My Little VentrueChapter 144 free porn video

~~Natasha~~

“Is it d-dead?” she asked.

Eric nodded as he dragged the spirit’s body back into the alley. Still in the big wolf body, he wouldn’t be able to talk, but body language was fine.

She didn’t expect him to take a bite out of the tall, gangly thing. But he did. Natasha gulped as Eric ripped and tore at the humanoid in the plague mask, and gulped down a chunk of its flesh. She gulped again when Arturo did the same. She outright squeaked when Matthew, back into his huge wolf form, slipped past her, and tore at the body as well.

“Um ... uh ... is that edible?” She didn’t understand. It made sense for a wolf spirit to eat prey spirits, but this thing was a weird spirit of human inclination and physical manifestations. Drugs, and drug abuse. A wolf wouldn’t eat that, right?

Well, they weren’t wolves. They were werewolves. Maybe they had stronger stomachs? They were hunters, and that role extended to hunting anything they deemed dangerous to the physical world.

Or maybe they were eating it the same way someone might eat paper with a secrete message written on it, just to destroy it. Ask later, focus now.

After a few bites each, the wolves backed off, and returned to their human forms. Eric wiped his mouth, even though there was nothing there. Art and Matt did no such thing, and laughed when they saw Eric do it.

“That was disgusting,” Art said.

Eric nodded, shrugging. “Yeah, it was. I don’t eat city spirits often. But after my first successful group hunt, kinda seemed like the right thing to do.”

Matt nodded, smiling, but his face scrunched up a second later, obviously unhappy with the taste. “There are other ways to get essence. Eating spirits is ... well, some Uratha like David do it a lot.”

David, the strange fellow of the pack. The boys called him an Ithaeur, someone who talked to spirits all the time, whether they wanted to or not.

“Yeah I know. But the best way to learn is by doing, right?” Shrugging, Eric motioned ahead, and the group of them stepped back onto the curving sidewalk of the Hisil’s Devil’s Corner.

“Or b-by asking someone who knows more,” Natasha said. “Avery knows more.”

Eric rolled his eyes and slipped his hands into his blue jeans pockets. A t-shirt and jeans for him and Art and Matthew; the fashion was timeless and immortal. At least Sándor wore a dark button shirt, and dark jeans. Only Natasha wore an ensemble that cost more than a hundred dollars: a proper suit, black. Invictus habits died hard.

“Surprised to hear you say that,” Art said, looking down at her.

“W-What? Why?”

The man squirmed and looked around, but no one else said anything, and he sighed.

“After everything that’s happened, I figured you’d be against Avery in most things.”

Natasha frowned up at Arturo with an urge to yell at him. She didn’t used to get that urge, not over stuff like this.

“Just b-because ... she ... Just because she t-told you two to ... Just ... b-b-because she...” Natasha grit her teeth, looked down, and took a deep, useless breath. It was so damn hard to find the words, when every time she remembered what Arturo and Matthew did to her, she got upset. She hated not being able to steel herself like Antoinette told her to, to set emotions aside and be logical about things. But, remembering the sudden understanding that a stake stuck out from her chest, and that Arturo had staked her — and Matthew by accessory, since he left it there — filled her with rage.

It was so much easier in the stories. The boys had apologized to her already, and they’d meant it, and she’d accepted their apologizes. And they were now, gladly, trying to fix things. So why couldn’t she let it go?

Because this wasn’t a story. Real life wasn’t nearly so neat and tidy. They’d hurt her. Even if what they did made sense, a little, and might have even been something she’d have done if the situation had been reversed, they’d still hurt her. It’d take time for that to heal.

“Just because,” she said at last, “Avery jumped the gun d-dealing with Maria, doesn’t mean she isn’t smart, and wise. It d-doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a lot of experience, or hasn’t learned a lot of things.”

“Yeah.” Matthew smiled down at her, a fleeting bit of eye contact announcing he recognized her thoughts. And they hurt him. “But, let’s be real. Avery’s a bitch.”

Natasha smiled. Smile turned into a giggle when she noticed the pun, and she rolled her eyes. So did Eric. The boys laughed though, cause they were the type to think puns were hilarious. Horrible people.

Sándor looked like he was about to say something. But, predictably, he didn’t, and the group kept walking.

Natasha looked around, and got her brain’s cogs turning as she took in the sights of the Shadow Realm. Now that the boys had successfully helped Eric, it was Eric’s turn to help them. First thing on the list: check out the new tear Avery’s pack found some weeks ago.

