Chapter 2
Chapter Two
After leaving Gremple with the vow to see him in one week, I slog through the busy city streets, full of tourists and holiday shoppers, while searching for a magic shop.
Finally, I locate one tucked away on a side street in the bottom of a three-story brownstone, a set of expertly drawn runes etched in the front window signaling its legitimacy, and hurriedly go inside.
“Merry meet,” calls a voice inside as a man with a head of coppery curls and pale green eyes comes out from behind a glass counter and walks over to me.
I immediately recognize his rare energy signature is that of a Bond Witch.
I cast my senses out, searching for his source, but don’t sense one around.
It doesn’t matter; as long as he’s communed with his partner in magics recently, he will be more than charged enough for the simple spell I’m asking of him.
Like most witches and mages, he doesn’t offer his hand to me for the handshake that is customary in this human realm but gives me a nod in greeting. “I’m Jazz St. Claire. What help may I offer you today?”
I hand him the lone raven’s feather. “This is a feather from a raven shifter by the name of Dominic Morrigan, who I need to find immediately. Can you do a locator spell for me that will lead me to his location?”
He tells me he can and then names his price. The fee is reasonable, but it will take most of the small stipend of money the Order allotted me for my tutoring. Once I pay him, Jazz examines the feather both visually and psychically. “You and the raven shifter are close?” he remarks.
I shake my head vigorously. “We only met once.”
“Hmmm,” Jazz responds.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He tilts his head at me quizzically. “It’s just that there seems to be a strong bond between you and the object.”
I feel warmth heat my cheeks, and I’m sure they’ve flamed to a fiery red as I remember my only encounter with the raven shifter. “He’s merely an acquaintance,” I choke out.
Jazz thankfully doesn’t question me further.
He closes his eyes and concentrates on the object in his hand.
“The one you seek is relatively near. You only need to be led to him.” I let out a long breath of relief.
If Morrigan were on the opposite side of the country, or worse, in The Wilds, the territory between realms, I don’t know what I would have done.
Opening his eyes, Jazz takes out a box with a piece of amber that has a bee fossilized in its resin. He places it in a copper bowl and then strikes a taper candle and ignites the amber in flame. He then directs me to wave the feather through the smoke while he recites a short spell.
A small glowing bee emerges from the smoke and hovers around me. “I spelled it to be invisible to anyone but you. Follow it, and when you find your raven shifter, the bee will be transported back to me.”
I thank him, and then, in a hurry to find Morrigan, I open the shop door and follow the magic bee into the city streets.
It leads me to the subway and across town, until it stops in front of a huge, outdoor holiday market.
I hesitate outside the entrance. What would a raven shifter be doing at a mortal spot like this? Is the locator spell malfunctioning?
Almost as if it’s reading my thoughts, it frantically buzzes around me, and when I don’t respond, it stings me in the neck. “Ouch.” I slap it away, and it determinedly flies through the open door and leaves me with no choice but to follow it on its journey.
I walk in and am immediately met with a sensory overload.
Brightly colored, flashing lights hang over thousands of small stalls, which are set up to sell various Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and Yule gifts and decorations.
I pull my coat up over my ears, hoping to muffle the roar of the crowd mixed in with a velvety-voiced singer crooning over the speakers about being home for Christmas.
It makes the chaos of the city streets I just came in from seem calm, and I fight the urge to turn around and retreat to them.
The spelled bee has a different idea and buzzes around me impatiently until I follow it through the labyrinth-like maze of booths.
We weave in and out of the throngs of shoppers for what seems like hours, until my feet feel like there are weights tied around my ankles and my eyes are bleary from all the flashing lights.
To calm myself and keep on task, I find myself stroking the raven’s feather in my pocket.
Somehow, feeling its silky softness soothes me.
We reach a stall that I swear we’ve circled ten times, and the bee performs a sudden U-turn and leads me behind a curtained-off stage, then disappears in a burst of light.
“Wait, he’s nowhere around,” I call out to the empty air, convinced that I’ve spent most of my meager resources on finding Morrigan only to be led on a useless time-wasting journey instead.
“Are you looking for me?” a deep voice from behind me speaks.
