ItCP25

## Chapter

**Chapter 25** of **Into the Crooked Place** follows **Wesley**.

## **Full Version**

WESLEY LOOKED ENTIRELY THE same.

He thought becoming a vessel for Crafter magic would mean shooting ice from his eyes or the ability to kill someone with a click of his fingers.

Sadly, it did not.

Instead, Wesley felt charged. Not different, but elevated. Like he’d spent his entire life with only half of his energy and now, finally, he had been given the missing part. He was awake for what felt like the first time.

Whatever lived inside of Wesley, it was born for magic.

After only a day, he figured out how to conjure good luck—not much, but enough to win a few card games against Tavia—and an invisibility charm that made his scars disappear for an entire hour.

He had not conjured the plague, like everyone clearly expected, and once he reached the Kingpin, he was going to use this new power to fix a very old mistake.

*If only it were that easy.*

Wesley let the warm breeze sweep across his neck.

His feet dangled over the edge of the train roof, which sat in wait on the Sirta River, the winding stretch of water serving as a track.

Wesley still kind of wanted a ship, similar to those he’d read about. He imagined setting sail on an old pirate cruiser with black sails, but this was not going to be at all like that.

They had a supply train used in trade shipments and there was not a sail or a cannon in sight, and since everything was automated by magic, there also wasn’t a wheel or a conductor’s seat Wesley could stand by and pretend he knew a thing about navigation.

Everything was mechanics and magic, and Wesley felt a little disappointed by the whole thing. It was hardly a vessel for war.

Still, he supposed it was better than swimming to the Kingpin’s island.

The station’s ticket booths were closed, courtesy of Wesley and Tavia—who used a few binding charms to keep the ticket officers tied up in the back—and the next passenger train was not due for a while, so passersby were few and far between.

Wesley exhaled.

They had been waiting thirty minutes for Karam to say goodbye to her mother and to her friends, which Wesley thought was a little long, considering that Arjun had tried to kill her.

Elixir or not, Wesley didn’t think that warranted a pleasant farewell.

He stood and stretched out his arms, feeling the drag of impatience cramp his bones as he walked the length of the train roof in a pace.

The buskers toward the back were laughing and throwing trick bags while cigarettes hung from their lips. They cast routine glares to those at the front, the deadlier career criminals who waited in silence, barely blinking as they twirled knives in their hands or stroked voodoo dolls with eerie smirks.

And then there was Falk, nearly obscured, keeping away from them all as he whispered to a *delg* bat nestled in the crook of his arm.

Everything about him set Wesley on edge.

Being a snitch was one thing, but being entirely without loyalty was another. Any man who could be bought for such a small amount of coin was one to be watched closely.

“I’ll give you a fire charm for a spell that makes someone incapable of being an idiot,” Tavia said.

Wesley turned to see her climbing up the ladder to join him on the train top. When he sat down, she sat beside him, her hair cutting a sharp line across her chin.

She flashed the charm pouches looped to her belt. “Name anything,” she said.

“The other buskers giving you a hard time?” Wesley asked.

“They won’t stop asking me questions and following me around like little puppies. It’s like when you’re not there, they assume I have all the answers.”

“You are my best busker,” Wesley said. “They look up to you. It’s a compliment, so try to pretend like you don’t hate them.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tavia pulled out her knife and stabbed it into the space between them. “But if I throw one or two off the train once we get going, that won’t hurt our chances against the Kingpin, will it?”

Wesley smiled, even though he knew Tavia wasn’t serious. She had a habit of talking gray and then getting all moral on him.

“Grit your teeth,” Wesley said. “After we dethrone Ashwood and return to the newly saved Creije, you can go back to never speaking to any of them again.”

“Surely defeating the man who owns my debt makes it void,” Tavia said. “When this is all over, it’s goodbye Creije and hello somewhere far, far away.”

There was a note of sadness in her voice that gave Wesley pause.

Usually talk of leaving made Tavia far too excited. Second to debt, the last thing she wanted to be tied down by was people, and Wesley wasn’t sure when, but somehow he knew he had become an anchor to her.

“Was Creije ever home to you?” he asked before he could think not to. “Or was it always your dream to leave?”

Tavia scraped her teeth across her bottom lip, which she always did when she thought long and hard about something, as though the steady pain and rhythm of the action would give her an answer. Like how Wesley always touched the scars that crawled across half of his body, confident the sting of the past would propel him to focus on the present.