“I’ve been out here,” Eric said. “I didn’t see anything weird.”

“It’s a ways out,” Matt said. “Edge of the city.”

Art nodded, but he didn’t look happy about it. “Spirits hang out where they can find the most activity on the other side. If we left the city and went into the desert, we’d find few spirits if we jumped into the Hisil, and few loci to allow us to jump at all. It’s humans, and us, mingling with each other and the environment that creates disturbances. Spirits are drawn to those, you know? So it’s strange this tear is on the outskirts.”

“There are other tears,” Sándor said. “Some are on the edges of the city, and some are closer to the center. And some defy easy placement.” Like the nightmare chambers.

The werewolves nodded. Sándor nodded.

Natasha nearly tore her hair out. “And n-none of you have t-t-t-talked to each other about them!?” The men all looked at each other, each with one or both eyebrows raised, as if what she was asking didn’t make sense. Ugh, men. “W-Why not share what you know with each other? First things first, plotting all known tear locations on a map.”

It took them a second, but eventually the four men got it.

“Makes sense,” Art said. “We’ve marked them on a map already.”

“As have I,” Sándor said. “Mapping the nightmare realm is tricky, but there is an art to it.”

“I suppose if we share what we know, we might see something we didn’t see before.”

Natasha nodded, and pulled out her phone. But of course it didn’t work, or at least, not well, screen flickering and whatnot, and the GPS was useless. She put it away, grumbling.

It wasn’t like she didn’t understand them. And as much as she wanted to blame it on men being typical men, refusing to cooperate and turning everything into a competition even if it killed them, she knew that wasn’t fair. Trusting someone else was almost always a bad idea when dealing with things like vampires, werewolves, nightmare monsters, and what have you. Still, it was easy to see why Antoinette got so frustrated.

They continued walking for a while. Spirits avoided them, especially now that they’d made a kill. They whispered to each other, alien creatures Natasha could only barely comprehend visually, and couldn’t understand verbally. The First Tongue, according to the boys. Arrogant to think it was the first language ever spoken, but it wasn’t like she could challenge it.

As they walked, Matthew and Arturo changed into wolves. Not the big, scary wolves she could have sworn came out of the Neverending Story, but normal wolves. Wolves were still utterly huge beasts, and she didn’t have to crouch to pet their backs as they walked. Petting them, their fur, their warmth, she did it automatically without thinking about it. That was good, right? It felt nice, to forget about what they did, the arguments she and Art were getting into lately, and just touch them again.

She smiled down at Matthew, and scratched behind his ears. Big, deep scratches, complete with some fingernails. He struggled to keep walking, wanting to stop and enjoy it, but he compromised by leaning his side into her. She did the same for Arturo, and the huge wolf let his tongue dangle as he panted joy.

They walked like this for a while. It felt good, to be near them again. It felt nice.

Eric and Sándor glanced back at her, said nothing, and continued on. She thought maybe they might judge her, for being nice to Matt and Art, considering what they did, but Eric and Sándor didn’t seem to have that in them. Those two would probably get along well, if it weren’t for how they first met. Maybe—

Everyone stopped, and looked across the street. Natasha squinted into the darkness of another alley, and sucked in a breath as a slithering motion along the asphalt pulled into the shadow.

“Let’s ignore it,” Eric said. “We don’t need its help.”

“It?” she asked.

“Street-Tail King.”

Oh. She gulped as she stared at the dark alley, and found her hand drifting to her sword hidden under her suit jacket. Darkness radiated from the alley, to the point it not only failed to conform to where the few lights hit the walls of the buildings around it, but also dripped out onto the sidewalk like oil.

Matt and Art changed back to human form again, and they both stared across the street, ready for a fight.

“We haven’t talked to it,” Art said, “since it talked to us last time. You were there, Natasha, Eric.”

She was there, and she’d been thoroughly disturbed by it. She wasn’t a werewolf, or a spirit animal or anything like that, but she could still feel how disturbing a creature Street-Tail King was. Not as powerful as Red Tide and Black Blood, but conniving and scheming. Manipulative, and smart. It’d have made a good Kindred.

“Maybe ... m-maybe we should.”

The four men looked at her.

“You—” Matt opened his mouth, but silenced himself. Wincing, he looked down before looking to Art for help. Of course, Art could only do the same, wince and squirm. They were bound, and had to do whatever she said.

