Besides the obvious magical sigil and the missing book, the library was a dead end for anything relevant. Tex volunteered to search the kitchen and the larder – probably for food more than clues. Yaya went upstairs to the second floor. Two bedrooms and a privy. The first was clearly a child’s—small bed, low table, a squat wardrobe tucked into the corner. No pictures. No toys. No personal effects. She opened the closet. Empty too.

  Something caught her eye as she moved to shut the door—etched faintly into the wood at the back of the closet. It was a child’s doodle. A man, a woman, and a boy holding hands under a crudely drawn sun. She leaned in, tracing the woman’s head. The ears were pointed. Like hers.

  An Elf? Perhaps Barin’s mother? They seemed happy.

  She stared at the family portrait for a moment. It didn’t mean anything. But she hated the thought of Elves with non-Elves. When two people promised to love each other forever they should mean it. An Elf couldn’t mean it to a non-Elf.

  Yaya moved on to the second bedroom. It belonged to Horan. Long robes were hanging in the closet. Nothing to suggest a woman had ever shared the room.

  She ran her fingers along the lining of a heavy blue robe—too thick for Baldur’s Gate, better for a trip to Icewind Dale. Her nails caught on something stitched into the seam. A flap. A pocket. A folded scrap of parchment hidden inside.

  Yaya couldn’t read the words on the page, but she could identify the script as Infernal. Perhaps her new compatriot downstairs could be good for something other than witty one-liners.

  Tex rifled through cupboards, casually stacking food into a burlap sack. She had an apple hanging out of her mouth. For a moment, Yaya seriously considered drawing an arrow.

  She cleared her throat. Tex startled and hit her head on the counter.

  Yaya held up the note. “This is written in Infernal.”

  Yaya looked her up and down—from horn to tail. “You read that, don’t you?”

  Tex leaned against the counter, rubbing a horn. “You know just because I’m a Tiefling it’s very inappropriate to just assume that I can read Infernal.”

  “Oh…” Yaya dropped the note. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t presume.”

  Tex smirked and reached for the note. “I mean, I do – but you shouldn’t just assume.”

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  The note in hand, Tex opened it dramatically. “For a good time please visit Yaya…”

  Yaya rolled her eyes and turned to leave.

  “Wait.” Tex caught up to her. “It says, ‘If you’re reading this, then they got to me. The book isn’t safe. She can’t have it. Not again.’”

  “How good is your Infernal?”

  “Good enough to get into trouble. Not enough to get out of it.”

  Yaya took the note and put it in her own secret pocket. Tex opened her mouth, but Yaya silenced her with a finger on her lips. Then she pointed to the ceiling. A small creak. A short scuff. Someone was upstairs.

  She grabbed her pike and Yaya drew her scimitar. Tex nudged Yaya aside with a shoulder and took the lead up the stairs. She didn’t argue. It looked like Tex could take a hit better than her. For someone over six feet in a kilt and still sobering up, Tex moved surprisingly quietly.

  At the top of the stairs, Yaya stepped into a shadow. When Tex turned around – Yaya was gone. Typical wood Elf – hiding in corners. She advanced on the larger bedroom. The footsteps stopped.

  Tex kicked the door open and a figure in a red cloak bolted for the window. She spun her pike and drove the tip straight through the cloak, anchoring it to the floorboards. The figure paused, yanked their cloak, ripping it, and jumped out the open window. Tex kept moving forward to the sill, a flash of light blinded her. A teleportation sigil pulsed once, seared the grass in a perfect ring, and vanished.

  Suddenly, Yaya was beside her. Tex flinched and stepped back.

  “Did you get a good look at them?”

  Tex shook her head. “Not really. But maybe enough for a halfway decent sketch.”

  Yaya inspected the pike, and the scrap of cloak stuck to it. She tried to lift the pike and failed. Tex watched her struggle, then lifted it out one-handed, like it weighed nothing.

  Yaya crossed her arms, but Tex saw the slightest of hint of approval. Tex didn’t say a word – just raised a brow.

  Yaya muttered, “Barbarians,” and turned her attention to the scrap of fabric, but her lack of snark was noticed.

  The cloak was well made, the stitching of the flame embroidery actual threads of gold. Yaya held it up to the light – none shone through. Magical, then. Protective. Expensive. She touched the gold thread one more time before slipping it into her pocket. Pretty.

  Tex leaned casually on her pike. “Wanna head back to the Elfsong? We could have some lunch, and I could get us a sketch.”

  From where she was standing, Tex heard Yaya’s stomach growl. Her hand touched an empty coin purse on her waist.

  “I’m fine. I think I’ll just grab an apple from downstairs.”

  “Nah.” Tex patted the sporran she wore; the sound of metal clinking was obvious.

  “It’s my treat.”

  Yaya still hesitated. Perhaps if they went together, she could prevent Tex from getting too drunk in the middle of the afternoon.

  She nodded. Tex beamed.

  “Besides, it’s rude to make a lady pay on the first date.”

  Yaya scoffed. “We’re both ladies.”

  “You’re the kind of lady the bards sing about for the folks around a campfire.” Tex flexed her muscles. “I’m the kind that gets the guards called on them.”

  They turned to head out the door and down the stairs.

  “Oh.” Tex stopped at the bottom landing.

  “I didn’t hear you dispute that this was a date.”

  “I don’t date,” Yaya said, a little too fast. The drawing flashed in her mind—three figures holding hands under a sun. Stupid fucking Elf, thinking forever meant the same thing to everyone.

  Tex shrugged.

  “Cool, cool, cool. Love rejection. Big fan.”