forced himself to forget about the vigilante for now. If they ever did run into each other, Garrett would make up a plan on the spot. It had always worked before.