Zelophehad. Carver didn't even know how to spell that, which made researching the creature extremely difficult. Carver already had his hands full with this Hunger abomination feasting. Now he had a creature of unknown power stalking Malcolm, too. Carver didn't even know how to defend against it, but he knew the consequences of failing.
He'd spent the morning taking out books from the Circle's forbidden section, trying to find any inkling of whether this new demon had a known weakness. But it was exhausting poring through tome after tome with little idea if he was even moving in the right direction. It would be so much easier if these sections had been digitized like the rest of the library, but this information was deemed too dangerous to be left sitting on a server.
In truth, Carver was a man more suited to the battlefield than research, and he found himself falling asleep several times on top of his meager notes. Carver wasn't sure how long he'd had his nose buried in books but, when he woke up after his third research-induced nap, he realized he had a study buddy.
Taylor was sitting beside him, her glasses enlarging her vivid purple eyes as she poured through an old Tevinter combat tome. It described a type of martial arts battle magic currently outlawed, and Taylor was taking vigorous notes.
Carver raised an eyebrow as he watched her, so absorbed in her research that she hadn't realized he wasn't sleeping anymore. Carver cleared his throat, finally alerting the elf that she had been caught.
Her pointed ears drooped and twitched as a nervous chuckle found her throat. "I'm sorry, did you need these at the moment?"
Carver sighed, his tired shoulders sagging. "Technically you need clearance to even touch that book, but…" A thought occurred to him as he studied Taylor. He gritted his teeth, eyeing who else was in the library. Only the librarian was present and she was currently paying attention to her computer. Carver lowered his voice. "I could use a little help with something discreet."
Taylor's purple eyes widened and her ears drooped lower. "Oh, I don't want to get in any trouble."
Carver chuckled. "It's not trouble per se." Or was it? He couldn't be that sure dragging Taylor into this wouldn't affect her. But who else could he turn to?
Taylor looked down at her hands, fidgeting nervously. "Well, it depends. What do you want me to do?"
Carver pointed to his pile of books. "If I happened to let you read these, would you be able to summarize any information I needed?"
Taylor's eyes widened again with an ecstatic smile. "Of course, right away. I'll make detailed notes and color code them by topic with an index so things are easy to find."
That seemed like just as much reading as going through the books himself, but at least it would be more organized. Carver grimaced, but still, he said, "That would be fantastic, Taylor. I'd like you to concentrate your efforts on a demon called Zelophehad, and any relevant information you can find on Somniaris would be helpful, too."
Taylor cocked her head. "Zelophehad?" she said the name carefully, recognition flickering on her face.
Carver feared he had said too much, and yet he knew that he would get nowhere by himself. "I can't find his name in any of the books so far. I fear we might not have any information on the creature."
Taylor twisted her face. "Well, if there's a name, there's information. What else can you tell me about this demon?"
Carver looked at his armored fingers. "I'm told it is made of the fabric of fear. It controls other demons. Can tear holes in reality. I believe it is responsible for the Haunting as well as planting an abomination in the Circle."
Taylor's mouth fell open. "To what end? How do you even know this? This doesn't sound like regular demonic activity."
Carver hushed Taylor as the librarian turned her head. Carver waved a sheepish hello, and the librarian rolled her eyes and went back to focusing on her computer.
Carver lowered his head, his voice a whisper. "Let's just say this is a working theory after uncovering some compelling evidence. It's confidential information, though, so I can't reveal many details."
Taylor raised an eyebrow. "Okay…" her lips pursed. "Zelophehad. I could have sworn I heard that name before."
Carver widened his eyes, leaning forward. "Where?"
Taylor looked down, her eyes turning glassy. "Let me think… It was so long ago…" She bit her full bottom lip. "I think it was a tale my clan used to tell. The Forgotten Ones. I think Zelophehad was one of their names." There was a pain in Taylor's face as she tried to recall the memory. "He became part of the four Forbidden Ones, a subset of the Forgotten Ones, who originally taught mortals the sin of blood magic. Xebenkeck the Defiler, Gaxkang the Conquerer, Imshael the Tempter, and Zelophehad the Formless One all possess domains in the Great Beyond- I mean the Fade, and from their kingdoms seek to step foot into the mortal realm."
