Chapter 2 #2
His handsome face draws tight. “But what I don’t like is a bunch of arrogant assholes who collect power in the name of knowledge and hoard it away from others.
” He shakes his head. “I hate to think of you with those Mergen assholes.” His eyes travel over me.
“Locked up in their dusty archive, gathering dust just like one of their old parchments.”
“And stealing is such a better existence?”
“Survival skills.” He shrugs, seeming unconcerned at my dig. “I had to learn how to thieve to feed and house myself.” He arches his eyebrow at me. “Guess a scholar like you wouldn’t know about that,” he challenges. “It’s pretty safe being locked up among the archives.”
“Being smart is my survival skill,” I parry back.
“I was seven when my grandmother left me at the doors of the Order of Mergen. The only reason they agreed to take me in was because I could translate and answer the Verlockian Riddle on the door.” I wrap my arms around myself, remembering how adrift and abandoned I’d felt that day.
“Just like you said you learned to thieve to survive, I learned to know things. To be the best scholar among my peers so the Order would continue to feed and house me. Because I knew I didn’t fit in anywhere else. ”
My story seems to anger him. “And you want to be a part of the same Order that was only willing to house and feed a child if they could perform clever mental tricks for them?”
His words feel like an attack on the life I’m fighting so hard to cling to, and I strike out at him. “It’s a better fate than becoming a thief who spends his life taking things that don’t belong to him.”
“Maybe,” he says calmly, deflecting my insult. “But since you’re keen on procuring my services, you obviously need that particular skill of mine.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Scholarly bullshit aside, hiring me to steal something for you makes you just as much of a thief as I am.”
He’s right. I have no moral high ground, but instead of apologizing, I pounce on the rest of his sentence. “You said procuring. Does that mean you’ll steal the orb for me?”
He studies me. “I assume you’ve done the research and know who I’m supposed to steal it from?”
“The Albasynnian witches are in possession of it,” I say and steel myself for his reaction.
He leans his head back and gives a full, deep-throated laugh that, despite its mockery, sounds musical to my ears.
Finally stopping, he gives me an incredulous look.
“You want me to steal from the most feared coven of witches in all the realms, who are known for their blood magic and soul-burning sacrifices?”
I nod my head.
He mutters something, and then in an instant, the charming rogue is gone, and in his stead is a businessman who is sizing me up with a cunning gaze.
“In a deal such as this one, I usually take a percentage of the take. But since you plan on giving it to the Order, I assume you’re willing to pay my fee, which just went up by sixty percent after finding out exactly who I’m stealing the orb from. ”
My heart sinks at the word fee. “And how much is that?” I ask, certain it’s more than the few gold coins I have left in my pocket.
He names an astronomical sum, and my face falls. “Let me guess,” he says. “You don’t have it?”
I tell him the amount of gold in my pocket. He turns and begins walking away.
I can’t let him leave. Without his help, I’ll never be able to steal the orb and be accepted back into the Order. I brace myself and speak before I lose the courage to offer the only thing I have to give him as payment.
“Wait,” I yell. He stops but doesn’t turn around. “I don’t have money, but I have something better.”
He lets out a doubtful snort and resumes walking away.
“I have power.”
He turns around and studies me.
“If you help me obtain the orb, it’s yours for the taking.”
“Power?” His eyes scan over me doubtfully. “In what form?”
“I’m a mage,” I confess. “My mother was part of the Grimrose clan.”
“Nice try,” he scoffs. “You must think I’m dense. You don’t give off the energy of a mage.”
“I’m non-practicing. Except for a spell I performed several days ago, I haven’t attempted magic since I was accepted as a novitiate into the Order, so I don’t leave a magical signature.”
“Prove it,” he challenges me. “Perform a spell.”
“I can’t,” I tell him. “But if you agree to steal the orb for me, I’ll share my magic with you for the duration of the time it takes you to steal the orb. It should bank enough magic in you to last at least a year, maybe two if you are judicious in using it.”
