Chapter 1 #2
A rift kept Ternewell and Oaris forever separate: that rift was the use of magic.
Ternewell’s residents opted to swaddle themselves in a blanket of normality, while the folk of Oaris embraced magic in all its forms. Where Ternewell was archaic, perfunctory and stale, Oaris was loose, carefree, and unpredictable, like a scatter of dice.
Ternewell’s boundary was marked by the transition of paved streets to dusty pathways, and the tension in Ivy’s shoulders eased as soon as she crossed the border. She led the way towards Oaris’s most well-known landmark: the Night Market.
An enormous canvas pavilion housed the Night Market.
They navigated the maze of stalls, Ivy tugging Annabel along gently as merchants tempted them with potions, glittering jewels and whimsical clothing.
Ivy smiled as she passed magical folk plying their trade—fortune tellers, spell casters, healers and other services the common folk of Ternewell would balk at.
But their destination lay beyond the market.
A patchwork of haphazardly placed tents and ramshackle buildings lay in the streets filled with glowing orbs of light suspended by magic.
It was as though these rickety constructions were dropped from the sky and wherever they landed, people started using them.
Ivy made her way to a tall, double-storey structure with iron balconies on the upper floor and a flaking, painted mural of a black-and-orange tent—imagery that was synonymous with Oaris—on the facade.
The Tall Fiddle Pub was Ivy’s favourite establishment to visit within the Village of Magic.
As they entered, they were met with the riotous roar of the crowd that filled the room to bursting.
People were crammed into the space, enjoying themselves and each other.
A man was playing a jaunty tune on a piano by the bar, almost drowned out by the singing of many drunken patrons.
A small crowd of people were spinning each other around on the dance floor.
The bar was filled with both magical and non-magical Human folk, and the energy in the room was convivial, spirited, and utterly infectious.
Ivy couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her features.
They weaved their way through the crowd to the back of the pub, which opened onto a gravel courtyard filled with more floating orb lights.
Clusters of mismatched chairs surrounded small, round tables, and a second bar faced outward to the packed courtyard.
In the far corner stood a leafless tree with massive branches that spiderwebbed outward, and beneath it they found themselves a table with a pair of high-backed plush chairs.
Annabel settled into a seat while Ivy wended her way through the clusters of revellers towards the bar.
Ivy drank in her surroundings, reflecting on just how different the Tall Fiddle—and by extension, Oaris itself—was to anything in Ternewell.
The patrons had a carefree air about them, like the worries of life didn’t weigh them down.
They were boisterous and fun-loving, and their energy awakened a slumbering beast living under Ivy’s skin.
Amidst the monotony of Naum, Oaris felt like home. Perhaps because it once was.
At the bar, she wasted no time in placing her order. “Two Hot Lords, please.” The bartender set to making the drinks, and while she waited, she perused the courtyard. She noticed a raven perched amongst the branches of the tree, seemingly watching her.
“That’s an… interesting name for a beverage.
” A smooth voice broke Ivy out of her reverie.
She turned and was greeted by an attractive, silver-haired male with warm, caramel-coloured eyes.
He leaned against the bar, with an amber-coloured beverage in his hand.
His full lips curved upward in a playful smile as he looked upon her intently.
“It’s not the most conventional of names, but it sure does taste delicious,” Ivy replied, a similar smile playing on her lips.
The male found a menu on the bar and slid it closer to himself. He scanned the list of drinks before returning his gaze to Ivy’s. “Some of the shots are just as curious. Mild Tremor, Molten Rush… so suggestive.”
“The Panty Dropper is my favourite. It’s said that they’ll fly right off after a few of those.”
“And how many constitutes a few?”
“Depends on how many Hot Lords I have first.” Ivy’s teeth snagged her bottom lip. Her flirtatiousness took her by surprise—it was out of character, but the alcohol helped to bypass her inhibitions.
His responding laughter was downright devilish, and it gave Ivy chills in all the right places.
The bartender slid the prepared drinks across the counter to her.
The Hot Lords were served in tall glasses, and the colour of the liquid transitioned from yellow, to orange, to burgundy.
Ivy lifted her glass and took a sip through the straw without breaking eye contact with the male.
The coloured layers of her drink drained equally as the straw drew the liquid from the glass.
