A Little Blackmarket Magic
The day is overcast, with low-lying clouds. It’s been raining on and off since I woke up this morning. Thankfully, I have nothing to do with it. I’m a little anxious about today’s errand, but the weather forecast predicted this, thank goodness. No one can blame me.
Ansel called Ash this morning. Apparently, he knows a guy who knows another guy who might sell us a dust pendant.
“I think you should have a soft opening for the tea shop,” Ash says as we wait for the sorcerer at the parking garage. “Or in your case, a soft reopening.”
He’s been talking business for the last fifteen minutes.
“What does that even mean?” I ask him.
“You’ll open your doors, but only to a select few—let’s say your fellow shopkeepers. Traditionally, the services you provide will be on the house, and it will give you a chance to practice on real patrons before you open to the public.”
“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” Rowan muses. He’s currently perched on the decorative split-rail fence in the garage’s landscaping.
“But how will I prevent tourists from wandering in?” I ask.
“Just keep your front door locked,” Ash says.
“I’ll be running between the door and counter all day,” I point out.
“You could keep the back open,” Rowan shifts on the fence rail. “Your invited patrons could come in through the garden.”
“When do you think I’ll be ready for that?” I ask Rowan.
“I think you’re ready now.”
“Yesterday you declared I was hopeless.”
“That’s because you said Lapsang Souchong tastes like a campfire.”
“It does taste like a campfire.”
“There are nuances—”
“You’ll be fine,” Ash interrupts. “The vast majority of your customers will be tourists who know nothing about tea but want to buy something fancy while they’re on vacation.”
“I wouldn’t say the majority,” Rowan grumps.
Thankfully, a man driving a small horse and buggy pulls into the parking garage’s loading zone, interrupting the conversation. Ansel steps down, paying for the ride, and then ambles our way.
Like Ash and many of the other residents, the sorcerer’s clothing has a certain vibe.
His dark teal button-up shirt and gray trousers are perfectly modern, but the outfit has a cultured, old-world look—like maybe he should be sitting in a European library, sipping expensive coffee while penning his memoir.
And it’s obviously not just for the tourists, since we’re headed out for the day, and Ash’s outfit is just as fussy. It’s the high fae influence here in Moss Hollow, I think. I’ve even been tempted to purchase a few new pieces for my wardrobe.
But maybe that’s just because I want to impress Ash.
When Ansel reaches us, he takes one look at me and says, “What are you doing here?”
I’m so startled by the sorcerer’s tone, I almost look behind me to make sure I’m the one he’s addressing. “What do you mean?”
“We’re buying a dust pendant from a questionable source.”
“Yes?”
“And you’re a pixie.”
“I’m accompanied by a lawyer, a bird, and a sorcerer who specializes in minerals. How could I be any safer?”
His eye twitches like he’s not sure if that’s a joke.
“I already tried to talk her into staying behind,” Ash says. “She insisted on coming with us.”
I frown at him. “You make me sound like a child.”
He shrugs, hiding a smile.
“She agreed to stay in the car,” Rowan says. “It will be fine.”
Surprised, Ansel focuses on the owl. “You can talk?”
“Yes,” Rowan answers sharply, apparently not in the mood to discuss the mechanics behind it.
“Ansel, this is Rowan,” Ash says. “Rowan, this is Ansel.”
The two size each other up, Ansel curious and Rowan vaguely annoyed.
Hoping to soothe the sorcerer’s concerns about the outing, I say, “Rowan’s right. I plan to stay with him while you and Ash go inside.”
“Besides,” Rowan says. “The exchange is at a human coffee shop in broad daylight. If Kit can control her emotions, he won’t even realize she’s a pixie.”
“Because she’s so good at that,” Ash says sarcastically.
“Hey,” I respond, feeling the need to defend myself.
“I don’t know.” Ansel wrinkles his nose at me. “She looks like a pixie.”
“She is right here,” I say. “And what does that mean?”
Bluntly, Ansel says, “You’re short.”
“You’re cute,” Ash adds.
From his tone, I’m not entirely sure he means it as a compliment, but my stomach flutters, nevertheless.
“And you sparkle,” Rowan deadpans.
I clear my throat, willing the troublesome glitter to dissipate, keeping my eyes off Ash—knowing he’s wearing that smug look again. “It’ll be fine.”
“I would just like it to be known that I think it’s a bad idea to bring her,” Ansel says. “Whose car are we taking?”
“Noted,” Ash says. “And we’ll take mine.”
Rowan extends his wings, ready to leave his perch. “Got to show it off when you can.”
Ash shoots his cousin a sharp look. “Puncture the leather with your talons, and I’ll leave you in Albany.”
This is getting off to a great start.
