The front door to Brannoc’s home opened, but when he tried to enter he ricocheted off the threshold like it was a physical force. Greg landed flat on his ass, the naked alchemist bouncing off his shoulder and, unable to brace himself, landing face first on the porch with consecutive grunts.

  “What the hell?” Greg looked back to make sure Brycen was still tied up and then back to the door. “Brannoc?” He stood up and stepped up to the doorway again, testing the space like a dog that had run into the sliding glass door one too many times. His hand passed through harmlessly.

  Brannoc’s grumble sounded from down the hall, and after a moment he stepped into view. “The hell are you doing?”

  “Bringing you a drug dealer?”

  Brannoc blinked. “Sorry. What?”

  “Drug dealer. You told me to go find drug dealers.” Greg glanced back where Brycen had managed to roll onto his side. “Technically, I guess I’m not sure if he’s a dealer or not, but he’s an alchemist and he was using the same Frost concoction the Miles Rillon was on.”

  Brannoc stared at him from down the hall for an uncomfortably long moment before walking forward to look past him at the nude man hogtied on his porch. “There a reason you stole his clothes?”

  “I didn’t.” Greg rubbed the back of his neck. “They kinda exploded off him when he turned himself into a giant flesh monster.”

  “Fucking hate alchemists.” Brannoc shook his head. “How do you know he took the same thing the Rillon kid took?”

  “Same blue mist. I think it was actually refined somehow. He didn’t turn into a raging idiot like Miles did.”

  Brannoc looked from him to the alchemist a couple times before letting out a sigh and jerking his head. “Bring him in.”

  “I bounced off…”

  “Just defenses, I’ll drop them long enough to bring him inside.” Brannoc cut him off before he turned around and headed back to his den.

  Greg rolled his eyes. “Could have helped me heave him in…” he said under his breath before walking over and kneeling in front of Brycen. “If you fight me on this, I will drag you by your ankles all the way inside. You want that?”

  He shook his head and let out a low groan.

  “If he just came down from a transformation, he won’t be able to fight you anyway,” Brannoc called from the other room. “Just pick him up and drag his ass in here.”

  “So demanding.” Greg reached down and hefted the lean man onto his shoulder to carry him into the house. “Where should I put him?”

  “Couch.” Brannoc jerked his head to the side as he snapped a flame to life on his thumb to light his pipe. “Take whatever that is out of his mouth.”

  Greg eased him down on the couch opposite where he usually sat, then pulled the socks from his mouth. He’d half expected yelling protests to start the moment his tongue was free. Instead, he smacked his dry lips and flicked his eyes between the two of them.

  “I’m just the brewer. I don’t know anything,” Brycen said, adjusting on the couch in an attempt to reclaim some modesty.

  Brannoc didn’t speak for a long time. So long, in fact, that Greg almost butted into the conversation until he was stopped.

  “Don’t say a word.” Isabella said. “Let him handle this. He knows what he’s doing.”

  Greg frowned slightly at that. What? He was some kind of professional interrogator now? Was he going to silent him into talking?

  “I’m not even the only one. There are a bunch of us. H-honestly, I’m so far down the ladder it’s not even worth working me over. I don’t even run the flasks.” Brycen’s speech got faster, and he stumbled over his words.

  Brannoc took a long drag from his pipe and blew a few smoke rings idly in the man’s direction, but still didn’t speak.

  “Come on, I-I’ll stop brewing. I’ll leave town. P-please, just let me out of here.”

  Greg’s frown deepened, eyes narrowing as he looked between the two of them in disbelief. Finally, after several more pleas from the alchemist, Brannoc pulled the pipe from between his teeth to speak.

  “You know who I am, son?”

  Brycen’s adam’s apple bobbed as he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “You wouldn’t think about lying to me, would you?”

  “No, sir.”

  Brannoc nodded and took another long drag of his piped. “Untie him.”

  “I...” Greg started to dispute the command, but the inside corners of Brannoc’s brows rose just slightly and silenced him. He quickly untied the ankles, then wrists, and tucked the rope away in his inventory again.

  Brycen gave him a glare before his expression softened, and he looked to the elf again. “Thank you.”