But she wasn’t so stupid she’d ignore their advice.

“I’ll do it,” Eric said.

Art shook his head. “It’ll offer the same deal as last time.”

“That’s fine.”

Natasha shook her head this time. “J-Jessy won’t like you ... getting involved like that.”

“I’m already involved. And Jessy will understand.”

No she wouldn’t. Jessy was perfectly happy to get herself in deep water, but if Eric did, she would be pissed. Very, very pissed, and Eric knew it. The fact he was willing to face Jessy’s rage to, potentially, gain information to help the city, was oddly heroic. And dumb.

“Eric,” Matt said, “Street-Tail isn’t some minor spirit. It’s a count. If you agree to a deal, it’ll enforce it.”

“The azlu are fucking with Dolareido. Killing people. I want them gone. And if these tears really become the problem Azamel warned us they might ... yeah.”

“We can—”

“You’ve been here for two years and we’re still finding traces of azlu.” Eric walked up to Matt and looked at him, face steady. “You may want to hunt azlu cause of the Gauntlet or some bullshit, I want to hunt azlu because every person who dies in my city is—”

That apparently crossed a line. Matt stood there and took it, but Art put a hand against Eric’s chest and shoved him back.

“We care, Eric, ok? We have to have this conversation again? We care, and Avery cares. But we’ve done this longer than you, and we’ve seen what happens when we get in deep with spirits.”

“Eric,” Matt said, “spirits are tricky. It’s not going to play fair, if it can.”

The offered deal from Street-Tail King was that, if it told them why the azlu were here in Dolareido, and why so many were showing up, then they’d have to deal with the mystery, no matter what. If Street-Tail told them some ancient curse was summoning the azlu, and the only way to stop it was a suicidal sacrifice, then Street-Tail would enforce the deal.

So, the way to deal with the situation, was to talk without committing to anything. A vampire would straight up lie, but Tash didn’t think that was a good idea with spirits.

“Let’s t-talk to it,” Tash said, nodding to Eric. “Don’t say you’ll do anything, but we should talk to it. And I w-want to talk to it t-too.”

Sándor watched, half interested, but the boys looked terrified. They chewed on their lips and looked around, as if they could find something lying about that might change Natasha’s mind. It made Natasha’s heart ache, seeing how scared they were over just the possibility Natasha might get hurt.

“Alright,” Eric said, before looking at the boys. “Don’t worry guys, whatever deal I’m making, it’s just between me and Street-Tail.”

The boys didn’t look consoled, but they eventually sighed and nodded, and followed after Natasha and Eric. Sándor followed behind, eyes scanning the sky. The man was a gargoyle. It made sense he’d keep his eyes up and looking at the perches and stuff, if he lived up there, constantly looking around for prey and whatnot. How much exposure did he have to the Hisil? Begotten could get around anywhere as long as they found tunnels, or created their own to places they’d been before. Plus, he was super old. He probably knew more about spirits than he let on, probably even more than the boys, but would rather not say anything.

But he did come with full intent to help them. Maybe he’d say something, eventually.

The approach to Street-Tail King felt considerably scarier without Avery and the whole pack. It was really, really tall, as tall as Matthew when he was in his werewolf form. She tried to pierce the darkness around the spirit with her special Auspex, but it didn’t work. Whatever it was that radiated around the tall spirit, it wasn’t normal darkness, but as they got closer, she could see its silhouette, and its great height.

“No Avery?” it hissed, and it chattered its teeth a few times, sending a disgusting shiver up Natasha’s spine. Rats could be quite cute. Street-Tail King was not.

“No Avery,” Eric said.

“Or Flowing Sanctuary, I see.” The huge rat creature took a step forward, and Natasha froze. Light from the streetlights cut across its body, and she looked it up and down, taking in the strange form. Wererat, but not really. It could have been a wererat, a ten-foot-tall monster, but there was asphalt in its fur growing out of its body, along with bits of metal, some rebar sticking out of its huge shoulders and hunched back, and of course, a long tail that looked like a big strip of road, broken and crumbling.

Worse, were the rats. Bloody brown and black things that didn’t look fully formed, some of them even hovered slightly, and dozens of them scurried up and down Street-Tail King’s body. Like, a mother spider carrying her children on her back, except a giant rat walking on two legs. Nightmare fuel.

“You killed Needle Swords,” the spirit said.

“I did.”

“Who gave you the right?”