It’s raining heavily when we arrive at the coffee shop. Ash pulls into a spot and frowns at the downpour.
“Okay,” I say from the plush backseat of his extremely nice, extremely expensive rich-old-man sedan, watching the rain. “You guys have fun out there.”
Ash turns in his seat, snorting softly, his eyes meeting mine.
“Stop that,” Rowan says to him abruptly, flapping his wings like a disgruntled chicken, using my purse as a perch. “You’ll make her go all glittery, and the storm has made it dark enough that someone might notice.”
I huff out a breath, annoyed because he’s right.
“Let’s go,” Ansel says. As soon as the sorcerer opens his door, wet air gusts into the car. If Rowan were up front, I’m afraid it would blow him over.
“You good?” I ask after Ansel wrestles his door shut and he and Ash make a run across the parking lot to the front door.
“I’m fine.” Rowan flies onto Ansel’s headrest, intently looking out the windshield.
The lights are on inside the coffee shop, and the storm is so dark, it’s easy to see the patrons at their tables.
It’s a chain sort of place, with fancy seasonal coffees and lots of whipped cream—the kind of cafe where people won’t pay much attention to the four men who claim a table near the right corner window.
I’m suddenly hit with a bout of nerves.
As if sensing it, Rowan cranes his neck to look over at me. “Are you all right?”
“Ansel never said if the mages made the pendant to order, or if they had one lying around.”
“What difference does it make?”
“If they had an extra in their stock, does that mean they use them?”
Rowan thinks about it. “I don’t know.”
Now he sounds uneasy, too.
“Ash is many things, but he’s not an idiot,” Rowan finally says. “He won’t tell them where we’re from.”
I nod. “And it’s not like it’s that hard to find a pixie. They’d have no reason to come after me.”
“But it’s not always easy to find a summer,” he says quietly.
And he’s right. Winters were never kidnapped for their magic, for obvious reasons. Autumns rarely, since their magic is comforting but subtle. Springs were targeted for love potions, but their magic is so chaotic, it was too unpredictable to be of much use.
But summers.
We were desirable in those black-market days.
Are desirable?
Maybe I should have stayed home.
“Don’t become overly anxious. It’s not that difficult to find a fae community,” Rowan points out. “There’s no reason to hunt you specifically.”
I nod, knowing he’s right. “Did Laverna ever have trouble? She was a summer.”
“The only summer in town,” he agrees. “And not that I know of.”
My eyes are glued to Ash, Ansel, and their two tablemates. They’re talking longer than I expected. I thought they’d buy the dust pendant and be done with it.
“Do you know any defensive magic?” I ask.
“Some,” Rowan says. “But these days, it’s used more for recreation than defense—much like humans shoot targets and whatnot.”
“Right.”
“I can’t access my magic now anyway.”
“No, I know. I was just wondering if maybe you could teach me something once we extract mine. Something that might be useful if anyone were ever to…you know.”
“Something like what?” he asks, distracted.
I pull my eyes from the coffee shop and look at Rowan solemnly. “I want to learn how to throw fireballs.”
He hoots out an unexpected laugh and then clamps his beak shut. “You’ll never be able to conjure flames in your hands. Like a mage, you’ll have to use a wand.”
“I get a wand?” I ask.
He eyes me. “Like a sparkly pixie princess.”
Choosing to ignore that, I ask, “What can I do with a wand?”
“Hopefully, change me back into a man.” He turns his eyes to our companions. “And then you won’t have to learn anything else because I’ll be around to watch out for you.”
“Oh, Rowan,” I tease. “That’s so chivalrous.”
“You just filled the car with sunshine. You’re such a summer.” The words are mocking, but his tone is warm.
“Oh, look.” I sit up straighter when Ansel and Ash leave the table. “They’re coming out.”
Our two companions emerge from the coffee shop, pausing just before they push the door open and make a run for it.
They’re halfway here, both already drenched, when Rowan flies to the window.
“Don’t,” I warn when I see his foot hovering over the lock button.
“Kill joy,” he mutters, flying into the back and claiming my purse as a perch once more.
Wind and rain whoosh through the car as the men scramble inside. Drenched, Ash angles toward me, offering me a velvet pouch.
“Is this it?” I whisper.
“That’s it,” he confirms. “Don’t touch it.”
I untie the drawstrings and peer into the pouch, my nerves sparking when I see the clear pendant resting inside. It’s wrapped in decorative silver wire and strung from a thin chain.
“Now what do we do?” I ask, returning the bag to Ash, who gives it to Ansel.
The sorcerer attempts to wipe the water off his neck, but it’s no use. More streams down from his saturated hair. “Tomorrow, I’ll siphon your magic.”