I can see the idea tempts him. All shifters’ origins are rooted in magic brought from ancient realms, but it presents differently depending on the kind of shifter.
Even shifters who aren’t usually born with innate magic have a few spells they use for utility.
The problem is they’re rough and often perform inconsistently, but mage magic transferred to a shifter will make them incredibly powerful in a brute force kind of way.
The power would be more raw than elegant, but I imagine a thief could have many uses for borrowed magic.
“And you’d willingly share it with me?”
“Actually, I’m prohibited by the Order from practicing magic.” I take a deep breath for courage. “You would have to take my magic from me.”
His eyes darken. “You could share your magic with me through multiple transfer spells, but there are only a few ways that I can take it from you.”
I look away from him because I know that I’m asking the handsome thief in front of me for so much more than just to steal for me.
He reaches out and tilts my chin so that I’m looking directly into his blue eyes. “I’d either have to ritually bleed you almost to the point of death,” he says with a curl of distaste on his lip. “Or I’d have to fuck you.”
I haven’t been letting my mind obsess about the means by which the transfer of my magic would have to take place.
My body is a different story. Ever since I hastily offered my power as Morrigan’s fee, it’s as if an electric current is running through my veins at just what that would mean. “I’m aware of that,” I choke out.
Still holding my face, his grip tightens. “Have you offered this deal to anyone else?”
“I don’t know any other thieves,” I answer truthfully, though even if I knew a thousand more, I don’t think I could have made the offer to anyone but him.
He releases his grip on me and just studies me.
I squirm as his eyes go over me. Is he wondering if the power I have to offer him is worth it, considering the delivery method?
Dismissing the kiss we shared and his easy flirting, I doubt he sees anything in my slight frame and mud-colored hair and eyes to make the offer appealing on a physical level.
My stomach churns with the certainty that he’s going to reject my offer.
“I’ll do it.” He takes in my shocked expression. “On one condition.”
“Anything,” I say foolishly in relief.
“You have to help me steal a key from a hyena shifter who has a stall at the market.”
“Help you steal a key?”
He nods. “Think of it as a test run. Better to see how we work together before we try to steal from a coven of blood magic witches.”
Before I can voice the hundred different objections I have to his plan, he moves to the curtain and points to a stall I’d passed several times today.
It has a crowd around it of eager shoppers who are buying phones and gaming consoles, which even I can tell are being sold at impossibly inexpensive mortal currency.
It’s operated by a muscled man wearing a black t-shirt and jeans.
A carabiner is attached to his pocket, holding one large, oddly shaped key.
“Why are you stealing the key?” I ask, imagining it fitting a lock to a chest full of bespelled gold and jewels.
“Not sure,” he says and shrugs. “I saw him wearing it this morning, and my raven intuition told me the key is important, so I followed him here to take it from him. My raven is never wrong.”
“Does this kind of instinctive knowledge happen often?” I ask curiously.
“Enough to know I should always follow my instincts.” He winks at me. “My raven always recognizes a treasure when he sees it.”
I shake my head to clear it. Being around Morrigan is dangerous to my rational mind.
I know his casual flirtation is meaningless, but my heart beats double time in response to it anyway.
Bracing myself against his addictive charm, I attempt to focus on his plan to have me help him steal the key his raven covets.
“I still don’t understand why you need my help to do this.
Taking the key should be child’s play for you. ”
“Like I said, I think it would be helpful to work with each other before we try to break into a coven’s ancient fortress together, but having you steal the key is also the smart plan. The hyena shifter will scent me and be on guard. What they lack in smarts, they make up for in instinct.”
“But I’ve never stolen anything before.”
“I’ll teach you a simple lift, and you’ll go to his booth and pretend to be a customer. When I see you’re close enough, I’ll cause a distraction so you can grab the key.”
“But—”
“Relax,” he says, flashing me a smile. “Trust me. Nothing is going to go wrong.”