Carver perked up. "The Formless One. I read that somewhere."
He sifted through a pile of tomes and, from the bottom of the stack, he pulled out a big black grimoire with four runes in an intricately knotted square. There was an ominous energy that emanated from the book, hungry knowledge whispering within it.
Taylor's eyes looked like they would fall out of her head. "Is that…"
Carver flipped through the book. "The Fell Grimoire. Don't tell anyone I showed you."
He passed the book to Taylor and opened to a page with an inscription of a creature made of tentacles and goat eyes. "This passage is titled The Formless One, but the rest is all written in old Tevinter cipher. I have the decryption code in this book here, but I admit my skills in this area are rather rudimentary." He handed another thick text on military Tevinter decryptions, which wasn't from the Circle's forbidden section but still needed clearance all the same.
Taylor's smile was absolutely ecstatic, so bright against her burnt sienna skin. "Oh Sweet Tears of Andraste, I get to actually decrypt the Fell Grimoire? I think I might actually die of happiness right now."
Carver leaned forward. "I'll get you the clearance so everything's above board, but none of this leaves the library, you hear me? And don't discuss this with anyone else, even the Knight-Commander."
Taylor was already cracking open the military decoder and taking out her notebook and pen. "Of course, of course. I'll stay here until they kick me out." She was practically vibrating with enthusiasm, her eyes scanning the text with alarming speed. But then she stopped and blinked as if something just occurred to her. "What do Somniaris have to do with a Forgotten One?"
Carver clenched his jaw. "Just a lead I'm following."
She shrugged, seeming to accept that answer. "Alright, well, if there are any connections I'll root them out." Taylor then nodded resolutely. The next moment she was practically shooing Carver away as she started cracking open more tomes, placing them in a circle around her.
Carver found himself relieved to excuse himself and have someone else take over this part of the investigation.
He walked over to the librarian, tension roiling in his gut. "Lady Viana."
The librarian, a mousy chestnut-skinned woman in her mid-fifties, was not a Lady, but Carver called her that all the same because he knew she liked it. When she heard her name she met Carver's gaze, batting her brown eyes with a blush. "Are you done with your books, Knight-Captain?"
"Not quite." Carver leaned on her desk, slapping on a charming smile. He knew he shouldn't take advantage of the woman's crush on him, but this was an emergency. "It turns out Taylor has quite the knack for research, so I'm promoting her to be my temporary secretary for the murder investigation. I'd like her to have access to any books she asks for."
The librarian seemed to be quite comfortable and relaxed until he mentioned how much access he wanted Taylor to have. She brushed a pepper-colored strand of hair back into her tight bun. "Of course, Knight-Captain, but…" she bit her lip nervously. "Does the Knight-Commander know about this?"
Carver tried not to let it show that he was gritting his teeth. "I've already cleared it with him. We both agree: having Taylor's help researching would help us focus on tracking down the abomination." It would be safer to fill in the Knight-Commander once Taylor got some results.
At the mention of the abomination, the woman's skin went pale and she nodded. "Yes, that makes perfect sense. I'll make sure Miss Filene has everything she needs. Please focus on your duty, Knight-Captain."
"You are an absolute gem, Lady Viana." Carver smiled serenely, causing the woman to blush again.
Carver gathered his notes from his desk, which were pitifully minimal for a morning's worth of research. He knew that Taylor would succeed where he had failed. He just had to be patient.
Carver made his way back to his office and pulled out Matthew's evidence file along with the file of the woman who was recently murdered. She had no identification, so she was registered as a Jane Doe. Preliminary processing showed similar markers as the first killing.
Carver read the report. The fetus was completely eaten, and the only evidence that she was even pregnant were the hormones in her system. It seemed like her other organs had also been eaten, but the wound pattern was hard to discern as marine animals quickly came to feast on the corpse, so the forensics team would have to take some time to rule out which were common animal bites.
