Chapter 3
The Mortal Cup café sat across the quiet street, the large windowfront dark, much like the surrounding buildings. Midnight had come and gone as Cirian peered down at the silver watch he palmed, sucking on his bottom lip.
“We can’t keep hiding in the bushes,” he muttered, stowing the timepiece back into the pocket of his hoodie.
I’d convinced him to change into a less conspicuous outfit, since our plans were to spend the evening lurking around the Mortal Row, investigating a possibly dangerous cult.
It didn’t seem appropriate to do that while in full vestment.
It was odd, being back in the part of the city I used to live in. We were only a few blocks from my old apartment. On the corner sat the bakery I would frequent after work. Across from there, the streetcar station where I would hitch a ride uptown to visit Tobias’ penthouse.
It was all as it was before. So, why did everything feel so out of place?
“Crows fly through dinner, follow the bunny into the ocean.”
“Thank you, Malachi. That was very helpful.” Cirian exhaled a long breath. “See, Bast? Even Malachi is growing bored.”
“If you’d like to break into a Mortal business without confirmation of wrongdoing, have at it.
But I’d prefer to wait for proof of this meeting before we go busting through any doors.
” I sank further down into a crouch, pushing branches out of the way so I could keep an eye on the door to the café.
A shiver shot up my spine, and I clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering.
The temperature had dropped significantly since I’d arrived in the Magi City, and I silently chastised myself for not bringing a heavier coat.
Cirian let out a huff, running a hand through his crimson hair. “This would be so much easier if Azrael were here to conceal us.”
“He has enough to deal with at present,” I muttered, my gaze drawn to a couple rounding the corner down from the café. They moved in tandem, neither of them speaking as they approached the café.
“Ow!” Cirian exclaimed, rustling in the brush. “Something just bit me!”
My attention turned to him as he pulled back his sleeve to reveal a red welt rising under his alabaster skin.
“The crow crackles candidly,” Malachi whispered.
“It’s an insect sting,” I chastised him. “Hopefully, you’ll survive.”
My gaze drifted back to the sidewalk across the street, and my pulse spiked. The couple had vanished. I shoved my head through the branches, panning left and right down the long stretch of sidewalk to ensure I hadn’t missed them. Empty in all directions.
“Did they go inside?” I muttered to myself, squinting to peer into the dark windows of the café. They couldn’t have opened the doors, as the set of bells hanging above didn’t sound.
Something wasn’t adding up.
“It really burns,” Cirian complained.
“For the gods’ sake, give me your arm. I can’t focus with you droning on.”
Cirian raised an eyebrow, but did as he was told, extending his exposed arm to me.
I placed my hand over the swollen welp, muttering an incantation under my breath.
The bracing cold of my magic seared my palm as it flowed from me, and as I finished my recitation, I pulled back, revealing the unmarred flesh.
“You’ve been practicing,” Cirian mused, studying my handiwork with an exacerbating grin.
“Can we talk about this later?” I sniped, returning my gaze once again to the café across the street. There was no sign of movement, the night having grown still around us once more.
“I’m trying to give you a compliment,” Cirian continued, ignoring my request. “That was some passable spell work—”
“Once again, your compliments are presented as gibes. I’d thank you to keep them to yourself.”
“Does the thought of accepting praise so greatly disturb you that you must always react poorly?” Cirian pressed.
I tore my focus from the café once more to level my gaze at him. “You do realize that we’re here for a purpose, yes? My tolerance of your praise is a subject best saved for another time and place.”
“Well, do excuse me for trying to connect with you, Bastien. I’ll be sure to keep quiet till you believe it to be the opportune time for me to speak.
Hear that, Malachi? We have to make sure Bastien approves our—Malachi?
” Cirian rustled in the bush beside me, his voice growing suddenly tense. “Malachi? Where are you?”
Movement across the street caught my eye, and I turned to spot Malachi approaching the dark café.
“What is he doing?” I hissed, springing from the cover of the bushes.
