Wings or tentacles don’t erase greed or love. The Oricerans might have magic and some might live longer, but they aren’t that different from us, for good or ill.
During her talk with Harry and Lily, she hadn’t learned much more than she’d already been told. Someone had ambushed the kids, but the attackers seemed more concerned about artifacts, including threatening the kids while explicitly asking for specific ones.
The tomb raider’s mind ticked away as she considered what the slim evidence she had indicated. Everything would make sense if she put all the pieces together in the right way.
First, the assholes knew where the kids lived. That meant they had good intelligence or access to tracking magic. A lot of people don’t even know about those teens.
Second, the assholes knew that some of the kids had artifacts, or at least knew they were magical and might have access to artifacts.
Three, they had enough discipline to jump a bunch at once and didn’t care about using force against teenagers. From what Lily said, Casey would have been toast without the healing potion. That meant these assholes weren’t Hollingsworth-style guys in it for the thrills, but seriously ruthless mercenaries or tomb raiders who don’t care about killing innocent people.
Shay frowned and took a seat at the bar. The Kilomea bartender sauntered over and set a whiskey sour in front of her, and she looked up at him with an arched brow. She’d been thinking about that very drink on her way over and was still unsure if the bartender’s ability to anticipate drinks was talent or supernatural.
I guess it doesn’t matter as long as he gets the drink right.
The tomb raider picked up her glass and took a sip, enjoying the burn as it slid down her throat. A few more sips followed. A little alcohol to soothe her nerves wasn’t a bad thing.
“Gnome’s not here,” the Kilomea rumbled. For a moment, his grinding voice reminded her of James. The frown on his face did, too.
“Not interested in Tubal-Cain, not today.” Shay gulped some more of her drink. “Interested in talking with someone who can give me information about shit happening on the streets, artifact-related. Minor thefts and robberies.”
“Lots of people can do that.” He shrugged. “Why would they want to, though? Just because you’ve been in here a few times doesn’t mean anyone trusts you.”
Shay snorted. “Trust is overrated.” She produced a nice stack of high-value bills from the pocket of her leather jacket and pushed it toward the Kilomea. “Figured you’d appreciate cash instead of something with an electronic trail.”
The bartender pocketed the cash and nodded toward a corner table. A weathered-looking Wood Elf with a jagged scar running down his face sat there sipping some glowing blue concoction.
Shay took a moment to down the rest of her drink. “Thanks.”
The Kilomea shook his head. “I’m just giving you a person to talk to. I don’t guarantee anything. Be careful. That elf’s not to be trusted, but he can give you good info.”
She grinned. “I can be very persuasive.”
With that, Shay hopped off the stool and walked over to the table. The elf looked up as she arrived, a thin frown on his face. The expression made his scar even more pronounced.
“Do I know you, human?”
She shrugged. “Shay Carson.”
He chuckled. “Really, now?”
“Oh, so you do know me.” She slipped into a seat across from him, not caring enough to ask for permission.
“I know of you. You can call me Carver.” The Wood Elf flicked his finger, and a thin whorl of his drink rose from his glass and went into his mouth. He swallowed. “Word on the street is that you’re Brownstone’s woman.”
Huh? Is that the kind of shit they say?
Shay smirked, not wanting to show her surprise. She’d expected the Wood Elf to talk about how she was the famous and secretive tomb raider Aletheia, or, if not that, reveal that he knew about her dark past as a killer. About the last thing she’d ever anticipated was someone in the underworld hearing her name and just putting it together with James.
This means my cover’s intact if even scumbags don’t know who I really am. Nice to know.
Shay chuckled. “Yeah, James and I have fun together sometimes. What about him?”
The elf’s face curled into a sneer. “That guy’s fucking intense. Relentless, but fair.”
“Fair?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I’m not an idiot. I’ve heard about the people he’s taken out, but they were all assholes who didn’t know when to stop. This city is filled with gangs and syndicates, both Oriceran and human. Brownstone doesn’t fuck with most of them, because they don’t fuck with him. Like I said, relentless but fair. Wouldn’t want to run into him in a dark alley, but I respect his work.”
Shay fished more bills out of her jacket and set them on the table. “Respect it enough that you’ll take this little tip in exchange for some information?”
His gaze flicked between the money and Shay. She could almost smell the greed oozing off him.
Pointed ears and magic, or round ears and no magic. Money makes both worlds go around.
Carver shrugged, a slight smirk returning to his face. “Ask questions. I might have answers. Not guaranteeing shit, though.”
“You familiar with the kids who live in the tunnels? The ones who are good at parkour.”
He rubbed his chin. “Mostly half-breed trash from what I’ve heard. They have magic, but it’s not reliable. They like to run around and steal, but I hear they’ve been lightening up on that lately. Good for them, otherwise they might end up getting killed when they take from the wrong person.”
“Someone roughed them up earlier today.” Shay leaned in, her face darkening. “Stole things from them; artifacts that were theirs.”
“You know what they say. It’s like I heard in a human song the other day—the wheel
