Page 106 of He Who Ignites The Flame
“Brierleaf?” a raspy voice muttered nearby, nearly catching me off-guard. I schooled my expression into indifference and tucked my hands into my jacket pockets before pressing on.
The immortal followed close on my heels, and as I glanced over my shoulder, I caught his eyes darting around, unable to lock on me for more than a few seconds. “If Brierleaf isn’t strong enough, I’ve got Crystal Shisha, Bacchus Tears, Murk Root...”
“I’ve got a source,” I growled, turning my gaze forward.
The bastard didn’t let up, stumbling forward and nearly blocking my path. “I bet I’ve got better quality than your source. Just try it; and you’ll?—”
I grabbed the front of his ratty shirt before slamming him up against the alley wall. “What part ofI’ve got a sourcedid you not fuckin’ get?”
He lifted his shaking hands, and an anxious smile curved his lips as he stumbled over his words, none of it discernable.
“I think he got the message,” a male voice said from the neon lit street nearby and I turned to find a face I hadn’t seen in quite some time. He turned his green eyes to the male currently cowering against me, his brown hair shabby compared to what I knew his glamour hid. “You did get the message, right? Or do I have to sit here and watch him burn it into your skin?”
“N-no need for that,” he stuttered as he nodded his head eagerly, letting out a nervous laugh. “Loud and clear. You got a source.”
I loosened my hold, and he slipped free before running into the darkness of the alley.
“Slippery bastard,” the male said, eyes following the dealer as he escaped.
“It’s been a while, Santor,” I said, eyeing the fae male who had glamoured himself to look like one of our kind.
“You know Hades keeps me busy,” he said with a shrug before he jerked his chin in a quiet gesture for me to follow. I fell into step beside him. “It’s never-ending when it comes to serving The Twelve.”
“You can count me out of that shit,” I grumbled. A lantern of blue fae light caught my eye as we passed another market table filled to the brim with containers of trapped creatures and forest wisps for sale.
“You might not get a choice in that,” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets.
I arched a brow at him.
“I’m not here on vacation.” He glanced sidelong at me. “I’m here for business.”
I didn’t let the interest show in my expression; instead, I sighed, rolling my eyes. “Joy.”
The noise of the streets quieted as we entered Atlas’ headquarters. As Santor strode through the space, his glamour fell away, revealing his short, curved horns adorning his forehead, a long, thin tail with a tuft ofbrown fur at the tip swaying with each step he took. The rooms were filled with thick smoke, rich with the combined sweet and addictive scents of Brierleaf and Murk Root. Santor’s green eyes passed over the individuals strewn out on the various surfaces, their eyes in drug-induced hallucinations. I stepped through the mess of bodies quickly, passing into the hallway before the Murk Root had a chance to leave me seeing shit.
Santor took the lead, opening the door, and a painful combination of grunts and gasps put me on high alert as we stepped inside. A male sat slouched in a wooden chair in the center of the room, arms wrapped around his abdomen as one of Atlas’ larger guards righted himself after laying a massive punch to the gut. The male coughed, blood dripping on the ground in front of him from the busted nose and lip he’d just been dealt.
“You think you can steal from me and get away with it?” Atlas asked, his voice full of cold, calm death as he stepped from the shadows of a nearby corner, twirling a thin knife in his hand, his boots echoing his powerful presence with each step. The sleeves of his black button-down shirt were rolled up, the leather holsters strapped over his chest holding more of the same blades. The gold inked into his skin caught the green fae light as he crossed the room, and a scar stretched diagonally from his jaw to his forehead before carving a path through his hair. It made him look just as much the monster he was beneath the surface, hidden by clever words and strategically shared smiles.
“No! I swear, Atlas! I’m good for it. I’ll get you the money,” the male blubbered.
Atlas stepped closer, his eyes meeting Santor’s as he crossed the room and leaned against the wall before Atlas’ gaze found me. He turned his attention back on the male, who looked as if his heart was about to give out, his eyes wild with fear as he sucked in panicked breaths.
Atlas leaned down, leveling his gaze with the male as he shrank back in his seat, lips quivering. Atlas tilted the knife toward the male, the tip of the blade hovering before one of his wide eyes. His voice dropped low as he said, “The next time I catch wind of you dealing in my streets without paying your cut, I’ll peel the payment from your hide.”
“U-understood,” the male said, nodding his head.
Atlas rose to his full height, combing his fingers through his short brown hair to tame it, and nodded to his guards as he straightened his shirt. “Get him out of my sight.”
They grabbed the male by his arms and yanked him up from his chair before dragging him out of the room, his boots squeaking along the old wood floor.
“Barrett,” Atlas crooned, holding his arms wide as he approached me. “You’ve been topside for far too long.”
He wrapped his arms around me, and I returned the gesture. “It’s hard work keeping up appearances.”
“I’m sure Damien’s working you like a dog,” he said as he released me, gesturing to the glasses on his desk at the head of the room. “Help yourself.”
I took a seat at the table littered with papers, gold, and crystals.