As Carver looked over the evidence, his tongue ran over the cut on his lip, the taste of blood reminding him of his fight with Gamlen and Mara's lie.
Despite the pressing matters at hand, he found his mind wandering to Mara, wondering how he would arrange a chance to meet her. Their lives didn't exactly intersect and it occurred to him that if he didn't do something drastic like stalking her, he might never get the chance to talk to her.
He knew he shouldn't. It wasn't right. It wasn't proper. But neither was her lie. All day his colleagues and mages had been whispering behind his back, completely surprised that Carver was the kind of person that would cuckold another man. As much as Carver thought the whispers should annoy him, he was just pleased with the idea that people thought Mara and him were together. And he wanted that to be true so badly, that he never got around to correcting any of the rumors.
Before Carver could talk himself out of it, he turned on his computer and brought up the Kirkwall Citizen Database. He typed in Mara's name and pulled up her driver's license, where she was sporting short spiky electric blue hair and winking at the camera. He found himself chuckling. Even in a photo she couldn't hide that saucy personality.
His instincts were screaming at him that he was crossing major lines as he read her file. There were some drunk and disorderly citations, several fines for public fornication and nudity, and a couple of arrests for public brawling. She was a rowdier girl than he expected, and that excited him. He wondered what it would take to bring her into line.
And then near the bottom of the page Carver found his prize, Mara's address. 999 Songwind Boulevard, somewhere in Midtown.
Carver's sense of propriety told him that all of this was the furthest thing a gentleman should do, but against his better judgment he knew he was going to show up at Mara's house tomorrow and ask the question burning inside him.
What did he mean to her?
—
Leandra was supposed to meet Jaheem during his lunch break but, when she showed up at his office, she was disappointed to find he had left more pink lilies and a note that he had been called away for an emergency. Leandra tried not to let herself fret over what that emergency could be, but when he called her back later that evening, she could tell by the tone of his voice that something was wrong.
Leandra adjusted the phone to her ear as Mara snacked on popcorn beside her on the couch, her eyes still glued to the rom-com they were watching.
Jaheem brushed past his usually polite greeting and said, "I have some troubling news, but…Maker, how do I say this? Do you have a few moments to talk?" Jaheem's voice was tense and strained, making Leandra's throat tighten up.
Leandra grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned down the TV a few clicks and said, "Of course. What did you want to talk about?" She didn't want to ask but she knew it would keep her up all night if he didn't tell her.
There was a beat of uncomfortable silence before Jaheem said, "It's your aunt Revka. She's been arrested at the border of Tevinter trying to smuggle Colette and herself through."
Leandra gasped like she was hit and her head went woozy. Jaheem's voice suddenly sounded far away, like it was behind glass. Her fingers began to tremble, barely able to hold grip of the phone as Jaheem kept talking.
"The Border Patrol found forged citizenships. Tracing her bank accounts shows the network of bribes. I'm sorry, I tried to make an appeal, but… Revka will be found guilty of failing to report an apostate, as well as treason for trying to become a Tevinter citizen. She'll most likely be sent to Aeonor for the rest of her life."
The tears spilled down Leandra's cheeks, her throat constricting so tightly she couldn't breathe. Jaheem's words didn't seem real. How could this be happening? "Wait. Can't we fight this? Won't there be a trial?" she choked out.
There was a shuffling noise, as if he was moving papers around. He cleared his throat. "With the charge being treason, there will be no trial. I can only try to appeal to carry her sentence in a more comfortable prison."
Mara grabbed Leandra's hand, turning off the TV, her eyes wide with alarm. It appeared she had overheard Jaheem's foreboding news.
"Colette," Leandra's voice was strangled, her voice shrill and fractured. "What's going to happen to Colette?"
She could hear Jaheem's heavy sigh on the other end of the line. "I'm sorry, Leandra. She's already been sent on a plane to Ferelden. She'll be registered in their Circle by morning."