His eyes remained fixed on hers, and for a flicker of a moment she could have sworn the caramel of his irises shimmered with gold.
“I am Leseldh.” He offered his hand to her.
“Ivy. Pleasure to meet you.”
She placed her hand in his. It was warm to the touch, and he lifted her hand to graze his lips across her knuckles. It was the gentlest of touches, but it sent sparks shooting through her body.
“Likewise. I see you have two drinks there. Are you doubling down, or do you have company?”
“I’m with my friend, Annabel.”
Ivy pointed at her red-haired friend. When she looked back to Leseldh, she noticed that he’d sidled even closer to her, and the proximity made her heart race. She wasn’t sure what compelled her to ask, “Would you like to join us?”
Leseldh’s only reply was the curving of his lips, which Ivy took as acceptance.
Ivy sashayed over to their table with a drink in each hand.
She sat in the chair opposite Annabel, and Leseldh shifted another over to sit on her right.
His eyes were still fixed on Ivy, like he was absorbing every little detail about her.
“Who’s your friend?” Annabel’s eyes swept over Leseldh in wary assessment.
“This is Leseldh. Leseldh, Annabel.”
Leseldh reached for Annabel’s hand and placed a kiss upon it as he did with Ivy, but it seemed far less intimate than her own experience.
While Leseldh’s attention was focused on Annabel, Ivy surreptitiously ran her eyes over him.
He was well-dressed, wearing clothes that fit his slender form perfectly.
His long-sleeved black shirt and trousers were too formal for his surroundings, but he wore them with confidence.
It made him even more attractive. When his eyes returned to hers, a knowing smile crept across his lips that made her blush.
“What do you do for work, Ivy?” Leseldh studied her features as though committing her face to memory. Ivy thought back to her interrogation at the Morribee, and the thought of discussing her ordinary existence with this alluring male made her feel unreasonably nervous.
“I’m a shop assistant.” Ivy hoped her clipped response would divert him to another topic of conversation.
“Ah, in Ternewell?” Leseldh leaned forward in his seat, appearing genuinely interested in her words.
She nodded in response. Leseldh opened his mouth to speak, but Ivy cut in before he could pose a follow-up question. “What about you? How do you earn a living, Leseldh?”
“I am a Private Detective.” Leseldh shifted in his seat as he spoke, and Ivy got the sense that he wasn’t used to talking about himself. That makes two of us, Ivy thought. Unfortunately for him, his admission only piqued Ivy’s curiosity.
“How exotic—I’ve never met a Private Detective before. What kind of cases do you take? Murders? Robberies?” Ivy’s mind swam with the possibilities. A grin spread across her features as she conjured fanciful scenarios where this dashing male would sweep in and save the day.
“Mostly cheating husbands and wives. It can be rather monotonous. I haven’t investigated a good old murder in a long time,” he admitted wryly.
“Do you work alone, or do you have a partner?”
“I work closely with an associate of mine. He’s around here somewhere.”
Ivy couldn’t help but let her eyes drift to sweep over the surroundings, as though she’d be able to locate Leseldh’s colleague. He did the same, and when he raised a hand to wave someone over, her gaze shifted to inspect who was being summoned.
Leseldh’s companion was rougher around the edges by comparison.
He was tall and muscular, and he strode towards them with roguish confidence.
He had short, light brown hair that was mussed in a freshly-fucked kind of way.
His pale grey eyes swept over the surroundings as he approached.
Unlike Leseldh’s attire, his faded blue jeans and worn, white t-shirt allowed him to blend in with the other patrons in the pub.
“Ladies, this is Voresta. Do you mind if he joins us?”
As he offered his hand to Ivy, her eyes were drawn to the tattoo on his inner forearm, below the elbow.
It depicted a striped tent, with a crescent moon and stars above.
Ivy recognised it as the Oaris Brand, which identified him as an ally to magical folk.
It was a reassuring sight, and she reached up and shook Voresta’s hand with a smile.
“Nice to meet you. I hope I’m not intruding,” Voresta offered in a smoky voice. When his eyes met Ivy’s, a look of surprise crossed his face so briefly that she was convinced she’d imagined it.
“Not at all, grab a seat,” Ivy replied, and Voresta complied. Voresta turned his attention to Annabel, and Ivy noticed the look of intrigue on her expression as they exchanged pleasantries.