Chapter 1 #2
I turn on my heel and strut down the stacks. If I don’t find this book soon, I’m going to have a new besotted magician hanging around and Lucas will traumatize the hell out of the poor boy when he returns next week.
The boy clears his throat and follows me with his hands in his pockets and shoulders up around his pink ears.
“I appreciate you staying open late to help me. My master will wring my neck if I don’t pass this next round of exams.” He cringes.
“You’re the only shop I could get to. They closed down all of East Street to replace the crystals with new light bulbs. ”
The boy leans against the stacks and picks at where his fingers have cracked from hours of potion brewing.
“My master thinks it’s the best decision that the Magistrate has ever made.
She cheered and talked the ear off of anyone who’d listen about how it’s about time that the Prime Minister cracked down on those damn weaver bluebloods—no offense. ”
I snort. “None taken.”
The boy relaxes with a heavy sigh. “Sorry. I know you’re one of them, so I wasn’t sure if—you know…”
When he trails off, I finish for him, “I’d care that the Astrum Order is being shoved out by innovation? No. I am not involved in the Order. Free agent and all that.”
Last time I poked my head out of the shop, only half of the streetlights still housed the traditional crystals imported from the Astrum Forest, their soft, wondrous light dancing in the mist like an old friend.
The other streetlights held newly produced glass bulbs, the bright, harsh light fighting off the darkness with the power of electricity.
I would’ve loved to witness the Astrum Order’s reactions when they heard of the shift to technology.
The Archweaver probably raged like a child at the disrespect, taking his anger out on the Council of Weavers members.
There’s a thrill to witnessing that anger being unleashed on others when it was directed towards me all my life.
Unfortunately, being in hiding restricts that sort of eavesdropping.
I slide my fingers along the book spines on the nearest shelf. “You’d think people would be more concerned about retaliation from the Order for using such magicless innovation on a large scale.”
The boy sighs, “That’s what I’ve been saying, but people are excited about those power plants.
They pay good and both of my brothers landed jobs there when they didn’t place in their exams for a token, like I did.
But it feels like we’re begging for trouble.
Isn’t it better to keep the weavers happy so they don’t slither out of their forest and slaughter us in the night? I know the crystals were going out—”
I blink and turn to the boy. “What did you say?”
“The weavers?”
“No. The crystals. What about the crystals?”
Magicians enchant charms, but weavers forge crystals. Both do the same magic, but crystals are far more potent. An enchantment wears off, but the forging is birthed from the weaver’s soul that links directly with the Tapestry of Magic.
The boy frowns and eyes my too-pale skin before saying slowly, “The crystals around town have been flickering and going out. It’s leaving whole sections of the city unlit.”
Something dark and wicked unfurls within my chest, growing as I draw in breath. I turn away from the boy so he can’t see the grin that twists my face, “Sounds like the Order is struggling.”
I hook my finger around the spine of a book and withdraw it. My face aches as I shift my expression back to my pleasant shopkeeper one. “Here’s your treatise.”
The boy’s shoulders sag with relief. “You are a lifesaver. Thank you.”
I take his offered coins, “Of course. Good luck on those exams.”
I lead the way to the front of my shop. The maze of stacks opens up to the foyer, my front counter and a silk curtain leading to my back room to the left, and the three steps leading down to my forest green door to the right.
There are no windows within my shop and I use the space along the front where they usually would be to display various small items for sale, like notebooks and pens.
I stand on the top of the steps and wave the boy off.
It’s rude not to walk him to the door, but I can’t help it.
The moment he opens the front door to reveal the darkness beyond, my stomach twists with a sickening cramp that tugs at my shoulders.
It’s so late, and the electrical bulbs’ cold light does little to ease the oppression of it.
The darkness shifts, an indecent swirl full of sinister intentions.
I swallow, hands clenching behind my back as a familiar crawling sensation creeps along my spine, like a spider on the hunt.
The apprentice doesn’t notice and struts out to join the others on the sidewalk.
Not even Lucas is bothered by the night.
Somehow, within six months, the night has changed in my eyes to this stalking beast set to swallow me whole.
Minding these instincts has served me well all my life, and I would no sooner pet a snapping, feral dog than I would step out at this hour.
The click of the latch as the front door shuts has my breath releasing so hard that I slump. I weakly wave towards it and my fingers tingle with magic. The sign out front flips to ‘closed,’ and I drag myself to my register.
