An Exceptional Warrant

By Morgan J. Manns

Zaivar Witz studied the mist dealer behind the counter, wondering if the wizened man could actually help him find a new disguise. Harvesting and selling mist from the kingdom’s shrouded mountains required an unmatched madness. But Zai never cared for convention—if it helped him track down his warrants, why question it?

“Gotta be ’ere somewhere…” The old man’s shaking hands sifted through glass vials stacked on towering shelves. He coughed and muttered, “Too strong. Too absurd. Too… unpredictable.”

Zai tapped his fingers on the counter, impatient. Maybe he could help speed this up.

Heat blossomed beneath Zai’s skin as he activated his bloodvoice. He closed his eyes, searching for the man’s aura. For Zai, close proximity was essential. With the shop empty and no other auras present, this would be easy enough. A faint glow appeared, and Zai eagerly reached for it.

How’s a man supposed to find anything in this place‽ The loud and oppressive thought slammed into Zai. He winced, diving deeper into the man’s subconscious.

K could’ve sorted this mess. Just like her Ma—so organized…

Zai pushed further, trying to glimpse the system this man used to organize his vials. Then, a silent memory surfaced, taking over his vision.

A young woman sobbed into her hands, her black mourning dress contrasting sharply against the hazy background. Darkness, Zai thought. Why do memories always have to be so emotional?

The woman turned, hurling something at Zai. He ducked, catching a glimpse of her face—beautiful, unmistakable, and a perfect match for a recent warrant sketch he’d been given by the crown.

“Ah, here we are.”

Zai’s eyes snapped open.

The mist dealer coughed roughly and placed a small glass vial on the counter.

The vial was unimpressive. Ordinary. But Zai knew better than to trust appearances. He, too, was often underestimated.

Zai leaned in, studying the tiny spheres of light spiraling slowly among the black tendrils of mist. The thick glass distorted their glow, making them seem like stars trapped in ink.

The man rested heavily on the counter, his voice rasping. “This’ll mask your intentions. Drink it, and anyone who looks at you will assume you belong. But—” he narrowed his eyes, “don’t speak. One word, and the mist will vanish, along with your disguise.”

***

Zai lingered in the shadows of a nearby alley, watching as the old man locked his shop and shuffled down the quiet street.

This had better work.

He uncorked the vial and swallowed the concoction in one swift motion.

The mist hit like a blade, slicing through his veins. Zai staggered back, clutching his chest as fire spread through his body. He dropped the vial and it smashed onto the cobblestones.

Then, just as abruptly, it was over.

Panting, he held out his hands, turning them over. No change. His skin was the same olive tone. Zai stifled a growl of frustration. How was he supposed to know if the mist had done anything?

Pushing his doubts aside, he stepped from the shadows, keeping a safe distance as he followed the mist dealer into the fading light.

Long shadows stretched over a street littered with cracked walkways and broken glass. The mist dealer eventually stopped at a modest sandstone house wedged between others in disrepair. A far cry from the grand noble estates Zai had grown accustomed to.

He swallowed the boulder lodged in his throat and followed the man inside, hoping the mist had worked its magic.

The old man shuffled down the hallway, his coughs echoing against the peeling walls. He brought his sleeve to his mouth, leaving a smear of blood. “K, are you home?”

Zai slipped inside and closed the door softly behind him.

A young, brown-haired woman entered from the adjacent room. Zai’s eyes locked onto her. She was the woman from the memory! From the sketch!

She gently guided the mist dealer into a creaking chair. “About to head out, Grandfather. I heard they’re moving jewels into the castle for the ball tonight. I’ll take enough to get you proper medicine this time.”

Zai froze at her words. The wanted poster had painted her as a thief, but now he understood why.

The old man closed his eyes. “Just pass me some mist. It’ll help.”

She frowned and shook her head. “That’s what’s killing you… What killed Ma.”

Her grandfather grunted and laid his head back.

Zai shifted his feet. Is that who she had been mourning in the memory? Her mother?

K’s gaze snapped to Zai, pinning him. “Who’s your friend, Grandfather?”

Zai pressed his lips into a thin line, his heart beating fast.

The mist dealer looked up. “Oh, that’s…” His gaze clouded. “Met him at the shop today. Thought I’d… introduce you.”

Zai let out a slow breath, tucking his hair behind his ear. It appeared he belonged here.

She laughed, her own eyes glazing. “Really? Is he a thief, too?”

The old man nodded slowly and Zai forced a smile. The mist was working!

“Well, if you happen to know the castle, I could use a guide tonight. You can watch my back, be my escort, and…” She carried on while draping a blanket over her grandfather.

He certainly did know the castle. His brother worked for the prince.

She walked toward Zai and flashed him a smile. “A man of few words? That’s fine. I’ll talk enough for the both of us.”

The old man wheezed. “Be safe, K.”

She turned. “I will. Rest, Grandfather.”

This was supposed to be an easy arrest, and it certainly could be, but as K strode ahead of him into the night air, Zai’s resolve began to falter. K’s grandfather needed her. And—he smiled faintly—if the mist dealer continued supplying disguises like this, he might just want to keep this family close.

Maybe tonight, he’d let this target slip away.

He quickened his pace to match K’s. After all, it wouldn’t hurt to show her where the jewels were.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Morgan J. Manns is a speculative fiction writer who firmly believes that the world needs more stories filled with magic and wonder. Captivated by the realm of intricate world-building since composing her first fantasy tale at the age of ten, she now ventures beneath the endless Canadian prairie sky with her supportive husband and two hobbit children, all while eagerly contemplating her next literary creation. While her current occupation is that of an elementary school teacher, her dream job will always be dragon rider, soaring through the skies of her imaginings.

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