  “Who do you work for?” Brannoc asked flatly.

  “I..” Brycen’s eyes shifted to the hallway they’d entered from, but he clearly thought better of it. “I don’t know the guy’s name. He sends some meathead every couple of weeks to pay me and tell me how much to make.”

  “But you know it’s a man?” Brannoc scratched at the usually well maintained hair on his chin. “Any other details?”

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  Brycen’s mouth hung open for a moment before he shook his head. “No…I-I don’t even know if it’s a guy. Maybe it isn’t.”

  Brannoc let out a slow sigh. “Thought you said you weren’t going to lie to me, son?” he said before taking breathing deep through the pipe.

  “I’m not. Honest. I don’t know who it…” The alchemist choked as Brannoc blew out a long line of smoke that infiltrated the man’s nostrils. Tears streamed from his eyes, and his fingers dug into the overstuffed fabric of the couch. He coughed violently, but the smoke he expelled from his mouth just filtered right back through his nose. Then, as suddenly as it started, Brannoc snapped, and the smoke evacuated his lungs to hang in the air above them.

  “Try again,” Brannoc’s stoic tone had not faltered a single time.

  Greg stared wide eyed at Brannoc. Sure, the man was rough around the edges, but he’d never imagined him torturing another person. The whole series of events lasted ten seconds at most, so maybe it was merely the threat of torture, but it was obvious he’d done this before. Was this who he was going to turn into? Someone who was willing to push those boundaries? Was that who he wanted to be?

  “Rich guy.” Brycen blurted out between harsh coughs. “Tall. Brown hair.”

  “Titanblood?” Brannoc asked.

  Brycen took a few deep breaths, his lungs recovering, and shook his head. “No, human. He’s one of you though.” He indicated between the two of them.

  Brannoc’s expression did not change, but the same could not be said for Greg. His eyes of ice and blood somehow grew wider and snapped to Brycen. “A Gifted?”

  Brycen just nodded, rubbing at his throat.

  “Eyes?” Brannoc asked.

  “B-brown I think.” Brycen pushed his hair off his forehead and swallowed hard. “Yeah, brown.”

  “Just brown?” Greg asked. “Nothing else?”

  “I think so. I only met the guy once.”

  Brannoc clicked his teeth against the pipe’s mouthpiece a few times before nodding. “Got any clothes left?” When the alchemist nodded, Brannoc waved his hand at him. “Get dressed. You have anything else that might help us? Other alchemists making the Frost?”

  Brycen reached into his own storage space and pulled out a pair of dark trousers and slipped them on. “No, I bought supplies from Supplies and Solutions. I’m pretty sure all of us do though.”

  His mentor waited for the alchemist to pull his shoes on before blowing out a threatening ring of smoke. “How much Frost do you have on you now?”

  He swallowed and rang his hands before pulling out four half gallon clear bags full of tiny glass beads. They ranged from almost completely translucent to a dull cloudy blue color.

  “That’s what you took?” Greg asked, and eyebrow arching. He was no drug aficionado, but the range of color didn’t say much for their purity.

  His eyes shifted between the two of them, before his shoulders slumped and he pulled out another bag. This one was much smaller, palm-sized at most, and made of a thick burlap-like material. Brannoc took the bag, grimaced as he sniffed it, then pulled out a tiny bead. Still utterly see through, the bead’s blue tint soaked up the light of Brannoc’s fire and almost seemed to swirl.

  “Personal stash?” Greg asked.

  Brycen sat back down and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s the purest Frost I’ve ever made. I’ve ever seen.”

  “Weren’t dealing it though, were you?” Brannoc asked, not looking away from the bead between his thick fingers.

  “No, I don’t deal. I sell it to the dealers.”

  “What dealers? Where can I find them?” Greg asked.

  “I don’t know any of their real names.” Brycen sighed. “I meet them at this rundown park in the outer ring. On the way to Guard Tower 17.”

  Greg frowned. That’s where he’d been chased by the horde of Frost kissed. They’d walked through there numerous times and he’d never seen any dealers. “How do you contact them?”

  “I don’t. They leave requests and dates at my apartment.”

