Predator Code (Tales from Wildhearth #1)

Chapter 15 - Rosewine Lies

A wry smile curled the corners of Jett's mouth as she padded along through the downpour in Fisker's wake, the other foxkin cutting a forlorn, haggard figure in the dwindling rain-dampened light. The long day of meetings culminating in his heated exchange with the wolfkin enforcer had clearly taken its toll on the politician. Now that the murderess was out of sight and out of mind, Jett felt her confidence returning by the second.

She didn't exactly have a plan in mind beyond cornering Fisker to try to get him to make some sense of this mess but winging it had kept her alive so far. Several pieces of the puzzle now floated around her brain, and she needed someone to translate them into something meaningful.

After following him aboard the tram carrier, she now found herself in an unfamiliar district, not quite the well-to-do splendour of the Silk, but scrubbed up a lot more efficiently than her home. Lots of bars, restaurants, and open-air food courts seemed to spill from every street, gazebos erected against the weather and large numbers of undeterred citizens getting down to the business of enjoying themselves after a long day at work.

Jett smiled, lowering her head against the rain that still spilled over the hood of her robe. On some level, it heartened her to see that even here in the softer, cushier districts, the kin of Wildhearth still refused to let the elements stop them from getting on with their lives.

Fisker was no exception. The foxkin designate trudged through the sheets of rain, dodging and weaving his way through happy revellers, shoulders hunched against the music that clattered from open windows and doorways. Sprays of water were kicked skyward by dancing paws as the more raucous parties spilled onto the streets, and Jett laughed as she found herself getting splashed when passing too close.

Shaking her head, she focused, trying not to get engulfed by the infectious atmosphere and keep her eyes on the prize. Pivoting her body left and right, she tracked Fisker through the crowds until he made a sharp right turn down a narrow side alley. Music still blared through it, reverberating off the walls, but the crush of bodies dissipated, revealing a series of quieter establishments (relatively speaking) linking the walls. Advertisements and hawking vendors tried to entice passersby at street level, while further up in the residential blocks and warrenaries, she could see light spilling from windows.

Fisker turned towards one of the bars with a lurid purple sign belching out light, the letters sweeping and curving into the words Garlo's Den. A thick glass door hung open with a bulky iron-furred vulkin lounging next to it. His torso was bare, and he wore a baggy set of armoured factory trousers, his brawny arms folded and sharp eyes watching the comers and goers carefully. His gaze swept over Fisker briefly as the designate shuffled inside but quickly moved on.

Jett followed, making a show of shaking the rain from her headfur as she swept her hood back and approached, flashing a grin at the vulkin as he examined her disinterestedly.

"Nice night for a party," she cooed as she swept past. He grunted in what might have been agreement before she faded from his interest. Pausing for a moment to smooth down her headfur and robe, she took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold after her quarry.

The bar seethed with life, rich scents of exotic, carefully crafted musk sweeping over her like a rolling fog. Low, blue lights throbbed from the ceiling, punctuated by the bass thump of music that shook Jett's ribcage. Packed tables swelled with noise, with waiters and waitresses weaving expertly through the clientele to deliver their libations. Squinting through the neon gloom, she just managed to pick out Fisker before he disappeared behind a group of beaverkin deep inside the bar.

With water still dripping from her frame, she set off after him. It took a bit of twisting and writhing to dodge fast-moving servers and stumbling drunks, but she soon made it to the far side of the room, where several shadowed alcoves had been built into the wall, each with a small table tucked inside it. Not large enough to accommodate a big group, they went largely unnoticed by most of the customers, but a few people seemed interested in the solitude.