Leandra dropped the phone, her hands shaking violently. And then a savage scream tore up her throat. She curled up into herself sobbing raggedly, unable to register that this was real. She damned the Maker for enacting this cruelty. She damned magic for inflicting its curse. She damned the Circle for kidnapping yet another member of her family.
Would she ever see Colette again? Aunt Revka? Leandra felt so foolish spending her last moments at Colette's party making a silly manchild jealous rather than cherishing the time she had with her niece. It was Colette's day. She deserved to be celebrated. If Leandra had known that was the last time she had ever seen her aunt and niece again she would have done the whole day differently.
Leandra sobbed for hours, clutching Mara for dear life as her heart bled out. Leandra cried until her head pounded and her throat was hoarse and there were no tears left to burn her eyes, but still she couldn't stop.
Eventually, she passed out. She didn't even register that she fell asleep because she was still crying. The shattered pieces of her heart were scattered on the ground. She felt broken, and she begged the Maker for something to numb her aching heart.
Suddenly she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and, when she picked up her head, she saw Malcolm's honey gaze staring at her in concern.
"I heard you," Malcolm picked up her face and wiped a tear with his thumb. "What happened?" He was wearing a tattered jumpsuit that looked like a prisoner's uniform.
Leandra was surrounded by a flower forest, much like the one in Colette's garden, though it seemed even the petals were darkened by her melancholy mood. The green sky was overcast, almost stormy. Magical creatures she recognized from past dreams peeked over the blades of grass to peer curiously at her.
Before Leandra could stop herself, she threw herself into Malcolm's arms, sobbing into his chest. His embrace felt like coming home after a long hard day, his warmth a balm for her aching heart. He cradled her, letting her spill her sorrows.
"My aunt's in prison for trying to smuggle Colette to Tevinter. There's nothing anyone can do! They're gone! They're just gone!" Leandra clutched Malcolm so tightly she thought she'd break him. "I don't know how I'm supposed to tell Anna, Robert, or Isaac! They're going to wonder why their Mama is missing! What am I supposed to tell them? What am I supposed to tell them?!"
Malcolm didn't say anything. No platitudes. No consolations. He just held her and let her cry, rubbing soothing circles into her back, his lips a thin hard line.
That was all Leandra needed. She wasn't sure she could stand it if he tried to tell her that the Maker had a plan and that this was all happening for a reason. His quiet, calming presence soothed her soul. She had forgotten how intoxicating his smell was. Even in a dream, she felt flooded by it.
"Why is this happening?" she sobbed, clutching him closer.
Malcolm cradled her head, running his fingers through her silky hair. "I'm sorry. I don't know. Sometimes… shit just happens."
Leandra cried some more until she was tired. Malcolm's heartbeat was a comforting drum, lulling her into some semblance of calm.
With fresh tears, she found herself cupping his face, marveling at how beautiful it still was. "I've missed you every minute you've been gone." She knew she shouldn't, and yet she didn't realize how much she needed him until he was back.
The corner of his lip quirked up in a smile, and he took one of her hands and placed a soft kiss on her palm. "You know I'll always be waiting for you."
Without thinking, she pulled his mouth in for a kiss and tasted the salt of her own tears.
Malcolm groaned, responding eagerly to her tongue. How she missed tasting these lips. How she wanted to just wrap herself around him and keep tasting him until he coated her inside and out. She pushed herself on top of him, straddling his growing hard-on and pinning him to the ground. The familiar hunger was back in the pit of her. She just needed his closeness, needed his warmth, his comfort. She needed him to make her forget all the pain she was feeling.
Her fingers started working on pulling off his clothes but, with two firm hands, he took her by the shoulders and gently pushed her off him. His breath came out in a pant, "Maker I missed you…" He gritted his teeth. "But I can't. Not here." His eyes darted nervously at the Spirits gathering around them in curiosity.
But Leandra didn't seem to notice them. She crossed her arms and huffed. "I don't understand you. In real life, you're all over me, and in my dreams, you always push me away. Why are you so confusing?!"
