Chapter Two
Esmeray
The quaint shop on Hemming Way sported dark windows obfuscated by something too convenient to be dust. The way it perfectly gathered at all four corners, creating a vignette that peered through amber light and gauzy curtains loaded with interesting-looking jars, had a mesmerizing quality that I was certain could only be magically drawn curiosity.
I pulled a yellow legal notepad from my pocket and sketched a comment down onto paper. Spells for attention were, by technicality, spells cast onto unwilling bystanders and therefore not consented to. Not a good sign.
As I approached the door, I took in astringent aromas culminating from magical herbs, incense of some variety, and a distinct smell only old wood and ancient books gave off over time.
Classy and understated. It made me long to procure one of the books from a shelf and find a cozy warm corner to snuggle up in. A nice little book-scented nest.
As I turned to glance at the counter, I caught sight of a singularly tall gentleman…
No; it wasn’t that he was tall. I checked my notes.
What I thought had been a misspelling was a wholly inappropriate HR violation waiting to happen.
I scratched a note on my paperwork. Mage Greginald Hawthorne: NeckRomancer.
I scratched through the K in the name and frowned.
He was a hybrid of some shifter variety with a compromised form.
That much was certain. Crossing the bloodlines when magic was in someone’s line often made children who had partial transformations or permanent animal features they felt the urge to stifle.
A strong, lean neck stretched high above a shelf, head tilted as his eyes followed a book floating at eye level.
Below the neck lay the body of a rather pleasing alpha.
What he lacked in face was certainly made up for in presentation.
His crisp dress shirt had the faint scent of starch on it, cuffs folded neatly as if he’d been working, and a pristine apron protecting an otherwise unsullied pair of pressed slacks.
I tried my best not to stare. “Mage Hawthorne?”
The head of a giraffe sat atop his long neck, ears flicking, large doe eyes turning to me, an unusual gold sparkle to their amber hue. “Yes. May I help you?”
Long lashes fanned as he blinked, lips moving as he spoke.
“I’m Esmeray Faust. The Lowell Valley Coven scheduled me to meet with you regarding a pending case with Marlathe Lymmings?
We have an appointment for eleven.” I checked my wrist, watch face turned to my inner arm so I could glance more discreetly.
The minute hand and hour hand ticked at once.
Eleven sharp. A clock somewhere chimed with a whimsical flutter of bells.
“Precisely on time. Your punctuality is much appreciated.” With a wave of a hand far too distant from his face, the book he was reading tilted in midair, a ribbon switching place to mark a spot before it closed with a nearly silent puff of air.
It floated downward to lay on the counter as gently as a feather.
Magic had always enamored me. Such order in chaos. But, most mages drove me batty with a lack of organization and neatness. Mage Hawthorne didn’t appear to be any such slovenly mess.
“It’s good to see my efforts are appreciated.
” I approached with a professional grimace of a smile.
A nearby mirror shone my reflection back at me, and I avoided looking at my mirror-self staring at me with dark eyes and a roguish wink.
From the corner of my eye, my mirror-self gave me the finger before going back to normal.
Sliding away from my visage, my shadow poured out of the mirror and spilled onto the floor, sulking as if he wanted to play.
This is neither the time nor place, shadow.
The shadow burst apart into a flock of crows and went all directions, snooping about the shop. I’m sure it’d whisper into my ear the secrets it found, at a later time. I couldn’t control it.
Mage Hawthorne’s eyes traversed his shop, the wide, golden expanse of them tracking the shadows as easily as one might words on a page.
Face blank, he tilted his head down to me.
I waited for the commentary, asking me what I was, making guesses.
Asking if I was cursed, any number of things that drove me up a metaphorical wall.
Instead, he said nothing. With a gentle turn of his head and step of his body, his long neck rescinded and a rather plain but handsome face turned to greet me. A sweep of plain brown hair, high cheekbones, and a square jaw just this side of noticeable replaced the stretch of the form I saw before.
“Do you mind?” He gestured toward an errant shadow that had snaked its way up a bookshelf, a tendril prodding around inside of a small, locked box.
Heat blossomed over my face as I kept my expression blank and response succinct. “They do as they please. I do apologize.”
