Page 101 of Outlaw Witch

29

There are some situationswhere you get a gut feeling you can’t ignore.

Like knowing someone’s going to be a skeezy fuck before they’ve even opened their mouth.

Or knowing you’re about to head into a shitty situation.

I just wish we’d known quite how shitty things were going to turn out to be before we were already knee deep and sinking.

It’s two days before the new moon and we’re heading to a meeting with some of the Nexus mages’ suppliers. Apparently, despite Zeph and Roscoe’s warnings, they’re still not playing ball. So once again, I’m being wheeled out as their scary Fabian replacement.

This is the third time we’ve done this thing over the past month and I have to say it’s been weirdly effective. Either that or the Rapture peddlers have gotten sneakier with where they’ve been selling shit on the Nexus mages’ turf.

It seems, though, that not everyone has heard the message that these guys aren’t to be fucked with. Last week, they had another shipment come in only half filled and no one seems to know where the rest of it ended up.

Hence tonight’s little wake up call.

Tonight’s situation is a little different, which might be why it’s giving me all sorts of uncomfortable intuitive feelings in my gut, telling me it’s a bad idea.

Felix was the one that ordered us to come here. He called us into his office earlier today in order to spell out this particular job is one we cannot fuck up.

I’m not sure when I became an honorary Nexus mage, but here we are.

It was the first time I’d been inside his office since I was a twelve-year-old, begging for sanctuary. The echoes of fear and despair lingered in the back of my mind, so I had to distract myself by staring around and judging his stuff.

Felix certainly has... lavish taste.

I don’t even know if the guyshaveoffices in The Spire. They have not invited me in if they do, but it seems like Felix’s office is a lot more opulent than you’d expect. Or maybe I’d just underestimated how much he wanted to mimic an Archarcan mansion in one room.

There were crystal statues and dripping chandeliers, velvet furniture and a rug that was so plush it felt like my boots were sinking into a cloud.

And behind the monstrous desk sat Felix Hawkshead.

I’m not sure if it’s the situation with Fabian, or this whole thing with the unrest among the other Nexus mages, but Felix seems to be... unraveling.

His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks flushed while his fingers looked bloodless where they clutched the desktop.

“Explain something to me,” he spat. “Explain to me how I can lead a district of idiots and snakes. How we will get close to our goals of being the true rulers of this city when we have constant infighting and weakness displayed at every turn?”

We all sat silently. It felt like being summoned to the principal’s office with no idea of what we’d done wrong. I hadn’t even been caught smoking behind the bike sheds or anything.

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to need a response from any of us.

“You’ll need to go down to the warehouse by the docks tonight. We have a shipment coming in and we do not have time for it to go missing or to turn up half empty. Of anyone, you must understand the importance of these shipments.” He directed that last part at Zeph, who nodded solemnly before shooting Roscoe a confused head shake.

Seems I wasn’t the only one confused.

What seemed to be the takeaway message was that Felix was pissed. Things are still a mess and apparently tonight’s shipment is a big deal.

And so, here we are. Down by the docks, ready to meet the midnight shipment that’s due in to the warehouses.

I shove my hands into my pockets as we get out of Roscoe’s car and head toward the largest warehouse beside the docks. It’s cold as shit and I’d love nothing more than to be tucked up inside The Spire, rather than plodding about inside this warehouse that smells strongly of oil and fish.

“Your uncle was kind of intense tonight,” I comment airily. To be honest, I don’t know how Roscoe feels about his uncle. I know he’s a top tier asshole who doesn’t seem to care about anything or anyone but himself, but I don’t know if Roscoe is aware of that.

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