Author Games: Path of the Guildpact

Quarterfinals: Mikaela Gavreel

If an angel glows under sunlight, she burns brighter in the darkness. In Rakdos, I don't blend in at either time of the day.

Pulling my hood tighter round my face, I peer round the corner. The evening streets are prowling with life, young and old alike roaming the night sector in search of a slice of fun. Hollering teenagers drape themselves round sleazy bar fronts as laughter ricochets from wall to wall. Along with the occasional spilt beer, the heavy clink of drinking glasses accompanies the slosh and splatter onto the pavement.

A pack of wildcats yells obscenities at every passer-by as they push and shove their way towards Secret Affair. It's as run-down as the rest of them with its rotting sign hanging from the doorframe and grimy glass panels to match. The ground outside is littered with scraps of bone and booze. Not the guild's largest joint, but arguably the cosiest by a stretch—and the workplace of my likely target.

I eye the group carefully, waiting for them to spill through the doors before slipping out of my own hiding spot. Before entering, I let the glass swing shut, wait a few moments, then push my way through again. The dizziying scent of alcohol punches me in the nose in fumes of beer and whiskey. In here, the ruckus is even louder. I can barely hear my heart over the din, feeling only the rhythmic rush of blood in my ears as I take heavy steps towards the counter.

The man I'm looking for has a face with Rakdos' only genuine smile, and if I'm to get the next signet, he'll be dead before the crack of dawn.

I'm not getting a wink of sleep tonight. I doubt I'll be getting one tomorrow either, or any for the rest of my life. If it crosses my mind for a second that even a glance at the moon won't remind me of what I'm about to do from now on, the moment is one of delusion. I look back through the smudgen glass doors and, sure enough, see it hanging in the sky with a wink, brighter than gold.

***

When I look up at the sky again, the first shreds of moonlight are fading into day. Sunlight sifts through cracks in the clouds and falls away from the shadows at my feet. The vial in my pocket brims with fresh blood and memories, a little crystal casing of demon's gold. It slips a little as I walk. The streets are almost desolate, nocturnal in the trade of sunlight for sleep. The occasional passer-by pays me no mind and I find myself swirling into the blend, becoming a part of this new way of life.

I'd slipped into the crowd in a cloak last night. I maneuvered my way between tables, twisting through the foliage till I stumbled upon the counter. From behind it, the bartender took a quick glance upwards, freckled face lighting up with a smile. "Mikaela," he said. "You're here again."

I forced a little smile, though I couldn't stop a part of it from being genuine or of relief. My hands reached up to pull the cloak from my face and the fabric slipped off to pool around my shoulders. I grinned. "Yes, I am. Hey, Arnold."

He gestured to a stool. "Have a seat."

The pause before I moved towards a chair made it occur to me that I didn't yet have a plan, and the feeling of dread twisted its way back into my gut. I swallowed. There's still time, I told myself. I had all evening to figure things out. Surely, by then, there'd be an opening.

He took to throwing together an easy mixture of fruits and sparkling juice, tipping in the contents mindlessly as if on instinct. I recognised it as the "child-friendly" concoction Elijah had asked for on my behalf when he brought me here yesterday. As if reading my thoughts, Arnold asked, "Elijah not here with you?"

Very suddenly, my chest ached. "Yeah." Then, chewing thoughtfully on my cheek, I continued, "Challenge period. We're off on our own."

Arnold broke into a hearty laugh. "Good to know you missed this place enough to stop by."