Page 74 of Shades of Silver City

I nod, keeping my lips tightly pressed together to prevent myself from blurting something out and interrupting him. There’s a hollowness in his eyes; they lack their usual luster, and my chest tightens at how he appears so vulnerable.

So exhausted.

“I’m not sure how much you know about the dust—” He pauses, waiting for a response, and I shake my head, giving him a shrug. I only know it’s addicting as hell. Dangerous. “Usually, it’s a slow death. Those who get hooked continue consuming higher and higher quantities until they either overdose or quit only to suffer deadly withdrawals. There are no support systems in place, no conversations about how to get help.”

“Because it’s banned?” I whisper.

He nods. “Possession of magic is an executable offense.”

My neck prickles. I’m all too familiar with that edict. “So even if they tried to get help, they’d be killed,” I murmur. How fucked up.

“Precisely.” A muscle in his cheek tics, and he glances away, taking a few deep breaths. “That’s how I lost Sofia—we wanted help for her but couldn’t get it. She ended up overdosing.”

My lungs compress, the ache in my chest so deep, so acute.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, at a loss for what else to say.

He sets his mouth in a grim line, shaking his head. “My Crawlers and I kept it off the streets for a while. Thought it was gone for good…”

“But it’s being redistributed?”

He shakes his head. “If this is what’s causing the insurgence in violent outbursts and deaths, then it’s different than the original. The drug’s original creator—” He goes still, shutting his mouth. His eyes dart away, then back to my face. “There was only one person with the know-how to make this drug, and he passed away a while ago. The formula was never located after his death. It was heavily investigated. We eliminated the remaining supply.”

“Why did he make it in the first place?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “Theory is that he was corrupted. Payrolled by someone. We never caught wind of who or why.”

“How long was it off the streets?”

“Almost ten years.”

“Then how is it back now—if the creator’s gone?”

“It’s possible whoever payrolled the original project recruited someone new to take over—perhaps it took them this long to figure out how to manufacture the drug. If they had to start from scratch without the original formula, it could explain the lapse in time and the differences in the formula.”

Archer runs a hand over his jaw, scratching the scruff there and staring at the floor between us. I get the sense there’s more he’s not sharing, but at least he’s communicating with me finally.

Confiding in me.

“So the dreamdust is connected to the grey soul-shades?” I ask.

“Has to be,” he says. “Like I said, there’s no such thing as coincidences. This drug appears to have accelerated effects due to magic. Perhaps more potent than the original. Deadlier.”

“So someone takes the drug, and their body begins shutting down, which is why their soul-shade turns grey so suddenly? They’re dying the moment they find a high?” But that doesn’t make sense. They’re still living.

“I sent the dust out to get cross-referenced with the most recent body we found. I’m waiting on confirmation before speculating further.”

“What do we do?”

“Cut the head off the snake,” he murmurs. When I don’t reply, he glances up at me. “We never found out who payrolled the drug in the first place—or why. It’s beyond time we shut whoever it is down.”

Scathe yawns and stands, trotting over to the back door. On cue, Archer strides to the door and slides it open, letting the dog disappear into the moonlit yard.

“Anyone who can afford to hire a faeologist for private formulas has a disposable income,” he says, “so it’s a safe assumption they’re in a position of power here in Sweetcreek.”

My heart stutters at the mention of a faeologist. Is that why my dad was killed? He was a good guy. If he was propositioned to make something so horrendous, he would’ve declined. Maybe he refused the wrong person.

I sit up taller, refocusing on Archer. “My dad worked in the labs,” I say, “before the Scouts took his life without trial.”

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