Page 7 of Shades of Silver City

I grimace. This is a recurring pattern with the Scouts. Once they spot the Nightcrawler tattoos, they'll accuse us of having committed every crime within a forty-mile radius and then call for our immediate execution. Meanwhile, without any consideration for the truth, they'll dispose of the poor girl's body in the city incinerator.

A true shame.

And a gross misinterpretation of events.

Gritting my teeth, I give Godric a subtle nod. We raise our hands, slowly rising before the Scouts. I’m careful not to move too quickly, as I don't want to reveal the gun strapped to my side. That’s a sure way to meet death. It's well-concealed by my leather jacket and should remain that way unless someone looks closely.

We’re mostly obscured in the shadows of the alley, but that changes when one of the Scouts activates the light in his headgear.

Silently cursing, I squint against the bright beam.

“Is that necessary?” I ask, buying time for my eyes to adjust.

The Silver Scouts wear identical protective uniforms made of pliable leather and silvery nylon. The insignia of a handprint with a swirl on the palm takes up most of their chests, marking them as government officials. Onyx helmets cover their heads but not their faces.

“Shut your gap, scum,” one of them says.

Both Scouts slide their guns free of their side holsters and aim at Godric and me.

I just need a minute, not a bullet to my chest, so I heed the Scout's words and blink a few times to adjust my vision. In a matter of seconds, I’ll be able to tap into my enhanced vision and see clearly, regardless of the blinding light.

The image of the mysterious bartender flickers in my mind. She expressed a desire to stay away from the Scouts. That was odd, considering most city-dwellers are loyalists. They refuse to let go of the dream of protection.

The farce of freedom.

Her lack of disillusionment is intriguing.

“—both are under arrest.”

The Scout's movement catches my attention as he approaches me.

“Gentlemen,” I start, keeping my tone casual enough so as not to provoke them into pulling the trigger but firm enough to keep their eyes on me.

Now that my eyes have adapted to the excessively bright light, I shift my gaze between the two of them.

“Keep your damn gap sh—”

“Quiet,” I say with an eerie command. “Both of you.”

The first Scout obeys me and shuts his mouth. The ease of it would make me laugh if the situation wasn't so dire.

“Don’t bother looking around,” I order. “There’s nothing to see here. In fact, the call you received led you north, to Sweetcreek. To the ashberry fields.”

Lowering his weapon, the second Scout mutters, “Ashberry fields.” His eyes glaze over.

“You were never here. Never saw us,” I say.

The Scouts return their weapons to their holsters, swiftly turning and running away from the alley.

Godric confidently approaches me once we're alone again.

“The ashberry fields?” he asks, humor lacing his tone. He rubs his jaw, and my eyes roam the skull tattoo on the back of his hand—the one that matches my own, branding us as Nightcrawlers for life.

I shrug. “Anywhere but here.”

The ashberry fields mark the city’s northernmost boundary. The Wilds lay just beyond, separated from Silver City by an iron wall meant to repel fae.

Sending the Scouts there will buy us time, keep them from asking too many questions around here. Coming to the wrong conclusions is a dangerous habit they possess.

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