Chapter 5 The Market of Masks

The journey to the border town of Silver Falls took me three days. It was a sprawling, noisy place where the human world met the edges of the supernatural. Werewolves traded for silver and electronics there, while humans ignored strange shadows for the sake of business. It was the perfect location to disappear and reemerge as someone new.

Mora's training had concentrated on my inner self, but the glamour was a useful tool. As I walked down the muddy main road, I willed a subtle change. My dark, wild hair seemed a little lighter, tightly braided with leather. I felt slightly less tall. The most important change, though, was my aura. The strong, dominant scent of a high-ranking wolf was gone. I projected only a faint, earthy herbal smell-the subtle scent of a traveling hedge-witch or potion master.

My new name was Elyra. It was close enough to Elara to feel personal but different enough to be unrecognizable.

My first stop was the Black Lantern Inn, a large and rough place known for its discretion. The owner, a stout woman with keen eyes, barely looked up.

"A private room. No questions, no disruptions," I said, handing over a pouch full of the gold coins Mora had given me.

The woman didn't count the money. She judged the authority in my voice. "Third floor. Back corner. The name?"

"Elyra. I am here for business."

"Everyone is," she grunted, sliding a rusted key across the counter.

**The Power of Scarcity**

I spent the next forty-eight hours not looking for Pack business but establishing scarcity and legend. Mora taught me that market value came from reputation, not availability.

I didn't open a shop. Instead, I quietly visited the town's failing apothecaries and herbalists. I didn't offer to sell cures; I offered to solve problems.

My first client was a worried-looking wolf from a minor, unrelated Pack. His mate had a strange, recurring fever that the Pack Healer dismissed as a common flu. They couldn't afford to travel far, but they heard whispers about a new, mysterious consultant.

When he arrived at the Black Lantern, I didn't let him step inside. I inhaled the unique scent of his mate's illness-a mix of burning adrenaline and a specific mineral deficiency.

I reached into my bag-a leather satchel filled with herbs Mora collected-and pulled out three small packets of crushed root.

"Your Pack Healer treated the fever, not the cause," I said, my voice low and steady. "This is a mineral deficit unique to your valley. Brew these with spring water. Give her one every twelve hours. The fee is three silver marks."

He looked surprised by the low price and skeptical of the simple remedy. But the desperation in his eyes won out. He paid and left quickly.

I waited. I knew the remedy would work-it was straightforward, effective healing, the real kind that Kael feared.

By the end of the next day, the Beta's mate was fine. The grateful wolf returned, not with payment, but with two other worried wolves from different Packs, each needing the same kind of mysterious, personalized cure.

Rumors began to spread: The traveler Elyra doesn't need to touch you to know your ailment. She doesn't accept payment until the cure is confirmed. She never stays in one place for long.

My name was becoming less a name and more a story of competence.

**The Bait**

As planned, the growing requests from minor Packs became the perfect bait. I was building a reputation that was too good, too quick, and too selective to ignore. I was making myself a necessary luxury.

On the fifth day, the expected happened.

I was sitting in my private corner of the inn, sipping a bitter, immunity-boosting tea, when the front door swung open, letting in a gust of damp leaves and cold air. The man who entered was huge, dressed in fine leather, and radiated authority. He was the Gamma-the third in command-of a powerful Pack from the western mountains, known for their arrogance and wealth.

He surveyed the common room, dismissing everyone until he spotted me.

He approached my table, casting a shadow over my tea. "I am Gamma Torvin. I am looking for the woman called Elyra."

I looked up slowly, meeting his gaze without flinching. He was a bully, used to instant compliance.

"You have found her. My fee for an unsolicited consultation is twenty gold marks," I replied calmly, still sipping my tea.

Torvin laughed, a harsh sound. "You charge the Gamma of the Stonepeak Pack to talk to you? We heard you cured a fever for three silver."

"I cure fevers for silver. I consult with dignitaries on behalf of their Alphas for gold. You are not here for a simple fever, Gamma. You carry the stench of an ancient rot," I said, looking him directly in the eye. I didn't need a scrying pool to see a leader facing a deadly, ongoing issue.

Torvin's arrogant demeanor cracked. His eyes showed a flash of fear. He detected the rot within his Pack, and I, a mere human consultant, had named it without him saying a word.

He slammed a small, heavy pouch onto the table, the weight of the gold rattling my teacup.

"Our Alpha is dying," Torvin hissed, leaning in closer. "He is suffering from a condition that is turning the strongest warriors rogue. The Pack Elder thinks it's a curse."

A curse locked deep by Wolfsbane, designed by the Alpha himself, I thought, holding back a triumphant smile.

"The Pack that hired me is the Lunar Pack," Torvin admitted, his voice barely audible. "They are collapsing. Their Alpha is too proud to leave his territory, so we were sent as intermediaries. They have heard of your cures. They need the best. Tell me you can save them, Elyra."

He named the Pack. The Lunar Pack. Kael's Pack. The Alpha's illness was serious enough to force his fiercest rivals to seek help for him. The trap was set.

I pushed the heavy gold pouch back toward him, careful not to touch his hand or the gold.

"I will not accept your gold, Gamma Torvin," I said, my voice icy. "I accept only invitations. Tell your clients that Elyra will not go to the Lunar Pack unless she receives a formal, written summons, signed and sealed by the Pack's ruling Alpha himself."

Torvin starred at me, stunned. To demand an Alpha's seal was a bold act of disrespect. It suggested submission.

I leaned in, locking my gaze with his. "The price of my cure is the Alpha's pride. Tell him that."