XIV
Carlyle tapped his cane sharply against the wooden floor, the crisp sound cutting through the quiet murmurs in the room. His green eyes swept over the others, measuring their reactions. "What do you think?" he asked, his voice calm yet probing. "Is it worth a single favor?"
Rory crossed her arms, her expression skeptical. "Of course not. He's asking us to kill hunters in a public setting. That's why he promised me he'd count it as two favors." Her voice carried an edge, but her honesty was well-known among hunters—a rare trait in their cutthroat world.
Carlyle regarded her with a slight nod. Rory was straightforward, almost refreshingly so. Her usual work involved selling rare herbs and poisons, not taking on direct assignments like this. The fact that she was here in person was surprising, but then again, this wasn't an ordinary job.
Grue leaned back in his chair, his leather jacket creaking with the motion. He shrugged nonchalantly. "Same deal for me. Two favors." His tone was casual, but Carlyle didn't miss the hint of interest in his tone of voice. Grue wasn't the type to shy away from danger—he thrived on it.
Henry chuckled, cracking his knuckles as a small grin spread across his face. "I only owe the guy one favor. If I do this, he'll owe me." His enthusiasm was almost contagious, though Carlyle suspected Henry enjoyed the thrill of danger more than he let on.
Carlyle tapped his cane thoughtfully, considering his own position. "Same here. One favor owed, no sweetened deal. Though I have to admit, I'm curious why he didn't try to offer me more."
"Maybe you pissed him off," Rory quipped, smirking as she seized the opportunity to needle him.
Carlyle straightened his crisp blue suit, huffing lightly. "Doubt it. He's too focused on this mission to hold grudges. Besides, he needs me." He paused, his gaze sweeping the room. "Still, this job… it's big. If we're going to take it, we'd better be sure it's worth the risk."
A faint buzz interrupted their conversation. Carlyle reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone as the others did the same. A detailed file had arrived—a plan meticulously laid out by Rey.
Rory let out a low whistle as she scanned the document. "Three confirmed hunters and a few unnamed possibles. Hmm… looks like we'll need disguises. I'll be a waitress." She smirked, already picturing her role.
Henry snorted. "And I'm a valet. Guess I'll kill anyone trying to bolt."
Grue said nothing, his eyes methodically combing through the plan. His silence spoke volumes—he was in.
Carlyle studied the plan, appreciating the layers of strategy Rey had put into it. Every detail was accounted for, from the timing of their entry to their exit routes. He closed his phone with a quiet snap, addressing the room. "I see why my role only counts as one favor now. No direct risk." He tapped his cane lightly against the floor. "I'll be on the floor below the gala, blocking exits. Simple, clean. My disguise? A businessman staying at the hotel."
Rory beamed as she tucked her phone away. "Thankfully, I won't be doing any killing. Just lacing the food with sleeping agents—enough to knock out even hunters."
Carlyle's lips twitched into a faint smile, though he made a mental note to tread carefully around her. Poison users like Rory didn't need brute strength to be deadly.
Grue finally spoke, his voice steady and cold. "Once everyone's out, the Author will handle the killing himself. I'm just here to watch his back."
Henry let out a low whistle, his eyebrows shooting up. "Oh, shit. It is personal, isn't it?"
Carlyle didn't respond, but he couldn't deny it. The plan, the precision—it all pointed to something deeply personal for Rey. The Author said so himself that it was personal.
Rey, or "The Author" as he was known in the hunter world, had built a reputation over the past two years as an unparalleled information broker. He never dealt in money, only in favors or information of equal or greater value. Carlyle had initially found the title "Author" arrogant, but now, seeing how Rey orchestrated this operation, he understood.
This wasn't just about fulfilling favors. This was about sending a message to the Elsewhere Cult—a message written in blood.
Carlyle sighed… and then asked the question that had been bothering him.
"What do you think his aura type is?"
Grue let out a soft grunt, his tone clipped but not unkind. "You do know, as professionals, we shouldn't pry into our client's personal affairs, right?"
Henry smirked, clearly enjoying the banter. "Oh, come on, Grue. You're not the least bit curious? My bet's on Reader. Makes sense, doesn't it?"
Carlyle considered Henry's suggestion, nodding slightly. A Reader did seem plausible. Rey's ability to anticipate moves, manipulate events, and gather information with precision hinted at a high-level Reader ability. He tapped his cane thoughtfully, his mind piecing together the puzzle. "Yes, a Reader fits. Someone with a rare or specialized power, especially one that allows for such strategic insight... it aligns with everything we've seen so far."
He paused, his gaze sweeping the room. "And that name, 'Author,' it's starting to make sense. He sees the world as a story—its events, its players. He doesn't just live in it; he writes it. And right now, we're part of his latest chapter."
The others exchanged glances, sensing the weight of Carlyle's words. For someone like Rey, the job they were on wasn't just another mission. It was a calculated move in a much larger game.
Or maybe… they were just misunderstanding things…
Carlyle didn't mind being a piece on the board—not as long as his favor was paid in full by the end of the night. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that this wouldn't be the last time Rey pulled them into his orbit.
