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Arven narrowed his eyes at me. He knew what was coming next, though he waited for me to be the one to say it.
“Sniff, doggy. Sniff out the magic for me.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. A sense of glee washed through me. I delighted in frustrating him to the point of breaking. Perhaps then he would finally deem me unworthy of his time and leave.
Worst case scenario, he’d deem me unworthy of life. At least, I could defend myself now. If it came to a fight, then I would be prepared.
But Arven did as I asked, much to my surprise. He lifted his nose to the air without so much as a word of complaint, though I could still see the pulsing vein in his forehead. He moved deeper into the room while I kept an eye out for anyone who might catch us.
“Divine weapons,” Arven said beside one crate. He moved on to the next. “Poisons, mostly herbal. And this one here is carrying a Pegasus pelt.”
There were a number of items here that no one should have in their possession.
A Pegasus pelt, I mouthed in disbelief.
Who would even consider skinning such a creature? Someone who wanted power at all costs, I realized.
I knelt and checked out the destination transcript for this specific pallet. It was marked to head towards the Salem-Boston area. My stomach squirmed at the thought of these items making it into a witch’s hands. There were a number of questionable witches all across the country. Many didn’t care what kind of power they tapped into so long as it gave them the boost they craved.
I shook my head and stood. Deeper into the warehouse we came across a pallet marked for Lakesedge. My heart sank to my feet. Blood cold, I could barely feel my hand as I ran it across the top of the crate. Beryl was still kicking, it seemed.
I wasn’t sure why I was surprised. I’d left Lakesedge in disarray after betraying my friends—though I shouldn’t have called them friends if I was able to do what I did.
Eyes closed, I could still see Cerri’s shocked surprise as she looked down at the blade in her chest.
Poor girl.
Shaking the memories loose, I turned away and ran my hand over the dust on another set of crates. This time, the name on it said Eveningwind. My heart hit the floor in a sickening splat. Unable to breathe, I pulled my shaking hand away from the box.
Checking over my shoulder, I saw that Arven was distracted. He was in his own world, so I stole a moment to gently wiggle the nails free and peer inside. The contents made me dizzy. Smells of home came rushing back. It was my life, in a box.
I ran my fingers along a celestial globe marking the placement of the stars. Beneath it was a stack of my father’s books. This crate contained everything that’d been in his study. Rolled up star charts were creased and crammed into a corner.
Rage hit my stomach like a cherry bomb. It blew up inside me and made me lurch upright. I swayed on my feet. Though I desperately wanted to slam the lid shut, I gently lowered it back into place. Beside this crate was another. I knew that if I ran my hand over the dust, I would see Eveningwind on the wood.
I could feel it in my bones.
The remnants of my court had been packed up and stored here, of all places. For what? For Locke to peddle like pawnshop goods? The rage rose and reached the back of my mouth, coating my tongue in acrid bile.
All I could do was stand there, hands flat against the lids of these crates while I tried to calm the rising rage trying to tear through me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to sob. I wanted to turn and slam my fists against Arven’s chest.
Movement startled me and brought me back to the present. I automatically dropped into a crouch behind the nearest crate and strained to hear where the sound had come from. Arven wasn’t as savvy as I was and stood out in the open. I started to hiss at him for being an idiot, though all things considered, I didn’t mind using him as a distraction to escape.
Then I realized that the movement had come frominsideone of the crates. I stood, slowly. Arven tilted his head as he listened for the source of the rustling. It happened again, in another crate. He and I shared a look.
It seemed that Locke was transporting more than just enchanted objects. This time, Arven didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the edge of the crate lid and ripped it open, wood chips spraying everywhere. I inhaled sharply, ready to tell him to stop, when he reached into the crate and lifted a cage.
Inside, a small creature shivered and growled. It backed itself up against the far wall of the cage and shook like a leaf in the autumn wind.
“There’s more,” Arven whispered, a low growl rumbling beneath his voice. His eyes remained on the contents of the crate while the little creature in his hands started to freak out.
The creature flapped little mouse-brown wings in a panic. Its tiny antlers caught on the bars of the cage and rang out, making a racket. I darted forward, grabbed the cage from Arven’s grasp, and opened the cage gate. I thought I would be fast enough to grab the creature before it could escape, but it darted right past me and leapt into the air on its itty bitty wings.
Thankfully, Arven was faster. He zipped across the room so quickly that I couldn’t tell if he moved in-between or if he used monster speed. The little creature didn’t have a chance before he snatched it out of the air and clutched it close to his chest. I watched him open his shirt and tuck the shivering creature inside right as sounds of alarm came from outside.
Thinking quickly, I grabbed Arven’s sleeve and dragged him to the nearest hiding place—a standing sarcophagus. It wasn’t the best option, but it slid open with ease and fit both of us inside for the most part. Arven’s broad shoulders kept it cracked open ever so slightly, but it was dark enough inside that we vanished almost completely.
“I thought I heard something in here,” a voice said.
