my debt.
“Have you ever seen her before?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Not that I recall, Mr. Grey” . . . Perhaps a long time ago. There was something familiar about her.
I peered over Belgor’s shoulder into the shop. The setting sun illuminated shelves that hadn’t seen real light in decades. I half expected plant life to spring from the thick dust. “Can I see where she attacked you?”
“I have asked these gentlemen to leave as I do not wish to file a complaint, but they refuse” . . . Just you, Mr. Grey . . . “I know my rights and wish to forget the incident.”
I nodded. “I understand. But you know I’m not with the Guild anymore. I’m only a concerned friend.”
Belgor checked the dubious smile that had begun to form on his lips. “In that case, I will allow you to pass, but no others.”
I glanced at Dylan. He didn’t say anything, trusting me. Belgor followed me over the threshold into the store. He waved a finger across the open doorway, then pointed it across the gaping holes of the windows. A thin streak of essence followed the hand. Dylan would recognize it as a trip-wire alarm if anyone tried to pass inside.
“At the counter,” Belgor said.
He was too large to pass me, so I walked ahead of him down the main aisle. The faint hint of an ozonelike odor filled my nose. Essence-fire left it behind. As I came around the end of the aisle near the back, Belgor didn’t need to tell me where the action had been. The next aisle had a long scorch mark across the floor to the front of the store and the missing windows. The shelves to either side still smoldered from the heat of the elf-shot.
“She attacked you with no warning?”
Now that he had room, Belgor moved behind the counter, where he rested his thick hands. Except for the trashed aisle, that arrangement was how we usually dealt with each other. “She said, ‘Die, betrayer,’ then lunged at me with an essence-charged knife. I returned the courtesy with elf-shot that sent her through the window.”
“ ‘Betrayer’? That’s an odd word, don’t you think? Do any betraying lately, Belgor?”
The sides of his mouth pulled downward. “I am in the business of trust, Mr. Grey. I would not knowingly betray a confidence.”
I had my doubts about that but let it slide. “Let’s cut to the chase. What do you have that you don’t want the boys outside to see?”
Belgor didn’t move, still considering how much to trust me. “Follow me.”
He pulled aside a curtain behind the counter and entered the back room. I had been in there before. The ten-foot-square room was packed with junk and saturated with the charred-cinnamon stench of Belgor’s body odor. It also hummed with essence. This was where he hid his more esoteric goods for a select clientele. A stained, sagging love seat sat to the left, facing a huge wide-screen television showing C-SPAN. DVDs of a different kind of sport littered the top of the TV. Belgor worked a strong market for porn that barely skirted below what even the fey would consider obscene. I remained at the door.
He lifted a shirt box from the side of the love seat. Looking at me briefly, he tilted the lid of the box open. A gold neck-ring known as a torc nestled in a pile of tissue. Torcs are neck jewelry favored by the fey, C-shaped and worn by sliding the open gap around the neck. The age and gold content of this one made it worth a pretty penny. The essence wafting off it—pure Faerie—made it more rare and doubled its value. Any kind of original material from Faerie demanded high prices. Fey abilities worked better with it.
“Why didn’t she wait until you handed it over before she tried to kill you?”
Belgor closed the box. “She wasn’t here for the torc. She came for some jewelry. The torc was my . . . processing payment, shall we say?”
It didn’t make sense to me. The torc was worth a fortune. “How much jewelry are we talking about?”
“Three fibulae, pre-Convergence, very nice
“Have you ever seen her before?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Not that I recall, Mr. Grey” . . . Perhaps a long time ago. There was something familiar about her.
I peered over Belgor’s shoulder into the shop. The setting sun illuminated shelves that hadn’t seen real light in decades. I half expected plant life to spring from the thick dust. “Can I see where she attacked you?”
“I have asked these gentlemen to leave as I do not wish to file a complaint, but they refuse” . . . Just you, Mr. Grey . . . “I know my rights and wish to forget the incident.”
I nodded. “I understand. But you know I’m not with the Guild anymore. I’m only a concerned friend.”
Belgor checked the dubious smile that had begun to form on his lips. “In that case, I will allow you to pass, but no others.”
I glanced at Dylan. He didn’t say anything, trusting me. Belgor followed me over the threshold into the store. He waved a finger across the open doorway, then pointed it across the gaping holes of the windows. A thin streak of essence followed the hand. Dylan would recognize it as a trip-wire alarm if anyone tried to pass inside.
“At the counter,” Belgor said.
He was too large to pass me, so I walked ahead of him down the main aisle. The faint hint of an ozonelike odor filled my nose. Essence-fire left it behind. As I came around the end of the aisle near the back, Belgor didn’t need to tell me where the action had been. The next aisle had a long scorch mark across the floor to the front of the store and the missing windows. The shelves to either side still smoldered from the heat of the elf-shot.
“She attacked you with no warning?”
Now that he had room, Belgor moved behind the counter, where he rested his thick hands. Except for the trashed aisle, that arrangement was how we usually dealt with each other. “She said, ‘Die, betrayer,’ then lunged at me with an essence-charged knife. I returned the courtesy with elf-shot that sent her through the window.”
“ ‘Betrayer’? That’s an odd word, don’t you think? Do any betraying lately, Belgor?”
The sides of his mouth pulled downward. “I am in the business of trust, Mr. Grey. I would not knowingly betray a confidence.”
I had my doubts about that but let it slide. “Let’s cut to the chase. What do you have that you don’t want the boys outside to see?”
Belgor didn’t move, still considering how much to trust me. “Follow me.”
He pulled aside a curtain behind the counter and entered the back room. I had been in there before. The ten-foot-square room was packed with junk and saturated with the charred-cinnamon stench of Belgor’s body odor. It also hummed with essence. This was where he hid his more esoteric goods for a select clientele. A stained, sagging love seat sat to the left, facing a huge wide-screen television showing C-SPAN. DVDs of a different kind of sport littered the top of the TV. Belgor worked a strong market for porn that barely skirted below what even the fey would consider obscene. I remained at the door.
He lifted a shirt box from the side of the love seat. Looking at me briefly, he tilted the lid of the box open. A gold neck-ring known as a torc nestled in a pile of tissue. Torcs are neck jewelry favored by the fey, C-shaped and worn by sliding the open gap around the neck. The age and gold content of this one made it worth a pretty penny. The essence wafting off it—pure Faerie—made it more rare and doubled its value. Any kind of original material from Faerie demanded high prices. Fey abilities worked better with it.
“Why didn’t she wait until you handed it over before she tried to kill you?”
Belgor closed the box. “She wasn’t here for the torc. She came for some jewelry. The torc was my . . . processing payment, shall we say?”
It didn’t make sense to me. The torc was worth a fortune. “How much jewelry are we talking about?”
“Three fibulae, pre-Convergence, very nice
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