I turn around to be met with sapphire blue eyes that seem way more familiar than our sole meeting justifies.
Too many nights spent reliving our encounter, I chide myself.
Like the last time I saw them, they’re full of mischief and mirth, as if something about me pleases him.
It immediately makes me mistrustful. No one but him has ever looked at me that way before.
While at our first meeting, it besotted me; now I’m sure it’s part of some sort of ruse meant to manipulate me somehow.
I take a step back so as not to be so affected by him, but if anything, that’s worse.
His rakish good looks hit me full on in their entirety.
His tall frame is shown off by tight leather pants and a loose tunic, open enough to reveal his muscled chest adorned with a silver nipple ring.
His dark hair falls carelessly to just above his shoulders and frames his high-cheekboned face that is both heart-stoppingly beautiful and rugged at the same time.
“I’m here to procure your services,” I manage to stutter out, hoping to keep our interaction on the business at hand.
His stubbled jaw breaks into a smile. Reclaiming the space I created between us, he leans in so I can feel the tickle of his breath against my ear. “Is that your stuffy way of asking me if you can kiss me again?”
“It was you who kissed me,” I hiss at him and then level him with my most haughty gaze. “As you’re a thief, that kiss, I’m sure, is just one from a long list of things you’ve stolen.”
His eyebrow arches. “I’m sorry I didn’t make a proper introduction, but you didn’t ask for a résumé before you attacked my lips with yours.” His lip curls up in amusement. “Take it from a professional, luv, it’s impossible to steal what was already enthusiastically given.”
“I didn’t —” I begin, but this time as I recall our encounter, the heat and the confusion of the moment seem to clear.
I remember him being so close and charming and being drawn to his vibrance as if it were a magnet for my lonely soul.
Instinctively, I leaned in closer to him, desperate to know what his full lips would feel like against mine.
He must read my realization on my face, because as I begin to stammer, he rescues me from the awkward apology I’m attempting to deliver.
“Not that I was above plundering those sweet lips at our first meeting.” His eyes focus on my mouth.
“I’d risk The Wild’s Prison of No Tomorrows to taste you again. ”
Caught breathless by his words, I don’t reply. Instead, I once again lean toward him, feeling that same magnetic pull as I did in our first meeting.
“No!” I reprimand myself for believing that his honeyed words are anything more than a sweet trap set by someone whose very profession makes him a master of deceit.
I take three steps back from him, hoping that this time the additional space will prove to lessen my temptation to experience his lips on mine just one more time.
“I’m not here for that,” I insist, trying to modulate the yearning from my tone that clearly gives me away as a liar.
“As I said, I want to procure your services.” His eyes light up dangerously.
“As a thief,” I add primly. “I need you to steal the Bryndonian Orb for me.”
He whistles. “Ancient artifact rumored to hold the power of one limitless wish,” he says, obviously intrigued. “It should be worth a pretty penny.” He studies me closely. “Or do you want the wish for yourself?”
“Neither. I need to obtain it so I can turn it over to the Order of Mergen.”
At my mention of the Order, his handsome face forms into a sneer. “Why would you ever waste such powerful magic on those uptight, books-up-their-ass bastards?”
“I’m a novitiate member of the Order,” I say cooly, bristling at his words. “We are scholars tasked with the important assignment of chronicling the use of magics.” I eye him critically. “I suppose you don’t believe in the gathering of knowledge as a valuable pursuit.”
“Hold off there, Aristotle,” he says, surprising me by remembering my full name. “Get to know me before you go calling me an ignorant bastard.”
“I did not call y—”
“Sure you did,” he interrupts. “You just used prettier words to do it, and no matter how you say it, you’re wrong.”
“I’m almost never wrong,” I say stiffly, recognizing how stuffy I sound.
“Looks like today’s the exception. Because I’ve always recognized that knowledge is its own kind of magic, and I respect those who wield it like any other useful weapon or tool.
” He winks at me. “You could even say smart boys are my weakness.” He smiles as if reliving a favorite memory.
“My first sight of you was in my raven form. I was perched at the window and saw you surrounded by a stack of books taller than you were.” His eyes lock with mine. “It set my blood afire.”
I try to ignore the way my blood shimmies under my skin at his words.