The floor above groans in the wake of fast footsteps. Sitting in the dark warehouse, discarded crates with their pried open lids scattered all around the floor, Ferro watches the ceiling for hints of movement. He can almost track the concern above by the particles of dust peeling away from the boards to sprinkle down among the refuse about him. He could still smell old filth and urine in the air, the human trash occupying the warehouse having only been vacated a few days ago.

  Ferro hated smells these days. They were almost always awful, and the pleasant ones inflicted him with emotion. Pondering the emotions was fine; he could do that for hours, but there was only one way to be free of them. Currently, none of the coven were allowed that escape, Sigrid’s orders.

  He stretches, the lines of the create lid against his back digging little grooves against his spine. It isn’t quite painful, but it is a sensation he can focus on. He finds it a bit odd, seeking comfort in discomfort, and the puzzlement of that lets him chew on the time.

  Morello sits in a broken chair nearby, the back leg replaced with a stack of books they dug out of an office in the back. The man chews on his lit cigarette, looking down at his hand like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, a scowl-worth fascinating thing. His left hand still holds the slender feminine form he discarded more than half an hour ago, the skin pale like it has never seen the sun, the nails long and polished, the middle one even painted blue.

  Ferro felt a sudden urge to lunge at him, to see if he could kill Morello before the man could react. The feeling is fleeting, a passing thought that he has sometimes. He knew everyone else had the same thoughts; he saw it in how they behaved when around those who couldn’t threaten them.

  He’d even seen Sigrid act on that impulse before, an insane smile on her face as she ripped a man apart. The glee lasted only a fraction of a second, but he’d seen it all the same. Afterward, she claimed that she did it because they needed a cart. Still have the cart, parked at the loading door in the back.

  Before that, Ferro had thought that controlling that sudden impulse had been what made Sigird so strong, what had given her that invisible power of hers. He thought one day he might gain that same power if he never acted on the impulse. Turns out, that’s not how it worked. Still, he never had acted on it, its allure is never all that strong for him. He can’t say why, can’t even guess at it really; that’s just how it is.

  The slam of a door from the level above pulls him out of his thoughts. Boots start stamping against the stairwell in the room over, Morello hurriedly changing his hand back to normal before Sigrid can arrive.

  “Reckon she calmed down?” Ferro asks as the footfalls grow louder.

  Morello shoots him a dirty look, knocking away the dead ash of his cigarette as he steels himself. The pounding footfalls grow silent at the big red door leading in, giving the two inside a good few beats before the brass doorknob starts to turn. The first thing Ferro notices is the scowl on Sigrid’s face, her red eyes seeming sinister in the gloom of the darkened hallway beyond. As she joins them in the room, her arms crossed, nails raking the backs of her arms and puffing dead skin into the air, Ferro notices that her heavy boots do not shake the floor, a good sign.

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  “Explain it to me in a way that doesn’t piss me off,” she grunts through gritted teeth.

  “We got found out,” Ferro replies.

  In an instant, a corner of one of the crates he lays upon shatters, splinters of wood flying away and stabbing into a nearby tarp, rending it to pieces. He lifts his head taking a look at the damage.

  “I did warn you that it would be risky,” Morello says. “Wading into a group like that, all sorts of strange magic floating around. All we know for sure is that some girl was able to recognize me from a few weeks ago, despite my looking different.”

  “How is that even possible?” Sigrids asks, straining and just managing to hold back an enraged outburst of power. “All of their scouts are supposed to be out in the duchy right now.”

  “She didn’t say,” Ferro says, sitting up on the crate and throwing his boots over the side. “She just dropped that she’d seen us before, both of us.” He fishes around in the pocket of his jacket for a moment, removing a small bit of silver, and holding up the adventurer’s insignia to inspect. “No one even asked for these. I wouldn’t pay it too much mind.” Squinting, he finds a speck of blood on the side of the coin and sets to flicking it away with a nail.

  “Any hint that we are here, that we even exist, is too much of a risk. This isn’t a headache that I need, not with Iz getting drunk out in the West.”

  “She still isn’t returning messages?” Morello asks. “That isn’t like her.”

  “The girl is too far away from me, starting to think that she might be a match just because she has a few dumb animals hopping to her words,” Sigrid says, chewing on her thumbnail. “Treacherous.”

  “Need me to have a conversation with her?” Ferro asks, feeling a bit of excitement at the prospect.

  “No, I need you here.”

  “Here, here? I managed to insert us into the Prince’s army, they leave tomorrow.”

  Sigrid shakes her head. “Too dangerous now. The plan needs to be adjusted. The two of you will miss them shipping out. They might look into it, but hopefully, they won’t think anything of two adventurers deciding not to show up.” She seems to notice then that she is chewing on her thumb and scowls as she pulls her hand away from her mouth. “Other than being discovered, did you find out their strategy?”

  “Got it all,” Morello says. He taps a little book sitting on the arm of his chair. “Weren’t all that complicated. Wrote down everything I noticed.”

  Sigrid turns her eyes to Ferro. “Did you place all of the tags?”

  “Clean out of ‘em now,” he says. “Can search me if you want.”

  “Good. At least some things went right.” She nods back to the stairwell. “Dal was asking for you. The boy likes you Ferro, go talk with him and cheer him up a bit. Everyone can use a friendly face when they're feeling sick.”

  Despite his annoyance at being commanded to spend time with that ugly mess, having to look at his face and wonder if the skin would finally slough all the way off, Ferro gave no sign of emotion as he dropped from his perch. Halfway to the door leading to the stairs, he stops, turning and looking back to Sigrid. “What about the girl that found us out? Should I have a word with her at least?”

  Sigrid’s answer takes a long time to come. “No. Not now. Give it time and she will forget about you two. The fact that no one knows we are here is our biggest asset. We lose that, and we fail.”

  Ferro nods as he turns back toward the stairs. He wouldn’t disobey; the thought of doing so never occurred to him, but he also didn’t think that was the last he would see of that red-headed beauty. “Charlene,” he whispers to himself as he slips up the stairs. “I can’t wait to meet you again.”

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