Chapter Thirty - MARUCA

                                    

                                          


                          
Maruca knew even before they reached the tent that it was a trap.
                          
	What more could the human want when he'd already delivered his ultimatum? 
                          
If we don't stop going after it, his friends will set fire to the forest. The words echoed in her mind until they took her to the thought now pulsing through her veins: We're taking the bait.
                          
But the bait for what?
                          
She didn't have time to ask before she, Fitz, Stina, and Belisia stepped into the Ancient's tent. Damel was there, standing with an uncomfortable look on his face. He was watching a short, stocky man prod into a dresser. The man wore a dark green hoodie.
                          
The human.
                          
"Get out of that!" Belisia huffed, reaching forward and yanking the man back. The motion caused him to turn. His face was weathered and tanned, his nose more a bulge on his face than an actual feature. And his eyes...
                          
They were dark, gray, and immediately flickered to Maruca.
                          
"Who are you?" she demanded, forcing her tone to be stern. Speaking helped her ignore the fear. "And what do you want?"
                          
The man said nothing, now looking back and forth between each elf.
                          
"I performed the implanting before I figured out who he was," Damel piped up. His tone was shaky. "I wouldn't have been able to recognize him from the gang—"
                          
"It's not your fault," Belisia assured him. "No one could have known. The question is, who told you to come to this campsite?"
                          
Still, the human did not speak.
                          
Maruca's heart refused to slow down. Her brain was still caught on burn.
                          
If the man didn't tell them more, the people in this campsite could die. That meant innocent elves and humans. That meant her friends.
                          
She strode forward, getting so close to him she could smell his breath. She wanted to yell at him, shove him, force him to tell her what he wanted. But she was afraid the words wouldn't come out. So she snapped her fingers, allowing a spark of a force field to show before it sizzled out.
                          
The man's features didn't move, but Maruca was certain he was afraid. 
                          
She used that to fuel her voice. "You say your gang will burn down this forest if we don't stop trying to obtain the painting. What's your name?"
                          
The man searched her eyes for something. He must have found it, because he said, gruffly, "Jonathan."
                          
He's probably lying, Fitz's voice said in Maruca's head.
                          
She suppressed a squeal. Fair warning next time?
                          
Out loud she kept her features schooled, save for her eyebrow, which she raised. Then she snapped her fingers again—another spark. "You're not the only one with fire, Jonathan."
                          
Stina says he's nervous, Fitz transmitted. Also, you look like a beast. 
                          
Is that another Stina horse reference?
                          
Actually, I think it's a human thing? But I came up with it, not her.
                          
"What's up with you seeing us?" Stina asked Jonathan, startling Maruca out of her thoughts.
                          
How in the Forbidden Cities did Telepaths not stay in their heads all the time?
                          
"I want you two out," Jonathan said, ignoring Stina's question as he pointed to Belisia and Damel.