Malcolm looked amused, which only annoyed her more. He scooted back, giving himself more distance. "This isn't what you want. You're not thinking straight." His eyes fell to his wrist where the ribbon was still tied. "Besides, we're not even together."
Leandra was confused. "Does that matter here?" She leaned forward and traced his jaw with her finger, watching the way it tensed under her touch. "I can't have the real you, but here, the truth doesn't matter. Here, you're perfect. This is the only way I can have you now."
She cupped his face trying to bring him back in for a kiss but he grabbed her hands, keeping her at bay.
"So…you just want a fantasy." His voice was slick and on edge.
Leandra cocked her head, still baffled. If this was a dream, why did he look so hurt? If this was a dream, why did he feel so real? But of course this was just a dream. "I just want to go back to the way things were before. Can't we just pretend that none of that happened? That nothing else matters, just until I wake up."
She was shocked when Malcolm's eyes glistened up and a tear fell down. He quickly wiped the evidence, clearing his throat. "I should have known that I would never be good enough for you."
"No," Leandra's heart twisted at how devastated Malcolm looked. "That's not true."
Malcolm gently pushed her away and stood himself up. His lips thinned as he avoided her questioning gaze. "I should go."
Leandra stumbled up and grabbed his hand, fresh tears in his eyes. "What? Why are you leaving?"
Malcolm looked at her, his honey eyes hardened into glinting gold. "If what you felt for me wasn't real then… I just have to accept it was never going to work."
Leandra's face twisted in unexplained fury. "How can you say that? I loved you. That was real! And you went and ruined it!"
Malcolm's eyes dropped. "Yeah, I did." He gritted his teeth, stepping back, his fists clenching. "Maybe one day I can be a man worthy of you, but I'm not that man today."
"Malcolm… don't say that..." Leandra's heart was breaking at how defeated he sounded. She moved closer and wrapped her fingers around his hand, but his hand remained limp. "Please. I don't want to live without you."
Malcolm chuckled, though it sounded bitter. He grabbed her hand gently and removed her fingers from her grasp. "Believe me, I have no idea how I'm going to live without you…" He sighed brokenly. "But let's face it, you'll be better off... I'll only drag you down."
Leandra's heart lurched as Malcolm bared a bitter smile. He brought her fingers up to his mouth and kissed her knuckles chastely, his eyes apologetic.
"I am sorry about your aunt and niece, my Lady. Please forget about me and focus on them." Then Malcolm faded in her hands, melting away like a mirage.
Leandra woke up a few moments later still on the couch, some blankets tucked to her chin, tears in her eyes.
She sat up, wiping her face, feeling confused and conflicted. She had no idea why she felt guilty, but she was definitely tasting her own foot. Why would the Maker send such a strange dream?
She sighed and fell back into the couch. She grabbed a plush couch cushion and held it to her chest, pretending there was another body next to her. She could still feel Malcolm's warmth around her, could still hear his voice in her ears, could still smell his clover musk.
So she closed her eyes and pretended he was still beside her, as she tried to drift back to sleep.
—
Malcolm didn't mean to visit Leandra in the Fade. She'd just shown up in the flower forest, completely shattered like a dropped vase. And while Malcolm tried his best to pick up the pieces, there was nothing he could say to fix her reality. He knew full well how cruel the Circle could be, how unfair, how maddening it was to try to rail against it. He had accepted this truth long ago, but it still wasn't any easier to swallow.
Malcolm told himself he shouldn't have been surprised that Leandra wanted a fictional version of him. He had always known that he couldn't live up to her high expectations. He always knew he was going to fuck up and lose her. This end seemed inevitable. The Maker never intended Malcolm to be happy.
Ever since the Possession spirit cursed him, Malcolm had been feeling the edges of its burn. Compassion and Chef tried to heal what they could, but they both told Malcolm that the only way to break the curse was to release Leandra forever. He thought he couldn't do it. He thought doing so would surely kill him. Now, after that conversation in the Fade, he knew he needed to even if he wouldn't survive the separation.