Cirian was right behind me as we rushed across the empty street in pursuit of the man.
Malachi paused in front of the café entrance, taking a moment to look up at the sign hanging above the door.
He then glanced over his shoulder at us, turned back toward the building, and stepped through the closed door, disappearing entirely.
Cirian and I halted in our tracks, staring dumbfounded at the space Malachi had just been occupying.
“It’s a veil,” I concluded after a moment, my mind racing through the implications.
“That’s impossible,” Cirian argued. “For them to weave a veil this large, they’d have to have a powerful Reviled amongst them, right?”
I stepped up to the door, searching for any fault in the illusion.
The door appeared as real as I’d ever seen, the glass perfectly reflecting my appearance back at me.
Cirian was right, this veil was on par with those used to conceal the entrance to Paradise, which were woven by Wilhelm herself.
Did the Converts have Reviled practitioners amongst their numbers?
And if so, what reason would the Reviled have to support them?
“What do we do?” Cirian asked as we stood, exposed, on the sidewalk.
“We can’t just abandon him,” I said, my breath quickening as the realization of our remaining option sank in. “So, we follow him in.”
Cirian squared his shoulders, giving me a firm nod.
With a steadying breath, I stepped forward, passing through the door and into the café.
The weight of the magic against my skin felt foreign, completely dissimilar the familiar tingling sensation of passing through a veil.
This felt more like walking through water, as if my body were weighed down by the magic till I passed through it.
The first thing to hit me was the warmth of the café’s interior.
Inside, it wasn’t as dark as the view from outside suggested.
The tables and chairs were pushed aside, stacked on top of one another, creating a path forward to the basement access—an open door from which light poured out into the rest of the dining room like a beacon calling us forward.
My pulse skipped at the sight of Malachi, standing a few feet in, looking back at us expectantly, as if he had been waiting for us to join him the whole time.
“Bunny follows into ocean,” he said to me as I approached, his wide eyes locked onto me.
“Yuck, I hated that,” Cirian’s voice sounded behind us. “That magic is so bizarre.”
“Shh,” I shushed him as drones of voices wafted up from the basement door. Pausing to listen, it was easy to estimate their numbers to be in the dozens. “They’re below us.”
Malachi nodded, moving for the door to the basement, but I caught him by the elbow, holding him in place.
“Bunny dives into the burrow,” he muttered, an edge to his voice.
“Hold on,” I urged him. “We can’t just walk in without a plan. If they recognize you, then our cover will be blown. But I can make it so that you don’t look like yourself.”
Malachi merely continued to watch me, the intensity of his gaze unchanging.
“Are you going to cast a veil over him?” Cirian asked.
I nodded, pointing to the small utility closet that sat at the edge of the dining room. “I’ll take him in there while I weave. I need you to keep watch.”
“Fine, but make sure it’s a good one. If we’re stepping into this lion’s den, I would prefer that we not be devoured on the spot.”
I rolled my eyes, pulling Malachi towards the closet. “Just keep your eyes peeled and your mouth shut, Cirian.”
Inside the tiny space, I kicked aside a mop bucket to make room for the two of us. A single bulb illuminated the room from above, and I struggled to ignore the burn of cleaning chemicals in my nose.
“I’m going to cast a veil over you,” I said to Malachi, still holding him by the elbow in case he wanted to try and bolt again. “It might feel strange at the start, but I assure you that it doesn’t hurt. I’ll make you appear as someone else, so the Converts won’t recognize you. Do you understand?”
“In the din, I hear it all.”
“I’m going to take that as a yes.”
Releasing my hold on Malachi, I pressed my hands together, forming a sigil with my fingers that sang to life the magic in my blood.
Drawing in a deep breath, the first thing I did was create a small tear into the Ether in the space in front of me.
To Malachi, or anyone else watching, I simply extended a finger into the space before me, drawing it down as if I were tracing the outline of an object.
But I was privy to the exhilarating sensation of the Veil between our world and the Ether parting, allowing me access to the strands of reality that waited on the other side.