“Would you mind if I put a stop to that little behavior?” He raised a dark, perfectly manicured brow, not annoyed nor angered.
I hesitated. Mages had tried before. Many had. “I do not often see positive results when people attempt to assuage it. But if you insist.”
With effortless grace, he plucked a hatpin from a pen cup on his counter and turned toward my nosy shadow. Within the span of a blink, he flicked his wrist and darted the pin right onto the tail of the shadow, earning a squeak of protest.
As if nothing more than cloth, it stuck to the spot, shape changing from a bird to an imp or devilish simian creature and opened a mouth, pantomiming some rather vile gestures and threats that came out as nothing more than sharp whispers.
The pin held its tail stuck in place as it tugged and panicked.
“And let that be a warning to you all. Any of you who pester me or snoop in my personal belongings will get the same treatment.” He gestured toward a dozen more pins, at least, in the jar.
My shadows, all save for the one pinned in place, returned to me to form a typical shadow, all save for a chunk of my head and shoulder missing as if a bite had been taken out. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for permitting me to do so. Now, I realize it’s lunchtime, and this is absolutely dreadful business, so allow me to feed you.
Is Italian alright?” He gestured toward a door behind the counter, and I doubled up the grip on my briefcase and followed at a clipped pace, giving my disconnected shadow a glare on the way by.
“I don’t eat meat much.” I cleared my throat nervously. For what I was, meat was considered a blood sacrifice and imbalanced things for my shadow. I gestured toward my shadow, hoping he’d understand, and he seemed to.
“Garlic bread and a mushroom risotto?” a breathy voice spoke in the dark as lights came on, and the mage walked me to a quaint dining room with a table only big enough for four.
Truly, it was more of a breakfast nook with the décor of a dining room.
A chair rail circled the room with tasteful dark wallpaper.
“That would be lovely,” I said before taking a seat offered to me.
“The former owner of this place, when it was an Italian restaurant, went poltergeist. He still loves to cook, so I left part of the original kitchen as an anchor for him, and he takes care of my meals.” Mage Hawthorne smiled at me with a coy little tilt to his lips, and I added a negative tick to my notepad about enslaving a spirit.
Mushroom risotto did sound good, though.
“I see.” I scribbled more notes before sitting up and cracking my case open to pull out my printed checklist.
“Type A personality, I see.” Mage Hawthorne leaned over and glanced over my notes and neatly organized case.
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t subscribe to personality tests or defining people with short quizzes, Mage Hawthorne.” I tapped a stack of papers back into a neat pile and extended my hands.
“Please, call me Gre. I would agree, but in my field, we can judge the character of a soul by far less than a test.” His eyes wandered, and my shadow had morphed slightly, cast up on the wall with devilish horns and a swaying, pointed-tipped tail swishing angrily.
Still missing part of its head and neck, though.
“Apologies. Daeva shadows can be—” I kept my gaze on my paperwork.
“Spirited. Quite literally.” His gaze never broke, but I relented and followed his line of sight as an errant moth fluttered by. A tendril of my shadow snaked out and latched onto the moth’s shadow. And with no warning, the small, fluttering creature fell dead.
“I apologize for inconveniencing you. It appears to be a bad time. Would you like to reschedule with another? I can file the motion to continue for the time being?” I moved forward and snapped my case closed only to earn a rather bewildered expression. It didn’t suit his austere face.
“Why?” His brow furrowed.
I gestured at my shadow.
“We all have our quirks. Your shadow is harmless, unless I’m an insect or hiding sordid secrets.” He offered a pleasant smile, and I froze, unsure of how to progress. Once mages saw my shadow misbehaving, they normally wanted nothing to do with me or my services.
“I appreciate your understanding.” It was refreshing. Unless a person had magical blood, they weren’t predisposed to witnessing my shadow, but it happened frequently enough.
“Not an issue at all. If it was, I’d have brought the pins with me.” The way he smiled set my heart at ease and made my shadow sulk. “Now, onto this list.”
Before I could say a word, I balked as a glass goblet floated onto my table, a whispering voice asking if I preferred sparkling or still.
“S-sparkling?” A hiss and pop preceded a long-necked bottle floating into a tilt to pour into my cup. “Thank you.”