Page 69 of Wind Called

Bellamy had to agree with that assessment…even as she thought they were going to be awfully exposed climbing up those rocks.

But they were almost there, and it wasn’t as if they could turn back now.

Or rather, while someone else might have thought they’d gathered enough information that they could take back to the elders and Connor and Angela and let them decide how to deal with all this, Bellamy knew neither she nor Marc was about to do such a thing.

Not when they’d come this far.

When they got to the rocks, she was glad of her sturdy hiking boots, since she didn’t think any lesser footwear could have managed to maintain a purchase on the slippery, gravelly soil beneath her feet. And it was a damn good thing that both she and Marc had experience with this sort of activity, or she had a feeling they would never have managed to keep following their quarry’s trail.

But even though they weren’t in much danger of sliding down the hill, she couldn’t help but wince at the amount of noise they were making, with small rocks tumbling off the path no matter what they did. The sounds seemed loud as thunder to her, even as she tried to reassure herself that it wasn’t too bad, and if the thief was close by, maybe he’d think it was only a wild animal, a coyote or a javelina or even a deer.

Not that she thought any of those animals would be stupid enough to come up here where there were barely any plants for them to forage.

They kept going, however, and if Marc was worried they were giving their position away, he didn’t show any sign of it, everything about his posture clear that he intended to see this through to the end.

No matter what.

The only good thing was the way the rock formation had so many funky outcroppings and half-formed caves and other geological features, so they weren’t quite as exposed here as she’d feared. Yes, one slip and she’d probably fall at least twenty or thirty feet before she hit another shelf where she’d be able to stand, but so far, they were both hanging in there, moving quickly enough to cover a decent amount of ground while doing everything they could to maintain their footing.

They passed between two tall rock spires and then out into an open, flat area partially shaded by a rock ledge far overhead.

Tucked up against the back wall of the opening — Bellamy couldn’t really call it a cave, not when it only had rock overhead and to one side — was a sleeping roll, a large rucksack, and a camp stove.

“Do you think that stuff is his?” she asked in a whisper, and Marc straightened his backpack, even as his eyes narrowed, taking in the rough encampment.

“Could be,” he replied, also keeping his voice low. “Or someone who just wanted to camp way off grid.” He stopped there and looked around. “I don’t see any sign of him, though.”

Maybe he went off to pee behind a bush,Bellamy thought, and fought the incongruous urge to chuckle.

There wasn’t anything funny about their situation.

“Do you think he might be setting snares for rabbits or something?” she asked, still in an undertone. “Doing what he can to supplement any food he might have brought along?”

Marc surveyed the campsite. “I suppose it’s possible. He’s got a camp stove, so he could definitely cook something like that.”

During thissotto voceconversation, they’d moved slowly toward the makeshift little encampment. Now that they were closer, Bellamy could see the rucksack was stained and worn, sporting patches from various national parks that she guessed were partially there to cover up tears and holes.

“You’d think if the Collector was paying him to do his dirty work, he’d make sure his lackey was a little better outfitted.”

About all Bellamy could do was give a puzzled lift of her shoulders. Something about this didn’t feel quite right, and yet….

“Or maybe ‘he’ just doesn’t care about shit like that,” came a new voice from behind them.

She and Marc both whirled at almost the same moment, which she also guessed might have looked amusing to an outside observer. However, with the way her nerves suddenly started thrumming and her stomach wanted to pull itself into knots, she knew she didn’t find anything particularly funny about the way the thief had materialized right there without them even noticing.

As Marc had described from what he’d seen in his dream, the stranger was tall and skinny — not as tall as Marc, true, but still probably just scraping six feet. His mid-brown hair was heavily dreadlocked and pulled back away from his lean face with a leather cord, and sharp blue eyes stared at them from a deeply tanned face.

Her ears rang for a brief second, signaling her that they were definitely in the presence of someone who was witch-kind. And since Marc hitched his shoulders briefly, she guessed he’d experienced the tingle or whatever it was that told him the other man was a warlock.

“Which ‘he’?” Marc said, sounding remarkably calm, considering the thief had just sneaked up on them as if that kind of stealth wasn’t any big deal. “I can’t really believe that about the Collector, not when he was having you try to steal from both the McAllister and the de la Pazprimas.”

The thief didn’t seem too moved by that argument. Looking at him, Bellamy had a hard time trying to determine his true age, since, while he had a few creases around those supernaturally bright eyes and cutting down from his nose to the corners of his mouth, he still could have been anything from thirty to fifty.

“What the Collector wants has nothing to do with material wealth,” he said. “It’s all about making sure those magical artifacts have a safe home.”

“They’re safe where they are,” Bellamy put in.

The man only smiled. He had very good teeth, considering how disheveled the rest of him was. “Are they? After all, I didn’t have too hard a time getting into yourprima’shouse.”

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