“I don’t know,” she said. Honest, almost grave.

“You don’t know?”

Tavia spoke in a shrug. “That’s the thing about dreams. They happen overnight.”

“And then fade away,” Wesley said.

Tavia shot him an odd look. “My muma said that you should always listen to the kind that stick around, demanding you follow them.”

“That’s really corny.”

“It’s supposed to be comforting,” she said. “That’s what parents do, Wesley. They make up pretty words and stories so you don’t have to. That way you get to believe them. You get to feel better.”

Wesley shifted and turned away from her.

He was glad Tavia had memories like that. Platitudes and proverbs to comfort her when things got too dark. He was glad she remembered the sound of her mother’s voice so fondly and that she tried to cling to those memories.

But Wesley could never do the same.

The only adages his father taught him were about learning to never create more than one enemy, because then he’d have to turn his back on one to keep an eye on the other.

In truth, Wesley remembered little of his father—his old life never felt enough like his own to bother keeping—but what he did remember were warnings like that. If there was one thing Wesley’s father loved, and that thing was most certainly not Wesley, then it was warnings.

Wesley tried to shake off the moment, but Tavia kept her eyes on him, pressing harder into it, as she always did, pushing Wesley to the limits of nostalgia. She sat in an almost determined silence beside him, like she’d asked a question and knew he wouldn’t answer, but wanted to be there just in case.

He picked Tavia’s knife from the train and handed it back to her with a sigh. “Volo won’t know what hit it,” he said.

“What makes you think I’d go there when I leave Creije?”

“It’s all you talked about when we were kids.”

Tavia’s smile was wistful. “You remember.”

Truthfully, Wesley remembered everything anyone ever said to him, but he especially remembered everything to do with Tavia. Once someone was under your skin, there was no getting them out.

He knew he should move past it, but Wesley had pushed aside every part of his old self and he wanted to keep just this one thing. When Tavia left Creije, that would be the end of it. He’d never see her again and sooner or later—sooner for her, probably, and later for him—they would forget each other.

Wesley would be a Kingpin and Tavia would be a nomad and, just like his family, maybe one day they’d pass each other in the street and she wouldn’t recognize him and he wouldn’t let himself recognize her.

He knew they weren’t destined to be anything other than temporary allies, existing alongside each other until the world gave her the means to do otherwise.

But for now, while he could, Wesley wanted to remember everything.

“Do you ever think about that time, a few years back, when we were running from the amityguards?” he asked. “We got trapped in that dead-end alley by the bridge.”

Tavia snorted. “No blades. Not even defense magic or something to make them lose sight of us for a minute.”

“Nothing but a shoddy transmutation charm.”

“Many Gods,” Tavia said, her eyes newly alight with mischief. “We used it to walk through the first wall we saw.”

“And straight into a brothel,” Wesley said.

Tavia burst into a wide grin. “The looks on our faces must have been priceless.” She was barely able to contain her laughter. “I’ve never seen so many naked people.”

“I like to think we carried the shock well,” Wesley said. “Besides, it was better than being sent to the cells. The old underboss would’ve beaten us to a pulp if we got snapped by the amityguards.”

“Especially if it was because we were stupid enough to run out of magic,” Tavia said. “I suppose that isn’t something you have to worry about anymore.” She looked to Wesley, the smile still fresh on her lips. “Do you feel different having Crafter powers?”

Wesley lifted his chin so that she could appraise him. “Do I look different?”

“You don’t want me to tell you what you look like.”

“Guess I’m pretty enough to render you speechless,” he said.

Tavia pulled a face. “You’re definitely carrying Crafter power. The ego is a prerequisite. I swear, it explains so much about Saxony.”

“You’ll miss it when you’re in Volo,” Wesley said. “Just like you’ll miss having so much magic. I bet the busking scene over there is lousy.”

“I’ll have to find another profession.”

Tavia bit her lip, like she was putting a lot of thought into what that could be. Neither of them had been in any business outside of magic.

“Maybe I could do something that doesn’t require me almost getting killed five days out of the week,” she said.

“Sounds boring.”

“I was shooting for normal.”

Wesley shrugged. “That’s what I said. Either way, you’ll have more free time if you’re not busy patching up your battle wounds.”

“Doesn’t mean much if the old ones have already scarred.”

