10. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
What Magic Knows
Sundar
Gloria Blackhorn ushers us into her study, grief over the loss of her brother still evident in the stoop of her massive shoulders. But before I can step in, Aubrey takes charge with surprising grace.
Within minutes of our arrival, she’s transformed from nervous energy to warm professionalism, asking thoughtful questions about Marcus’s collection while helping the elderly woman sort through her grief. Even Gloria’s impressive horns and imposing minotaur stature doesn’t faze her.
It fills me with pride.
“Marcus always said the best artifacts tell love stories,” Gloria explains, leading us through corridors lined with display cases. Her hooves click against ancient hardwood floors as she moves with the careful grace of someone carrying both physical and emotional weight. “He spent decades tracking down proof that monsters and humans work best together, even when the world told them it was impossible.”
Aubrey shoots me a quick glance, and this morning’s conversation briefly flashes through my mind.
“Here,” Gloria says, stopping before a locked door. “This was his private study. Everything significant is cataloged in the journals on his desk, but…” She hesitates, grief flickering across her features. “Well, Marcus had his own system. Sometimes love defies organization.”
The door swings open to reveal organized chaos. Floor-to-ceiling shelves overflow with artifacts, each seemingly placed with careful intent despite the apparent disorder. Display cases line the walls, their contents ranging from ancient scrolls to delicate jewelry. The air thrums with old magic—the kind that builds up naturally around objects filled with powerful emotions.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Gloria says. “The room is yours for as long as you need. Just handle everything with care. These pieces meant the world to him.”
As her hoofsteps fade down the hallway, Aubrey moves to examine the nearest shelf. “Wow,” she breathes, studying a collection of love letters written in an ancient script I haven’t seen in centuries. “Look at how the ink still shimmers. Is that magic?”
“Dragon’s tears,” I explain, moving closer. “The magic helped preserve the writing.”
She turns, and suddenly we’re standing very close. Close enough that I can see the flecks of green in her blue eyes, count each freckle scattered across her nose. My tail wants to wrap around her waist, to pull her even closer. Instead, I force myself to move back and clear my throat.
“We should start with the journals,” I say, moving toward the massive oak desk. “Get an overview of what we’re dealing with.”
“Right. Yes.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as a hint of a blush grows on her cheeks.
The leather journals prove both helpful and fascinating. Marcus had meticulously documented each piece in his collection, including its providence and significance to monster-human relations.
But it’s the personal notes in the margins that catch my attention—little observations about his own marriage, about how discovering each artifact helped him understand his love for his human wife.
“Listen to this,” Aubrey says, reading one of the many journals. “‘The jade pendant represents more than just a dragon’s gift to his human mate. It symbolizes the choice to value love over immortality, to find eternity in shared moments rather than endless time.’” She pauses. “He really understood, didn’t he?”
“Yes.” My tail shifts restlessly. “Marcus was ahead of his time in many ways. He believed that love between species wasn’t just possible, but natural. That the magic binding such couples together was as old as time itself.”
“And what do you believe?”
I turn to face her, taking in the way the study’s warm lighting catches in her hair, how her eyes shine with genuine curiosity.
“I believe,” I say carefully, “that some things are worth any price.”
Her breath catches, and I worry that maybe I said too much. But then she smiles—that bright, genuine smile that first caught my attention not so long ago—before she moves to examine another shelf.
“Let’s see if we can find any notes about this one,” she says, pointing to an ornate box carved with symbols even I don’t recognize. The change of subject feels like both a relief and a loss.
We fall into an easy rhythm after that, working our way through the collection. I explain the historical significance of each piece while she takes detailed notes, her quick mind making connections I might have missed. Her presence beside me feels natural, as though we’ve been doing this together for years instead of hours.
When she laughs at my attempt to pronounce a particularly archaic demon love poem, the sound echoes through the study like music. When she passes me artifacts, her fingers brush against my scales with deliberate care. When she steps too close to an obsidian blade, my tail wraps around her waist before I can stop myself—and she lets it stay there, even after the danger has passed.
It’s domestic in a way I never expected to want. Never dared to imagine I could have.
“Oh,” she breathes suddenly, drawing my attention to a small display case near the window. “Sundar, look at this.”
Inside lies what appears to be a simple crystal pendant, unremarkable except for the way it seems to pulse with a soft golden light. As we approach, the light grows stronger, as if responding to our presence.
“It’s beautiful,” Aubrey says, reaching for the case. “What is it?”
“Wait. Let me check the journals first. Some artifacts can be temperamental.”
But when I flip through Marcus’s careful notes, what I find makes me freeze. According to the journal, this is a Resonance Stone—an incredibly rare artifact that responds only to compatible souls. They were once used in ancient binding ceremonies between monsters and humans, helping couples overcome the natural barriers between species.
The stone’s light pulses brighter, matching the rhythm of my heartbeat. Or perhaps matching Aubrey’s. I can’t tell anymore—the frequencies seem to have aligned perfectly.
“Sundar?” Aubrey’s voice is soft, curious. “Why are you looking at that stone like it just announced an upcoming apocalypse?”
I should tell her. Should explain exactly what this means, what the stone’s reaction to our combined presence suggests about our compatibility. About our future.
Instead, I find myself caught in the way the golden light plays across her features, highlighting the trust in her eyes and the slight curve of her lips. My tail shifts, drawing her closer almost of its own accord.
“It’s responding to us,” I explain carefully, watching her expression. “These stones can sense the collective mood of the individuals around it.” A half-truth, safer than the full revelation. We’ve crossed enough lines lately without adding the weight of destiny.