I check the large clock on the wall, the traditional numbers mixing with the cycles of the moon and the star charts that wink silver in a dark blue face.
I don’t have much time before my new mystery buyer is scheduled to arrive.
I need to nail this deal. The letter of inquiry I received a few days ago housed the promise of a rather lucrative sale of one of my trickier grimoires.
The Amur Guild’s protection tithe is due this month and any extra funds are much welcomed.
I release the top button of my shirt’s too-tight collar with a sharp jerk. I should’ve turned the apprentice away when he showed up at closing, but the easy sale was too tempting. I quickly pull out my ledger and fumble the coins as I deposit them in the register.
Shit, Nora’s bags of potion supplies are still sitting behind me. I should put them away before my meeting. But if I do that, then I won’t have time to eat. If missing lunch had me stumbling earlier, then missing dinner will only make it worse.
I’m going to fumble this sale. The Amur is going to want something for an extension on the tithe. If I do that, then Lucas will be livid. Fighting with my business partner over Guild matters is my least favorite activity. Oh fuck, where is my pen? I need to note this sale.
My pen clatters to the ground and I hit my head on my counter when I scoop it up. Hissed obscenities erupt from me and I slam the pen on the counter. I force myself to take a deep breath, my heartbeat racing in my ears, and I squeeze my eyes closed.
The glimpse of the darkness outside got to me.
A damn shame, but a shame I cannot ignore.
I can almost hear my dear aunt’s soft voice in my ear as she tells me to anchor down within my body, to hold the air within my filled lungs for eight agonizing seconds before releasing slowly.
The memory of her arms around me prickles along my pebbling skin.
You are home. And you are safe. Say it, my little love.
My lips tingle when I whisper, “I am home. And I am safe.”
The steady drum of my heart becomes louder as the buzzing of my panic drifts away.
The pace slows from its race, and from far off, a twin heart beats.
My lips soften and curl at the edges. My pulse syncs with the heart of my shop, my beloved pentagram that makes my dreams a reality.
The two threads of magic that reside in my aching soul hum within my calming heart.
A twinge of pain is familiar, almost like an old friend after all these years.
Slowly, I return to myself with blessed steadiness. I finish marking the sale in my ledger and tuck it away. The glint of chrome catches my eye, and I withdraw my hand mirror; checking my disguise isn’t a bad idea.
My coppery long hair that I can’t bring myself to cut is still tucked up under the short brown hair I don as Aster Rosemont.
Combined with the hazel that masks my green Androclaria eyes, the glamour is pretty, but forgettable, just the way I like it.
I’ve grown fond of it over the years, like a comfortable second skin that I get the pleasure of sliding on and off daily with my slacks and shirtsleeves.
My previous life within the Astrum Order was constricted by social norms of corsets and gowns.
Now, I can be who I wish to be, wear what I feel like.
I love that almost as much as I love my bookshop—asshole grimoires and all.
A ripple shivers up my spine as my shop’s heart pulses. Peripeteia’s password, the one whispered between collectors looking for something a little more illicit, has been activated. My new inquirer has arrived. I tuck away my mirror and answer the call, allowing only a single visitor to enter.
The power of the heart’s pentagram that operates my bookshop steals my breath, the magic of my own design heady even after four years of owning this place. The shop changes, morphing into its true form at last, the lights dimming, my movement slowing as I straighten to face the entrance.
The door jingles, the sound oddly echoing with the shift, the innocent front sliding within itself like a trick door.
The walls groan as the crystals within glass casings slide from the walls to replace the gas lamps.
The familiar, glittering light of the forged magic illuminates my dear shop.
The dancing light ripples like it’s filtered through a water’s surface, casting dark shadows within the stacks to create a delightfully haunted ambiance.
The books suck inward like a foul watery creature plucks them from the dark waters’ surface.
A gleeful, malevolent pulse stutters my heart when grimoires emerge from their prison to take their places along the shelves.
Some are as small as pocketbooks, others are behemoths that warp the wooden shelves with their size.
A hiss of excitement echoes, pages ruffling like a preening flock of birds.
I let my hip slide to the side and my voice drops an octave, the purr dancing on tendrils of incense that appear on my counter. “Welcome to Peripeteia, traveler…”
But the words die on my lips, my eyes widening. Standing in my shop’s shadowy entryway is a weaver, his icy blue eyes glowing with power. I can’t breathe as my lips soundlessly form his name.
Valentin Bauer the Sixth has found me.