The images of himself juxtaposed next to his father had flashed in his mind constantly since his battle with Possession. The self-loathing had come with it. He'd started to believe Zelophehad's words. That he would taint Leandra with his filth. That he would have been better off dying young and sparing Leandra the pain of ever having met him.
In a way, it made sense. By releasing her, he would save Leandra from himself. He would no longer make her cry. He would no longer break her heart. She would be free to love a better man that could make her happy in the ways he couldn't. Didn't she deserve that?
Malcolm looked at the ribbon, savoring his last moments with it. He knew he had to give it back. Maybe not tonight. Leandra had already gone through so much, and the last thing she would want was to see his face, but her favor didn't belong to him anymore. Still, he couldn't bring himself to take it off just yet. He would let himself hold onto the moment when she was his. Maybe it would be enough to get him through the darkness that lay ahead.
Malcolm left Leandra in the flower forest confident that she would be safe in Compassion's and Chef's company. He eventually wandered his way back onto the Circle grounds and saw his own body sleeping in a cell. His cellmates were also sleeping, or attempting to, if they weren't crying or partaking in some form of self-harm.
There was usually only one Templar on patrol in the dungeon, and another Templar to come check in every other hour to make sure everything was sound. Sure enough, Templar-Recruit Trudeau was falling asleep on his stoop.
Malcolm connected his Fade strings to the Templar's unconscious mind and hooked them in deep. Malcolm could read that the next guard rotation would be in thirty minutes and that Templar-Recruit Trudeau had spent the last couple of hours entertaining himself thinking of gay porn, which was not something Malcolm expected of the rugged man.
Malcolm muddied the man's mind and with just a little nudge of his fingers and started puppetting him in the direction of Malcolm's cell. The Templar, still asleep, took the keys from his belt, opened the lock to Malcolm's door, and dropped the keys just inside. Then Malcolm steered the man back to his stoop, where he continued to dream of being happily rammed into oblivion.
Malcolm didn't usually use his Somniari powers on people. Mind domination was alarmingly similar to the realms of blood magic, and the Chantry would not even distinguish them even if Malcolm never made any deals with demons. Never cut himself or used his own life force to power his spells. Malcolm found out young that bending someone's will was surprisingly easy for him, and it was useful in convincing his bullies that he was too much of a hassle to target. Not that Malcolm didn't make every effort to make that true in the first place.
Still, Malcolm wouldn't have done this if it wasn't an emergency. If he was caught mind-bending then they wouldn't hesitate to Tranquilize him. But having a lyrium delivery tonight constituted an emergency.
Malcolm drifted back into his body. His back was still stiff and scratchy from healing, but he was able to move around better.
He crept invisibly out of his cell and locked the door again. Stuffing the keys into his pocket, he snuck past the sleeping Templar and tiptoed up the stairs. He stuck to the shadows and when Templars came close patrolling, he made sure to keep still and quiet so they'd pass without notice.
Malcolm took a pit stop to his room. Thankfully no one was currently guarding the hallway, so he changed into some less innocuous clothes and picked up the money he needed to deliver to Cross.
Eventually, he made his way into the boiler room, uncovered the sewer grate that had come loose, and hopped in. He made sure the grate was secure and back in place before he crawled through the space that led into the main sewer.
His feet hit a small puddle on the way down and he couldn't help but groan at the slime. The sewers that ran under the ocean and into Darktown leaked sea water from the pipes constantly. Malcolm kept to the catwalks, but the grates were slick and rusting in places. None of these tunnels were maintained, which meant that there were places where he could easily fall into stagnant water below, which would mean at least a couple hours in the washroom to get rid of the smell, which was something he couldn't afford.
Malcolm had gotten to know these tunnels pretty well, having traversed them since he was a teenager. Though he still would never get used to the smell. When he first made the trips to the mainland, he would gag and fight bile. Eventually he'd learned a simple illusion spell, and now could spend the trip smelling Leandra's heavenly jasmine perfume.
The sewers mostly ran in straight lines, but even under here, some secret passages and corridors went down into the dark depths, hiding locked rooms and laboratories. Malcolm once spent some time mapping the network of tunnels. The sewer lines ran all the way up to Hightown, and Malcolm found that he could travel almost anywhere in the city.