Eric growled, a very wolfish growl despite his human form. “I’m Uratha, that’s my right. Needle Swords was yours?”

“It was.”

“Wanna tell me what the fuck you were doing letting that freak affect my side of the Gauntlet so much?” Eric took a step closer to the huge rat, and glared up at him. He took affronts to Dolareido personally, which would forever make Natasha smile. He’d only been alive a bit over thirty years? He acted like he was Antoinette, thinking the city was hers. It was cute.

“We go where there is essence, Uratha. It’s not our fault if the humans make it worse.” The enormous rat shrugged, and licked one of its fangs with a long tongue. “Maybe if you didn’t deny us the physical world, we—”

Art shook his head. “Not happening. You know your place, spirit. Don’t push it.”

The rat smiled, a strange thing to see on a rat face, and tapped a claw against the large front teeth of a rodent.

“That will change soon enough.”

Tash raised a brow, and looked back to the boys. But they also looked confused, and glanced between each other, and even Sándor, before looking back at the spirit. They wanted to ask questions, but they also knew better than to do so, not when every question got them in deeper with the spirit.

“Street-T-T-Tail King,” Natasha said, gulping once as she looked up at the spirit. Beady black eyes caught the streetlights, but there was none of the curiosity she might find in normal rat eyes. This thing was insidious. “We w-w-wanted to ... t-talk about the deal you offered Avery.” A shared glance between her and Eric confirmed, he wanted to do this.

The rat cackled. “I knew you would. One of you damn dogs would, eventually. Just can’t help yourselves. Gotta settle affairs, right? Gotta deal with the shartha.”

“Shartha?”

“Hosts,” Matt said. “Azlu, and some others.”

“Right, right,” the rat creature said. “There’s no beshilu here, or razilu or srizaku, but there are azlu. And more come.”

All three werewolves growled. Apparently the spirit said trigger words.

“B-Before we make any deals, we need some assurances.”

“That’s not how deals work, little Kindred. Buyer beware!”

She glared up at the monster. “You’re not a human s-selling stuff! I want to know more about the deal.”

The rat laughed, but didn’t retort this time. Blobby rat spirits crawled down its back and disappeared into the darkness of the alley, but more emerged, hidden in the thick fur of their master.

“I don’t have to answer anything.”

“You will,” Eric said, “if you want anyone to take the deal.”

Natasha nodded. “Yeah, so tell us! Tell us if ... if it’s p-possible. If you tell us why the azlu are here, why more are coming, and how to stop—”

“I did not say I knew how to stop them ... though I suppose I do, in a way.”

“And it’s p-possible?”

“Yes, it is. At the end of this mystery, you’ll be able to do something.” The rat laughed again. “I know what you ask and why, and I’ll be generous and tell you! Because I want them gone, too. The mystery can be solved. The azlu can be dealt with. And if you are powerful, skilled, and careful, no one need die. But time grows short.”

Eric looked to the others, but all they could do was shrug. It sounded like a good deal then, on the surface. It wouldn’t be of course, but if they could make it work, then some information was worth the risk. Eric knew that, and was willing to get in deep with a ‘count’ to get in.

Jessy was going to be livid.

“Alright Street-Tail King, I’ll play,” Eric said. “You tell me why the azlu are coming to Dolareido and killing people, and I’ll follow that mystery to the end, no matter what.”

With a hissing chuckle, Street-Tail King held out a hand. A rat hand, complete with long claws, and a deadly aura even Natasha could sense.

~~Eric~~

He should have known it wouldn’t just be a trade of words. Much as Eric had been spending the past few months getting intimately familiar with the Hisil, he wasn’t too familiar with how spirits functioned outside of what they ate. Spirits did deals and trades, to the point it was existential for them. How spirits managed to seal deals between them, he didn’t know, but it was probably just as existential for them to satisfy any deal they’d agreed to as much as it was to make them in the first place. Spirits going back on deals probably wasn’t a thing, or was damn rare.

An Uratha going back on a deal though, was probably possible, and would have nasty repercussions. But a smart, scheming spirit like Street-Tail King would have a way to make it a safe deal, for it.

Eric reached out for the hand, knowing damn well it’d be a binding contract, like signing a deal with the devil, but before he could touch the strange spirit, Sándor pushed his hand down.

“Hey!” the rat hissed. “Do not interfere, Begotten beast!”

Eric blinked at Sándor a few times, but the man’s solid, hard expression stopped him cold.

