Page 29 of The Thief's Mark

seven

Griff

Griffwasn’tsureifhe was awake or dreaming when he saw Cal peering down at him. Everything since the thief left to go fetch medicine had been a confused haze. The part of him that remained rational knew he was in rough shape, slipping in and out of awareness.

Though in his brief moments of lucidity, he wondered if perhaps he’d already lost his sanity. How else could he explain his decision to remove Blackjack’s pacifier cuff and send him gallivanting off on his own unsupervised?

The man was a rogue and thief. He had no code of honor. He was probably already on a ship booking passage out of Derimay, laughing about how gullible Griff was while Griff lay here and rotted.

He stood up for that dock boy. And he didn’t hesitate to charge Bald Locke when he fired at you.

Both true…and both things Griff didn’t know how to reconcile with the image of the devious mastermind he’d built up in hishead over the past few years hunting his quarry. Blackjack was supposed to be cunning. Merciless. Evil. Not so, so…human.

Above him, Cal’s face seemed to waver. He was saying something, but in his dazed state, Griff could barely process what. All he could focus on was Cal’s brilliant aura, the colors bright and warm and so pure. No matter what disguise Cal wore, he would always recognize him.

He tried to reach toward it but was too weak to raise his arm. So instead, he fixed Cal with a broad grin.

“Cal! It’s good to see you.”

Cal’s brow furrowed as his face split into a confused smile. “Um, you too, bud.” He held up a jar and waved it. “Mission accomplished. I got the medicine. I just need to apply it.”

“Are you real?”

“The eternal question. Are any of us?”

Griff’s attention wavered again, and he started to slip back into a daze. At least until a sudden, sharp, cold pain pierced his wounded side. His eyes flew open as he snapped back to reality with an agonized groan.

“By the Goddess, you’re definitely real, all right.” He glared up at Cal, who flashed him an apologetic wince.

“Sorry, sorry. Just demonstrating whatnotto do so that you have a proper frame of reference for how well I apply this stuff from now on.”

Griff bit back an amused snort that turned into a grimace at another dull throb of pain. “Are you sure you’re doing that right?”

“Not even a little bit,” Cal said cheerfully. Griff clenched his jaw against another lance of agony. “But hey, good news: we’ll get to find out together. Besides, I probably can’t make it any worse, right? Don’t answer that.”

That time, Griff did let out a small snort. He tried to mask it with a cough, but judging by the sly grin Cal shot him, it didn’twork. To his surprise, he realized he was genuinely glad Cal of all people was there with him.

Probably a side effect of his odd aura…or evidence of more delusions.

Griff fell silent while Cal worked, lathering his wound and the surrounding skin with liberal amounts of some foul-smelling goop until he’d exhausted the entire jar. Only then did Cal began to gently rub it in, making smooth circular motions with his fingers as he went.

Griff braced himself for more pain, but to his relief, all he felt was a soothing numbness. It must be an effect of Nathaniel’s magic taking hold. An unexpected mercy—Griff knew from harsh experience that dulling the pain required extra ingredients and effort the Sunkeeper rarely bothered with. Nathaniel must’ve been feeling particularly merciful today.

He took the opportunity to study Cal while he worked. Now that he was a little more lucid, he could tell from the hue of Cal’s aura that he was no longer channeling duskflame. Cal’s real appearance wasn’t too far off the Blackjack persona he’d worn—the same average height and thin frame. Griff guessed he was younger—probably mid-twenties versus Griff’s late thirties. His eyes were a muddy brown like Griff’s, his dirty blonde hair a ruffled mess. The biggest change was his surprisingly delicate features: not exactly what Griff would’ve imagined for a hardened criminal.

“So,” Cal said as he continued to rub in the poultice. “Why didn’t you tell me that Sunkeeper was your father?”

Griff suppressed a grimace entirely separate from the pain and gave a half-shrug, looking away. “Didn’t seem relevant.”

“Not relevant? I could’ve made a fool of myself if I accidentally said the wrong thing! Besides, that seems like a pretty big deal to me. If I had a father, I’d want him to know if I’d gotten hurt.”

There was a certain tightness in Cal’s voice, an almost longing, that made Griff glance back at him. Though still alive with dancing colors, a new heaviness hung over Cal’s aura, making it droop.

Compelled to restore it to its previous luster, Griff shared more than he’d meant to. “Things have been tense between me and Nathaniel since my mother’s death. He doesn’t approve of my decision to become an inspector.”

That was putting it mildly. But Cal didn’t need to know the whole sordid story. Hopefully, that would be enough to whet his appetite.

Griff should’ve known better.