Malcolm followed his old spray paint markings. There were different colors depending on where Malcolm wanted to go, red for Hightown, green for Lowtown, but today he followed the black lines leading to Darktown. Darktown was the fastest route, and it only took about thirty minutes for the sewer smell to start clearing out into something more generally rank.
Eventually, his markings led him to a heavy door with a chain that wasn't locked to anything. Malcolm pulled it open and walked into a Darktown corridor.
The air was dusty, and heavy with smoke and piss. There were a couple vagrants that turned to look at him, but they went back to what they were doing when they recognized Malcolm.
Malcolm dug his hands in his pockets and started wandering down the tunnels. Luckily these corridors connected to Carta territory, so it didn't take long to find one of their train lines and hop a ride down to The Pulse.
The club was loud like always, the same strobing laser lights making it hard to see clearly. A different DJ, wearing the giant glowing head of a cat mascot, was playing at the center of the stage. People in the same bright outfits grooved on the dance floor, their bodies writhing to a hypnotic bouncing beat.
Malcolm's heart ached thinking about the last time he was here. Leandra was still on his arm, wearing that dress that drove him crazy. Maybe a little too crazy. He knew he hadn't been thinking straight that night. He should have told Matthew he couldn't make the delivery. Or told Leandra that they would have to hit the next rave. It wasn't like Cross didn't hold them regularly.
He weaved through the crowd of dancers and stepped into Cross' office without knocking.
Cross was dressed in a casual suit, several of his lieutenants sitting around him at his octagonal table. Cross raised an eyebrow as Malcolm stood in the corner, leaning against the wall, but didn't bother to stop talking to his men. "Now the Coterie have been hitting our shipments a little too regularly. We either have a spy or a rat and, if I don't have a head on my doorstop by sundown tomorrow, I'll put your names on a dartboard and see which head replaces it."
His men shifted nervously, looking at each other with wary eyes. One of the men pointed to another and said, "Jekel's been skimming from the books."
The red-headed dwarf scowled and shoved a finger back at the accusing dwarf. "Have not. You've been stealing from the bartender's tip jar."
Cross slammed his fists against the table. "I already know about that and have taken it out of your cuts, idiots. Now get me some info I don't know."
The dwarves scattered from the table like rats scurrying from a wolf. They passed Malcolm, not even bothering to address him.
Cross turned to Malcolm, the same predatory look in his eye. "You're late."
Malcolm stepped forward. "Didn't you hear about the abomination running amok? Circle's on lockdown. You're lucky I made the trip at all."
Cross snorted sharply, his bulbous nose quivering. "Sounds like a you problem." He cracked his meaty knuckles. "Orders need delivering, and you're still my best runner."
Malcolm looked down at his feet. "About that…" He clenched his fists ready for a fight. "After this delivery, I quit."
Cross raised a shaggy eyebrow, an amused look on his face. "This ain't a day job. You think you can just walk away?"
Malcolm raised his eyes and glared. "I've made you enough coin, haven't I?"
Cross grinned, showing off some gold teeth. "There's always more."
Malcolm scoffed. Greedy bastard. "Well, I've made enough and then some. At least enough to ditch this city. I'm going to escape as soon as I have the opportunity. Find another idiot."
Cross chuckled, steepling his fingers together. "Guess that makes sense, since that fine woman dumped your sorry ass. You two made quite the scene."
Malcolm growled, trying to ignore the sting of Cross' barb. "You know you can't kill me, and you can't make me do this anymore."
Cross cocked his head to the side. "Does this mean you no longer care what happens to your girl?"
Malcolm froze, his head snapping, a snarl on his lips.
With a wicked grin, Cross picked up a remote from under the table. "Before you go. I want to show you something." Then Cross turned on the TV nailed to the wall.