“The spirit is just desperate to get its claws into you. It knows we’re already on the path to dealing with the azlu, and it wants to gain something from it first.”

“I know that, but—”

Sándor shook his head. “Don’t play into its games, Eric. Avery was right.”

That was most definitely not something Eric wanted to hear, but something about the way the man said it didn’t stir a reflexive need to fight him on it. With Avery, sure, first word out of her mouth and Eric wanted to tell her to fuck off. But with Sándor, the man dripped of plain, almost boring honesty. It’d be like getting mad at a tutor for correcting his algebra; not that he’d ever had one.

“You really think we’ll find out why the azlu keep coming here?”

“Yes, I think we will. Maybe not from this,” the Begotten gestured to the rat, “but we will. And ... I’d prefer to keep Dolareido healthy and alive in the mean time. That includes you.”

Eric blinked at the man, several times. But slowly as they looked at each other, things clicked into place. Something had happened to Sándor, something that attached him to Dolareido in a way Eric hadn’t expected from the relative newcomer. Maybe it was Azamel, maybe not, but the man wasn’t the closed off statue he was back at the ball.

Sándor wanted to keep Dolareido safe, and he considered people like Eric to be Dolareido. And Eric could understand that. Maybe he should think about the nightmare monster the same way? Hard to do, when Eric’s first encounter with the man had been beyond violent. Plus, Sándor had literally entered his mind against his will, his dreams. Hard to ignore that. But he should.

“If you d-don’t think it’s a good idea,” Natasha said, looking up at Sándor, “then ... then I think we should listen to him, Eric. He’s older than any of us.”

Older didn’t mean wiser. But, it often did.

“Alright,” Eric said, taking a step back from the spirit. “Alright, let’s do this on our own.”

Sándor nodded. “In the future, don’t be so quick to risk your own life.”

“Yeah I know. I just...”

“Finally found something you wanna fight for?” Art said, smirking. “It’s like a coming of age story ... for a dude in his thirties.”

Eric bit back a sudden desire to spit venom at the asshole. But it wasn’t like he was wrong. He was the odd man out in this world, relatively new to all this paranormal shit, and just trying to figure out how, and what, and why.

“Besides,” Art continued, “I think Street-Tail King is going to point us in the right direction anyway.” The fellow Uratha grew a serpentine grin, and a glance Natasha’s way showed she was looking up at her boyfriend with a similar grin. Apparently Art had come to some sort of sneaky conclusion.

Street-Tail hissed. “Ha! Why would I do that? Stupid Uratha.”

Shaking his head, Art came closer to the spirit. “Because we’re not Avery, and we’re not Flow. We know you have beef with her.”

The rat hissed and took a step back. Not to get away from Arturo; seemed like the rat might be able to take him a straight fight. But instead to get away from the words he was speaking.

“Not with Flow. I know not the river guardian. But Avery, she...” The rat hissed and slammed its tail in the darkness behind it. It was loud, and heavy. “You’re Avery’s pack. I won’t help you. Interloper. Trade, yes. Help? No.”

Street-Tail King had a problem with Avery; probably from when she’d been with Simon. And it probably thought Eric was with Avery, considering how much Eric had already interacted with him and her pack.

“I don’t care about Avery,” Eric said. “I’m not part of her pack. Neither is Natasha.” Might as well include her, since the rat saw her with Avery that one time. “Avery is a pain in our asses, too.”

Street-Tail King snorted, only its beady black eyes visible as they caught the light.

“You bring two of hers I know belong in her choir.”

Natasha raised a quick hand. “They’re w-w-working for me. Bound, by ... a debt to me.”

Eric suppressed his grin as he looked down at the little vampire. Smart woman, speaking a language the spirit would understand: economics.

“Does the Kindred speak truly?”

Matt and Art both sighed, and nodded.

“See?” Natasha said with a tiny smile. “I’ve lived in this city my whole life too, j-just like Eric. Avery isn’t our friend. W-We’re not here to do ... Uratha things. We’re here because Dolareido is in danger. And ... and you care about Dolareido, don’t you? I bet you grew up here, or ... or whatever it is spirits d-do, and ... and you’re a part of this city.”

Silence. But after a few moments, the rat’s tail shifted over the asphalt of the alley.

“I do not like Avery.”

“Me neither,” Eric said.

“Me neither,” Natasha said.