He shifted the conversation. "Anyone heard of the name 'Elsewhere Cult'?" His brow furrowed, frustration evident in his voice. "No matter what, I can't find anything on them. That's rare for me, and I've got a lot of friends. Before coming here, I've done my research on them and I got nothing."
Henry shook his head, his expression unconcerned. "Never really tried, but yeah, I've got nothing."
Grue leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed as he spoke. "I took a job for them once, but it never panned out. Private bounty on Leora the Bright."
Carlyle raised an eyebrow. "I thought she was retired."
"She is," Grue replied, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. "But the job was stolen from me."
Henry snorted. "Let me guess, the Undead Troupe?"
At the mention of the name, Grue's aura darkened, and his voice dropped. "Yeah. They took the job and then tried to recruit me. Gave them the middle finger, but they didn't take it well. Had to run their gauntlet, and I barely made it out alive."
Carlyle's eyes narrowed. The Undead Troupe had been making waves recently, their notoriety almost rivaling Rey's. "So we pretty much know nothing about the Elsewhere Cult?" he concluded, his tone resigned.
Rory, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, chimed in. "Sounds like the kind of group that works in the shadows, pulling strings where no one can see. Probably by design."
Carlyle tapped his cane against the floor, his thoughts racing. A group so secretive that even his extensive network couldn't crack it? That was troubling. And if Rey had a grudge against them…
The rhythmic tapping of his cane filled the silence as Carlyle considered the implications. This wasn't going to be a one-off job.
Henry broke the quiet first, shrugging casually. "As long as we're not killing mundanes, I'm fine with it."
Rory grinned, teasing him. "Oooh, a hunter with a code. Don't worry, they'll probably be asleep by the time the killing starts. But if a fight breaks out, I can't make any promises. I'm just a lowly herbalist, after all."
Grue cracked his knuckles, his voice low and deliberate. "If a fight starts, I'll aim to kill in one blow. No loose ends."
Carlyle studied Grue for a moment, his expression unreadable. There was no doubt the man could back up his words. Grue wasn't one for theatrics—he got the job done, no matter the cost.
The idea of taking out hunters didn't sit well with Carlyle. They were skilled, dangerous, and not so different from themselves. But favors were favors.
Carlyle stood, adjusting his suit and gripping his cane tightly. "If things go sideways, don't expect me to stick around for cleanup. I'll have the barriers up as fast as I can, but once they're in place, I'm out."
Rory stretched her arms lazily over her head, her demeanor far more relaxed than the situation warranted. "Fine by me. I just hope Rey doesn't get too trigger-happy. Poison's no fun when someone messes up my timing."
Henry chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. "As long as the sleeping agents work, you won't have to worry about timing."
Carlyle shifted his weight, his hand tightening around the head of his cane. "Let's hope everything goes according to plan. But something tells me this job's going to be more than we bargained for."
The room fell into silence again, the unspoken tension settling like a heavy fog. They were professionals, each seasoned in their own right, but even the most skilled could be caught in the crossfire of something far bigger than themselves.
Rory stood abruptly, brushing her dark brown hair back with a casual flick. "I need to get my costume and infiltrate an hour earlier."
"Same here," Henry said, rising to follow her.
The two hunters exited the room, their footsteps fading down the hall. Carlyle remained seated, his gaze drifting to Grue. The man sat quietly, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Known for his anonymity and lethality, Grue was a rare breed among hunters—a Trickster-type whose combat prowess was as formidable as his ability to manipulate the battlefield.
Carlyle leaned back, tapping his cane lightly as he studied the man. "What do you think of Rey? His aura?"
Grue didn't answer immediately, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Too subdued," he finally said. "You'd almost think he was a mundane. If it's some kind of technique, I couldn't tell. It looked too natural. For a second, I thought he might be a Trickster like me. Aura suppression is more our thing anyway."
Carlyle's interest piqued. "How about signs of training? Anything that stood out?"
Grue shook his head. "None. His stance was off—poor, even. Or maybe he was faking it. But he's built. I could tell he's killed a man before. My special ability... it lets me know these things."
Carlyle's brow arched. "Interesting. Care to elaborate?"
Grue's gaze flicked to Carlyle, his voice steady but edged with warning. "Normally, if someone's hiding their aura, you'd need to get close—maybe touch them—to figure out if they're an aura user. But with Rey? Even if you touched him, you'd mistake him for a mundane. Unless you're a Tracker sub-type, you'd never be sure."
Carlyle considered this, his mind turning over the implications. "That's high praise coming from you."
Grue leaned back, his expression unchanging but his tone carrying a hint of finality. "You've asked your questions. Now, you owe me a favor."
Carlyle sighed, though he had anticipated this. "As long as it isn't excessive, I'll do it."
Grue's tone didn't change, but there was a glimmer of satisfaction in his voice. "Introduce me to your information brokers. Good ones who accept money as payment. If I keep using the Author's services, I'll be in his debt for the next ten years."
A wry smile tugged at Carlyle's lips. "Fair enough. I can do that."
For a consultation with someone as elusive and insightful as Grue, that was a reasonable price to pay.
~014