“Scars fade,” Wesley said.

Tavia’s smile wavered. “Not all of them.”

Though Wesley knew she wasn’t just talking about physical scars, he couldn’t help but look down at her hand. True enough, there were knife marks across her knuckles, some stretching to her wrists in defensive crisscrosses.

His throat tightened.

Wesley thought back to the nights they had busked together, trading charms and staying up until morning. They had combined technology with magic and created something from nothing as though they were Crafters. Then he remembered all the times he hadn’t been there, too busy climbing the ranks and earning the underboss’s trust.

Wesley wondered how many of Tavia’s scars he could have stopped if he stayed on the streets by her side.

Tavia didn’t need saving. He knew that. She wasn’t his best busker because she got scared easily, but if Wesley had stuck by her, then maybe Tavia would have changed her mind about wanting to leave.

It was a selfish thing to think, but Wesley was always selfish when it came to Tavia.

That was how he knew he was a bastard.

Not because he headed up Creije’s branch of the black magic market and not because of all the things he had done to get blood on his hands, but because of Tavia. Because he cared about her and let her care about him back.

That was what made Wesley the biggest bastard of all.

He placed his hand on top of Tavia’s, hiding the cuts and scrapes as though that would fix anything.

She stiffened but Wesley stayed still, staring at his hand on hers, wondering who would walk away first.

One of them always walked away.

“For the underboss of Creije, you really are not that scary,” a voice said.

Tavia’s hand shot into her pocket and Wesley’s stomach tightened.

He leaned over the train’s edge to face the new arrival.

Arjun looked more like an asshole than Wesley ever had, from the sheathed four-bladed sword, down to the smirk that made up his face. Behind him, Karam stood with a smile and at least a few dozen of the Grankan Crafters.

“I suppose your reputation is all talk?” Arjun said, staring up at him.

Wesley jumped down onto the riverbank, landing with catlike grace. “You go your whole life without seeing a Crafter and suddenly there’s a horde of them at your feet,” he said.

Tavia landed beside him and propped up her hood. “Infestations usually work that way.”

“As opposed to plagues,” Arjun said.

Wesley tensed. He was getting a little tired of people comparing his business to a disease.

“Everyone but Doyen Schulze deals in the underrealm,” he said. “Even your holier-than-thou Grankans. I’m not some illusive devil who has the corner on magic markets.”

“I am not debating morals with a murderer,” Arjun said.

“Just semantics, then.”

Arjun sneered. “You’re a con artist.”

“But an artist all the same.”

“You make a living on other people’s backs,” Arjun said.

Wesley smiled. “I mostly make a killing. What are you all doing here anyway?”

Arjun practically puffed out his chest. “We are coming with you,” he said.

Wesley tried to keep his face even. “I thought your Liege wasn’t going to give us any help. Especially after the Loj made you go all murder-hungry on one of my people.”

Arjun cleared his throat, looking like he was trying to hide how uncomfortable he felt with the idea that Karam was one of Wesley’s people. And doing a damn awful job at it.

“Asees is wise and her decision to stay is understandable,” Arjun said. “But there are those of us who do not agree it is the only path to take.”

It was a very diplomatic way of saying that he was ignoring orders.

“So she’s just going to let you leave with us?” Wesley asked. “Taking half of her Kin with you?”

“We have made our own decision,” Arjun said. “We will not let more Crafters fall prey to Kingpins and their dark magic.”

“So you snuck out with your fellow rebels to come see the big bad underboss.” Wesley was almost impressed. “I guess you being a traitor works out great for me.”

Arjun practically snarled.

He clearly did not appreciate that last part.

“You listen to me, underboss,” he said, stepping forward menacingly. “Just because we are agreeing to fight in this war, it does not mean we are allegiant to you. We are here because our people are in danger and once we help free every Crafter your Kingpin has, we will leave you in the dust.”

Wesley smirked.

Two minutes and he already had Arjun sussed out.

Stubbornly righteous, loyal to a fault—because loyalty was always a fault—and carrying a weight his shoulders were too inexperienced to bear.

“And maybe it won’t just be us,” Arjun said. “Maybe all of your precious buskers will abandon you. Without a real threat like Ashwood, there is no need for them to stay.”

He glanced over to Tavia and something inside Wesley simmered.

“Criminals are not known for their loyalty,” Arjun said.