They looked to Sándor, but the man managed only a tiny shrug before stepping back. They looked to Art and Matt, and both boys groaned and looked away. They might have thought Avery was mean, but they still liked her. And considering they were her pack and had worked with her and under her for a bunch of years, that was understandable. The rest of them, though? Yeah, Avery was a bitch.

“Very well,” the rat said, and it gnashed its teeth a few times. “You do not lie?”

Tash put up her hands. “No lie.”

“Tssh. The word of a Kindred means little. You.” The rat pointed its eyes at Eric. “I can smell the city on you, in your flesh and bones. You’re a part of Dolareido. You swear you are helping Dolareido, and not just serving Avery?”

“I swear. Not that that means much.”

“It means more than it would coming from Avery’s pups.” The rat nodded from the darkness, smile returning and exposing pointed teeth. “I suspect you all know Black Blood is behind the tears.”

Matt, Art, and Natasha winced. Eric and Sándor frowned at each other. None of them wanted Black Blood as an enemy, but if these tears were a problem, then it certainly seemed like it was going in that direction.

“The tears wouldn’t explain the azlu,” Art said. “Not like this, not this ... cooperation, and multiple azlu showing up. Powerful spirits tearing holes through the Gauntlet isn’t unusual either, and sure that sometimes attracts azlu attention since they want to strengthen the Gauntlet, but—”

“The azlu,” the rat said, “can sense what’s happening. They’re here, desperate to strengthen the Gauntlet, driven by their stupid instinct with overpowering need, because they can sense what’s coming.”

They all looked between each other again. That sounded ominous. That sounded stupidly over dramatic, and ominous, and the longer Eric spent as an Uratha, the more the stupid, crazy-sounding shit came true. If it sounded insane and ominous, it was probably very real.

“And ... that is?” Eric asked.

“Minerva’s legacy.”

“No wonder Jacob despises her,” Sándor said.

They all nodded, wincing with every step. The situation had just gone from bad to shitty, and Eric and Sándor didn’t really know the details. Natasha filled in what she could.

“It was t-ten years before my time,” she said. “Before my embrace. But, everyone knows about it, about Simon the werewolf. So everyone ... d-dances around the subject, about Avery and Jacob.”

“She hasn’t told us everything either,” Art said. “Her pack got wiped out, after Simon left Dolareido. Only she survived. She met Flow when the spirit was just a tiny thing, barely awakened. Flow saved her life.” Sighing, Art sat down on a bench. It was almost comical, seeing the big guy sit on a bench in such a strange place, especially considering the bench was warped and uneven. “We only know a little about Minerva, and even that Avery doesn’t like us talking about much. We normally feign ignorance about it.”

Sándor shook his head. “I think we’re passed that now, don’t you think?” He didn’t sit down, but he took a stand beside the bench, and looked out to the street as they talked. Keeping watch. “If we can trust the spirit...”

“Spirits can lie,” Matt said, sitting with Art, voice hushed. “It’s rare. They prefer to do trades, you know? Everything has to be a trade, and if you’re caught lying, your credibility is shot.”

That made sense. Spirits weren’t humans. They didn’t have internal struggles of consciousness, and were much, much better at understanding other spirits upfront. It’d be like asking wild animals to lie to each other. Sure, animals tricked each other with their natures, but outright lying? Conscious deception with words? No, spirits could usually be trusted, even the manipulative, deceptive ones like Street-Tail King, who’d twist their words into half truths by their nature.

But they could lie, and that was important.

Sighing, Art leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees, heavy. “Natasha, cloak us please.” Heavy words, with zero of his usual flirtatious charm used on her.

Natasha did so, and as she did, an aura radiated from Arturo. It wasn’t the Cloak, something a vampire could do to make people effectively invisible. But it was something, like a prowling animal using brush to be unseen, despite them being in full view. It didn’t extend past himself, but if Arturo wanted to talk about sensitive stuff, it made sense to double down on stealth.

“I’ll tell you what I know,” Arturo said. “But I don’t know much. Avery doesn’t tell us much about what Minerva was doing, because it’s dangerous. She’s told Clara a little more, but...” Shaking his head, he put a finger to his lips. “Don’t repeat anything I say about Minerva specifically. I’m saying these words, no one else does, and keep it that way until we’re out of the Hisil, understood?” Everyone nodded, though Eric noticed Sándor’s lack of expression. Arturo’s words didn’t mean much to him, even if he wasn’t the sort to stir the pot.