The witch was crouched over something Ryker couldn’t see, magic slipping from her palms. She looked like she’d just stepped off the pages of a history book from the Four Kingdoms. A long black robe flowed around her. Midnight hair swirled in an unseen wind, tendrils flying every which way. Bare feet stood on the ashy ground, toes digging into the soil. The wind carried her voice to Ryker’s ears, the incantations murmured in a language he did not recognize.
His magic thrummed in his veins, power calling to power.
Keeping his distance because only a fool would dare interrupt a witch while they were working, Ryker slipped his hands into his pockets and leaned against a tree. He would wait for Representative Challard to notice him.
Soldiers milled around, gathering evidence, taking photos, and roping off the scene. They glanced in his direction, but no one approached him.
Several minutes passed before the blue ribbons disappeared into the early morning sky. Myrrah straightened, dusted off her hands, and turned.
Physically, the Representative looked around thirty years old, but she’d seen two centuries come and go. Myrrah’s face was smooth, save for a few wrinkles at the corners of her dark brown eyes. Her mouth curved up, and those eyes flickered with recognition.
“Hello, Captain.” She dipped her head in greeting. “You’re right on time.”
Ryker’s brows furrowed. “On time for what?”
Myrrah extended an arm, her sleeve flowing like an inky river. “Tell me, youngling, what do you see here?”
It grated on Ryker’s nerves when people answered questions with questions, but what was he supposed to do? A lifetime of dealing with his mother and her colleagues had taught him that one should not ignore Representatives and their questions.
Ryker stepped forward and eyed the item at Myrrah’s feet.
His lips slanted down. “It’s a rock.”
More specifically, it was a charred stone the size of a large melon. Flat on one side, it was edged in black as if it had been plucked out of a fire.
“Not just a rock,” she said cryptically. “Look more closely.”
Ryker did as she asked, leaning over and studying the stone. Several lines were gouged into the surface, but he didn’t recognize them.
He reached out, intent on touching the stone, when the witch hissed, “Careful, Captain.”
His hand froze mid-air, and he glanced up. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t touch it. Death has been woven into the fabric of this magic,” she said ominously. “You may look, but you must keep your hands to yourself.”
That warning would’ve been helpful before she asked him to take a closer look.
Gritting his teeth, Ryker drew back his hand and pulled a thread of water from his palm. The translucent ribbon swirled in the air, seemingout of place amid all the destruction. He twisted his fingers, directing the magic to curl around the stone.
The moment the liquid touched the rock, the shale glowed. The swirling lines rearranged themselves over the flat surface, forming an emblem he knew from his research. A dagger speared a crescent moon—the Black Night’s symbol.
“This is how you knew who did it,” he murmured.
“Mhmm,” the witch said.
Ryker pulled back his magic, and the lines returned to their prior state.
“Fascinating.” He stared at the rock. “The dark magic laced into the shale… what do you think it means, Representative?”
He had his suspicions, but he wanted to hear her thoughts.
Myrrah’s robes rustled as she kneeled beside him.
“Nothing good. Black magic is dangerous no matter which form it takes. It always requires a sacrifice. Sometimes, it’s blood. Other times, it takes part of a soul.” She turned to him, her eyes piercing. “It’s unnatural.”
Ryker grimaced.
Gods damn it all. Of course, black magic was at play. Why not? With his luck, this meant he’d be away from home for even longer. In the past, he never cared when work pulled him out of Golden City for extended periods, but it wasn’t just about him anymore.