Wesley didn’t kid himself into thinking he had many virtues, but if there was one he always thought he possessed without a doubt, then it was patience.

But that had just about worn.

“Once Ashwood is gone, I’ll be the new Kingpin,” Wesley said. “So who’s to say I won’t just pick up where he left off? Crafters and all.”

Arjun’s hand shot out faster than predicted.

A burst of white, which Wesley soon realized was lightning, hurtled for him. He dropped his shoulder and the beam crashed into the water.

If Wesley turned out to have Spiritcrafter powers, he’d make a mental note to learn that one.

Arjun raised his blade and Wesley quickly lifted his hand. He clenched it to a fist and his new magic dragged Arjun toward him. The Crafter froze inches from Wesley’s face, struggling against the vice that held him there.

Wesley stretched out his other hand and the magic propelled Tavia’s knife from her pocket and into his palm.

He pressed it against Arjun’s throat.

“Let him go!” Saxony said, running out from one of the carriages.

Karam was beside her and Wesley could see her hands dangerously close to her own knife.

“He is the second in command for his Kin,” Karam said. “Who are all surrounding you.”

True enough, out of the corner of Wesley’s eye, the Grankans gathered.

They sneered at Wesley and he felt their magic burning through him, but his buskers were there too and they were always spoiling for a fight.

“I’ll let him go as soon as we come to an understanding.”

“You will do it now,” Arjun said.

Wesley inclined his head to the side, watching Arjun’s face change, taking in the different shades of defiance, like it was a work of art.

“Wesley.” Tavia was by his side, her voice a warning bell. “Don’t do something that will screw over the huge opportunity we just got.”

Wesley took his eyes off Arjun to look at her, but it was a stupid move. The lull in his attention gave his magic pause and Arjun took the opportunity to bring his head forward and crack it awkwardly against Wesley’s lip.

Wesley tasted blood in his mouth.

He seized Arjun’s collar. “Now can I kill him?” Wesley asked.

But Arjun was already swinging his fist, catching Wesley in the jaw.

Wesley winced and brought his elbow down hard on Arjun’s nose. The Crafter stumbled back, blinking away the dizziness, and then collapsed onto the riverbank.

He may have been a Crafter, but he was no underboss.

Arjun shook his head and made to push himself up.

*Damn*, Wesley thought. *He’s got guts.*

He kicked Arjun’s hands out from under him.

“Enough,” Karam said. She knelt by Arjun’s side.

Tavia pushed herself in front of Wesley before he could strike again. “Quit being such an idiot.”

Her hand pressed against Wesley’s chest and he wondered if she could feel his heartbeat. He wondered if he still had one.

“If you’re not careful, you’re going to start a war with the wrong people before we even reach Ashwood,” Tavia hissed. “Arjun’s on our side now.”

Wesley shrugged. “He also started it. It was a fair fight.”

Many Gods he sounded like a child.

From across the way, Saxony glared at him. “You’ve never fought fair in your life. All you do is take what isn’t yours.”

Wesley’s clenched his jaw.

And all Saxony ever did was speak to him like he was something she’d scraped off the bottom of her shoe. For what? He’d been nothing but an ally to her. To all of them.

“You think that just because we’re not in Creije there isn’t a pecking order,” Wesley said, loud enough for everyone to hear, Crafters and buskers alike. “But I only have limited goodwill and it’s wearing thin. The next time anyone comes at me, whether it’s with magic or a side-eye, then I’m going to start living up to my reputation. *Skjla?*”

The Grankans scoffed indignantly but said nothing. Even Saxony, whose lips shook as she tried to hold in whatever spell or curse she wanted to throw at him.

Wesley waited a few seconds to see if she would anyway, but Saxony stayed silent, her eyes burning. She needed him if she was going to get to the Kingpin and Wesley knew it. If any of them were going to get what they wanted, they had to work together.

They had to be a team.

“I’m glad we understand each other,” he said.

Saxony shook her head. “I’ll never understand you.”

But Wesley could live with that.

Everyone else might have been in this for a noble cause, but Wesley was in it for an empire. To protect the one he’d created and forge an even greater one in its place. Maybe sentimentality crept up on him sometimes, the urge to keep Tavia safe like an old habit, but that didn’t change anything.

They may have been about to save the realm, but there was no saving him.

And now that Wesley had true magic, there was no stopping him either.