Page 29 of Hunt the Dusk
A few minutes later, we were off again, staying on Holly’s tail as she drove toward the factory where Diago had worked.
She idled outside the gates for a moment before veering away. We followed her onto a main road and then down a narrower one.
“She’s headed toward Blissmore,” Edwin said.
We passed a market area, then went back onto a dual carriageway.
“Where is she going?” Padma pondered.
Holly slowed at an intersection, boot on the ground for balance, head swiveling this way and that before she took a right onto a bridge that spanned the Blissmore River.
“We’re headed into the pavilion.” Edwin sounded confused.
I recognized this area too. I’d been here last night for dinner with Kaster.
“This is the swanky part of New Town,” he continued. “All the high-end properties and banks and restaurants. What would a wendigo be doing here?”
We continued down the main road for a minute. Passed fancy shops and eateries until she took a left down a side street. After a few minutes, the terrain changed from high-end to rough. The buildings looked older and in need of some serious care.
“We’re entering Brimswood now,” Padma said. “This makes more sense.”
“But the route through pavilion doesn’t,” Edwin added.
Holly came to a standstill alongside a set of tall metal gates and climbed off her ride before tugging off her helmet and shaking out her hair.
Beside me, Merry leaned forward to get a better look, her gaze misty.
“Merry?” I nudged her. “You okay?”
“Um…yeah.” She smiled quickly. “Holly is calling us.”
The mageri was indeed ushering us to join her on the side of the road.
“What is it?” Padma jogged toward her. “Why have you stopped?”
“Because the trail ends here.”
“Outside the park?” Edwin looked across at the gates. “You think he went inside?”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Holly said.
I crossed to the gates where an impressive-looking knocker in the shape of a grotesque holding a ring in its mouth waited. It reminded me of the lion-head knocker on the doors to Ezekiel’s quarters.
I lifted the ring and slammed it against the metal three times.
The grotesque groaned and mumbled, “Forget yer keys, did ya?” It opened its eyes then balked at the sight of me. “Yer not one of em.”
“No. I’m not. My name is Orina Lighthart; I’m with the Order. I need to speak to someone in charge.”
“Oh, yer do, do ya?”
“Yes.”
He stared at me, and I stared right back in which several awkward seconds passed.
“We rely on your grace to inform your master of our arrival,” Merry said softly from behind me. “We would wish for an audience.”
The grotesque’s eyes rolled her way. “Hrumph. Better.” His eyes closed, and he went still.