Suddenly Malcolm and Leandra's animalistic groans started echoing in the room. Malcolm turned wild-eyed to see Leandra and him intertwined on the screen, the camera positioned at a high angle so you could see everything. Leandra's nails dug into Malcolm's scarred back as her moans turned into screams, Malcolm's hands fisted her ruined hot pink dress and bunched it up around her waist, as he pounded into her mercilessly, repeating her name on his lips.
Cross whistled appreciatively at Leandra splayed out on the dirty bathroom counter. "I have to say you gave my boys and me a pretty good show. I'm impressed, and a little jealous."
Malcolm's fists balled up and sparked. Before he could stop himself he threw an arc of lightning at the TV and blew it up so Cross would stop leering at Leandra.
Cross laughed, holding his belly. "Guess I should add that on as debt."
Malcolm stormed up to Cross, his fists raised. "You sleazy motherfucker! You're going to give me that tape right now!"
Cross grinned diabolically. "As if I made just one. All my boys wanted a copy."
Malcolm punched Cross in the jaw, making the dwarf spit blood. Then he grappled him, eyes going red as he tackled Cross to the ground. He took fistfuls of the dwarf's suit in his hands, ripping it. "Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you, right now!"
There was fear in Cross' eyes, but still, he bared his bloody teeth in a smile. "Sure. You kill me, one of my boys posts your little tape to the internet, and you and your girl become stars."
Malcolm froze, at a loss at what to do.
In his hesitation, Cross broke Malcolm's grip and used his heavy weight to swing himself on top. He drew a dagger on Malcolm's throat, slicing it slightly so a sliver of blood dribbled down his neck. He spat a wad of blood next to Malcolm's head. "You listen here, lover boy. You might think you have me outmatched 'cause you can fling a few spells, but I know how you tick. I have connections, eyes everywhere."
Cross' foul alcoholic breath filled Malcolm's nostrils as he leaned in closer to Malcolm's pointed ear. "999 Songwind Boulevard that's where your girl sleeps. For some reason, she's slumming it with her former lady's maid, Mara Hartling. Cute girl, too. There's a little tea shop on Roseburg Square where your girl visits most mornings before she works at the Sacred Heart's Symphonique Orchestra."
Cross chuckled as he saw the nervous sweat run down Malcolm's forehead. "You know, a guy like me could use a little culture. Should I pay her a visit one of these days?" Cross licked his lips. "I think I want a taste for myself."
Without thinking, anger pulsated from Malcolm's body and a shockwave of energy blew Cross off Malcolm.
Cross' head hit the back of the octagonal table, his dagger scattering to the side of the room.
Malcolm rose to his feet, his hands smoking with blue fire, his face so ferocious Cross flinched. "You touch her, I will make sure you die painfully and slowly. You'll be begging for the end."
"Hurt me all you want," Cross spat. "Your girl will still be famous. You'll have to share with the world."
Malcolm visibly trembled as he staggered back. With some difficulty, he forcefully snuffed out the flames. His shoulders shook as he bared his teeth in a snarl, his eyes still glowing in anger. "Where's my order?"
Cross barked a triumphant laugh. "That's a smart elf." He stumbled to his feet, his head a little wobbly as he walked behind his desk and tossed Malcolm a backpack.
Malcolm caught it in one hand and slung it over his shoulder. He dug into his pockets and threw several stacks of sovereigns at Cross' feet. "I'm not waiting for you to count it. I have to get this delivered before they find me out of my cell."
Cross picked up the stacks, flipping through them like a deck of cards, his eyes glimmering in greed. "As long as you're back in time for the next shipment."
Malcolm stomped out of the office and back through the club, his fists in his pockets. Cross might have won for now, but Malcolm would find a way to track down every one of those tapes and then kill Cross if he had to.
But Malcolm knew he couldn't just do this hastily. He knew Cross wasn't lying when he said he had eyes on Leandra. He cursed himself for his own horny stupidity. He should have known that Cross would have kept cameras in the bathroom. He couldn't believe he was still feeling the repercussions of that night.
Still, he couldn't let Leandra be violated any further.
Zelophehad would have to wait. Malcolm needed to fix this before it was too late.