“Like a magical mood ring?” she asks.
“Something like that.” I guide her hand away from the case, though the stone’s light continues to pulse invitingly. Some truths can wait, I tell myself. If what the stone suggests is real, it will reveal itself naturally, in its own time.
We return to Marcus’s journals, and I’m drawn to a half-filled one that contains a carefully documented list of “Items of Interest: Unconfirmed.” Here, the scholar had recorded artifacts he’d heard whispers of but never managed to locate. My breath freezes as I read the description of one particular piece:
‘Bracelet of the Devoted: Ancient protection charm, said to have been crafted by a nymph for her human beloved. Bronze with intricate vine motifs and gold accents, contains powerful shielding magic.’
My gaze shifts to Aubrey, who’s carefully photographing a collection of preserved dragon scales. Her grandmother’s bracelet, still safely stored in my shop’s vault, bears a striking resemblance to Marcus’s description. But that would mean…
No. Too many assumptions, too soon. I need to do more research before sharing such possibilities with her. For now, I carefully memorize the description and name for later reference.
“Find something interesting?” Aubrey asks, catching my distraction.
“Just appreciating Marcus’s thoroughness,” I reply, closing the journal. “He was quite passionate about his research.”
She moves closer, her warmth calling to my scales like sunlight. “You can tell he really loved his wife. The way he documents everything, it’s like he wanted to prove to the world that their love should be accepted.”
“Yes. It was good work that he did. That’s why we must take care with our appraisal.”
For the next several hours, I focus on the meticulous work of appraising Marcus’s collection. Each piece requires careful consideration—not just of its magical properties, but of its historical significance and current market value.
Aubrey proves invaluable, her organizational skills helping me track the subtle details that affect pricing: age, condition, provenance, and most importantly, the strength of any remaining enchantments.
As the afternoon light shifts to evening, we start setting aside certain items as “priority lots” for the eventual estate sale. It’s when Aubrey lets slip a little yawn that I check my pocket watch. The hour is later than I realized. “We should finish for today. The rest can wait.”
Aubrey nods, then stretches in a way that emphasizes her beautiful curves. “What time is it? I lost track somewhere between the enchanted combs and that fascinating set of love letters.”
“Nearly eight.” I begin gathering our documentation, purposefully not watching how she arches her back to work out the stiffness of sitting too long. “You’ve been tremendously helpful today.”
She gives me a tired smile that somehow outshines all the magical artifacts surrounding us. “Thanks for trusting me with this. I know it’s important work.”
“You’ve more than proven yourself capable.” The words come out softer than intended, weighted with meanings beyond simple professional approval.
Her tired smile shifts into something warmer as she catches my tone. “Have I?” she asks, and the way she looks up at me through her lashes makes my tail curl tight. “Proven myself?”
She looks so innocent, yet I must wonder if she knows exactly what she does to me. The scent of her—now mixed with traces of old magic from handling artifacts all day—calls to a primitive instinct.
“In ways I never expected,” I admit, watching as she gathers her notes with slightly trembling hands. “Though perhaps we should head back to the shop. It’s a long drive.”
She nods, stifling another yawn. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”
As we lock up the study and bid farewell to Gloria Blackhorn, I’m aware of Aubrey’s every movement—how she walks closer to me than strictly necessary, the way her hand brushes against my scales as we navigate the darkened hallways.
The drive back is quiet and intimate. Aubrey hums softly to the playlist to keep herself alert, and I’m mesmerized by how the passing streetlights paint patterns across her skin.
When we finally pull into a parking spot behind my shop, she turns off the engine and slumps against the steering wheel with a groan. “I know my apartment isn’t that far away, but God, it feels like a long walk right at this moment.”
“You could…” I hesitate, then continue carefully, “My bed is considerably closer.”
Aubrey’s breath catches, and the scent of her arousal hits me like a physical force. My tongue flicks out instinctively to taste it, and her eyes track the motion with obvious heat.
“Your bed?” She straightens slowly, her heartbeat quickening in a way my heightened senses can’t help but notice. “I thought you were joking, but… you never joke.”
“No,” I say softly, watching how the streetlight catches the flush spreading across her cheeks. “I never joke.”
A moment passes between us. Then she laughs—a small, breathless sound that makes my entire body tighten with want. “Well, in that case… It would be pretty foolish to walk all the way home when there’s a perfectly good bed right here. Above us. Your bed. Which is…” She stops, pressing her lips together. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
“Yes.” I allow fondness to color my tone. “Though I find it rather charming.”
Her pulse spikes at that, and the confined space of her car makes my more primitive instincts surface—the urge to wrap around her completely, to taste every inch of skin, to…
“Sundar?” Her voice has gone slightly husky. “Are we really doing this?”
I speak carefully. “Only if you want to. The offer was genuine, but there’s no pressure to—”
“I want to.” The words come out in a rush, then she adds more softly, “I really want to.”
Her words send a wave of possessive heat through me. My control, already fragile after a day spent surrounded by her scent, finally snaps, and I lean in, our faces inches apart.
“Then come upstairs,” I say, my voice dropping to a growl. “Let me show you exactly what being mine means.”
The scent of her desire is immediate and intoxicating. She manages a shaky nod, and I have to force myself to keep my tail away long enough for us to exit the car. But the moment we’re both outside, my tail finds her, coiling possessively around her curves as I guide her toward the shop’s back entrance, and up to my apartment.