  “Dealers just show up at your doorstep?” Brannoc scoffed, though his stoic expression remained. “Sounds like we should have a look.”

  “Go visit the drug den?” Greg asked.

  ###

  Brycen Galloway’s apartment was not a drug den.

  Greg stepped into the space behind Brycen and Brannoc, and his eyes went wide. Similarly sized to Maeve’s front room, it had dark stained wood floors from wall to wall. On either side of the front room, staircases led up to the unit above, which he’d also apparently bought outright. Landscape paintings decorated the walls around three large leather couches positioned to face an extensive wet bar.

  Brannoc let out a low whistle as he looked around, giving the alchemist a gentle shove deeper into the room. “Nice place.” He mumbled.

  “Yeah…Thanks.” Brycen took a few paces into the den and turned to face them. “So, what now? You going to kill me?”

  Greg walked around the two of them, examining the beautiful dark stone and glass work on the counter tops of the wet bar. He’d never be able to afford something like this on a banker salary, let alone scrounging for contracts. Alchemist must make a killing on illicit substances.

  “No..” Brannoc closed the distance with him again, slapping his back firmly. “You’re gonna pack everything you want from this place, and sign it over to Greg.”

  “I’m gonna what?”

  “Yeah, he’s gonna what?” Greg inserted.

  “Can slap a restraint halo on you if you’d prefer? Hand you over to the justicars?”

  Brycen paled and bit down on his bottom lip. “What am I supposed to do? Live on the streets?”

  Brannoc’s brow furrowed, and he shrugged. “Frankly, don’t care much. Suggestion would be to get out of town. Plenty of spots could use a good, law abiding alchemist.”

  The alchemist’s jaw quivered for a moment, and Greg swore he was going to retort with something. Instead, he lowered his head and turned to retreat up the stairs.

  “Look at that. Was able to help you find a spot to live after all.” Brannoc said moving over to one of the long black leather couches. He let out a low dad-groan as he lowered himself onto it, then sighed with relief. “Fancy.”

  Greg stared blankly at the elf, lounging across furniture he’d just stolen right out from under the man. Now it was apparently going to be his furniture. He blinked a few times, head swimming, before addressing him. “What just happened?”

  Brannoc crossed his legs and folded his hands behind his head. “You’d rather I killed him?”

  “No, you just robbed him though.”

  Brannoc tilted his head side to side. “Could see it that way, sure. What do you think we should have done?”

  Greg blinked a few more times and shook his head. He’d already suggested the obvious answer. “We turn him in. Let the Justicars handle him.”

  Brannoc gave a soft, rare laugh and shook his head. He lifted his gaze to the cieling where Brycen could be heard ransacking his own things. “Guarantee he’d prefer I just kill him to that.”

  “He’s right.” Isabella added from within his head.

  “Why?” Greg asked them both, but Isabella let Brannoc explain.

  “You know what gravatic restraint halos are?” After Greg shook his head, Brannoc pulled one hand from behind his head and reached into the pockets of his linen pants to pull out a thin yellow ring. “Thieves got too good at picking manacles, so some sadistic fuck came up with this.”

  Greg caught it when Brannoc tossed it to him and twisted it between his fingers. As far as he could tell it was just a metal ring, maybe made out of gold, but otherwise didn’t seem special.

  “Turn it on and it will lock into place. Hovers just off the skin. Long as you don’t resist, could almost be fooled into thinking it wasn’t there.”

  Greg frowned. “What happens if you resist?”

  “Gravity,” he said simply. “Ring gets heavier the more you struggle. Once it’s locked, only a justicar badge can unlock it.” Brannoc waved his fingers for him to give it back.

  “Why do you have one?” Greg asked, happy to toss it back over to him.

  “Not important.” Brannoc said, tucking the ring back into his magical Mary Poppins pant pocket. “About done up there?” his voice carried unnaturally as he tilted his head back to look at the ceiling again.

  “Almost.” Brycen called down. “Just need to grab a few more things.”

  “What’s stopping him from gathering up all his materials and moving someplace else to make Frost?” Greg asked in a hushed tone.

  The elf just gave him a shrug. “Fear.”