3. Unexpected Company #2
Not a bull, she thought. A bull would have charged already.
Once again, the boy tossed his head. He exhaled into a pouty lower lip, blowing the hair out of his eyes.
Minerva smelled the not-unpleasant scents of wet grass and earth emanating from him, and suddenly she remembered him.
Bardo Chan. He lived with his grandmother Pearl in an apartment on the edge of town.
At least he had until recently. Pearl had passed away last month.
All of Pearl’s sons had been yak shifters.
And so, apparently, was Bardo. A big gorgeous one from the looks of it.
She allowed herself a small sigh of relief and loosened the grip on the wand in her pocket.
Yaks were rarely violent in either their human or animal forms. He probably wasn’t all that much of a threat.
Although, with that Nocturnaturals patch on his arm, who knew? The effects of synthetic magic on shifters was unpredictable. It could be lethal.
Minerva glanced outside, checking on the other two boys.
They were shifters as well, though she wasn’t sure what type.
She wondered if their parents had bought the kinetic bikes for them or if they’d stolen them from local witches.
Not her most charitable thought. But magical bikes were preposterously dear, and the boys were both dressed shabbily.
Zephyr approached the youth warily. Foolishly, she thought.
“So how long have you been using those patches, son?” Zephyr asked, keeping his voice steady, his tone neutral.
“I’m hardly your ‘son’, am I?” the boy scoffed and snorted. “You witches are the reason we need this stuff. We’ve endured decades of oppression because of your mind-controlling, prejudicial witch ways. Otherwise, we’d have just as much money and power as you. Possibly more.”
“Do I look like I’m rich and powerful?” Zephyr asked.
“Want to know a secret? I was just trying to convince this woman to take me back into her bed.” He laughed self-deprecatingly as he brushed the rest of the cookie crumbs from his beard.
“She probably thinks I’m too old, but I’ve still got some sparks left in the fireplace.
If you hadn’t just walked in, I might have tried to convince her to shut the place down for the day.
” He stopped just short of wagging his eyebrows.
Minerva glared at Zephyr, mortified. He was laying it on too thick, but she had to admit it was working on the boy.
The sudden change of subject took all the wind out of the young shifter’s sails.
She watched as the boy’s eyes darted from Zephyr to herself and back to her.
Horrified understanding dawned across his features. He took a step back, flinching a bit.
“Ugh! Yuck! Gross.” He grimaced. “Can you fossils still do that?” He touched the patch on his arm, rubbing two fingers across it like a child checking in on their lovey.
“Of course we can. And we don’t need any of that synthetic Nocturnaturals garbage.
” Zephyr pointed to the patch, changing tack again now that the situation seemed less volatile.
“That company isn’t helping any of us. That’s the one thing we should all be agreeing on.
I’d like to invite you and your friends to a public meeting on Wednesday to learn a bit more about and discuss the problems with synthetic magic.
It’s an open meeting for all to attend. Fetch him a flyer, Minerva?
” Zephyr smiled hopefully. “There will even be free snacks!”
“Do I look like I can’t afford to buy my own snacks?” The youth stomped his foot and narrowed his eyes at Zephyr. “Back off, graybeard.”
Zephyr’s hands went up, and he shrugged. “I mean you no harm…”
“Excuse me?” The unfamiliar customer who’d wandered in earlier called out from the next room. Minerva had almost forgotten he was there.
“I was hoping to retrieve a book from the Arcane Archives.” The customer poked his head around the corner. “Is there someone here who might help me?” His accent had a hint of Creole.
“I’m sorry,” Minerva spoke over her shoulder to him. “The Archives are closed on weekends. You’ll also need to show your reference letter from the Society in order to access the book. Do you have that with you?” She turned to face him and was a bit startled by how attractive he was.
“Oh dear,” the customer made a show of patting the pockets of his cloak. “I’m afraid I don’t. But I don’t think it should be necessary. It’s my great-grandmother’s grimoire. It never should have ended up here. Terrible mix-up. I was hoping we could sort it out ourselves.”
Minerva frowned. As much as she enjoyed helping younger witches to reconnect with their roots, there were protocols. She could hardly hand things over to anyone who asked. There was something slightly off about this one as well. Not a witch, she thought. Possibly a powerful mage, though.
Mages were the rare exception to Primrose Court’s ban on Ordinaries. Most of them were descended from witches whose bloodlines became too diluted to pass on their powers.
“Surely there’s a way. My poor maman is heartsick at the thought of her grandmere’s wisdom being mislaid, possibly falling into the wrong hands…”
“That is precisely the reason we have such strict protocols,” Minerva cut him off. Zephyr gave her an approving nod. She didn’t need his approval! But it still felt nice. And simultaneously, annoying.
The yak shifter cleared his throat and glanced sidelong at the stranger. They seemed to size each other up.
“It doesn’t seem you have the book I was looking for in stock.
But I was just thinking I was in the mood for a bite.
Allow me to buy you some lunch?” The stranger crossed into the parlor, stopping to stand close beside the shifter.
He gestured magnanimously at the bakery case. “What looks good to you?”
“Are you kidding me? I’m famished, but nothing here looks good. It’s all old people’s stuff. You wouldn’t have to have a spare Nocturnaturals bar on you?” The boy held out his hand like a beggar.
“Actually, I do.” The stranger slid a foil-wrapped package out from the folds of his cloak, taking his time, like a county fair magician doing a big reveal. “You’re in luck! I picked these up on the Ordinary side last night. Brand new flavor—dragon fruit and mangosteen.”
Zephyr’s eyes bugged out at the sight of the Nocturnaturals bar.
His face flashed with a beetroot incandescence as he raised his wand.
He was so incensed that he didn’t even notice the stray sparks leaping off the tip of his wand.
Tiny white-hot bolts of agitation fired off in every direction, threatening to wreak havoc in the cafe.
“Absolutely not. No synthetic magic, and nobody but me uses a wand in my shop!” Minerva had her wand out now, too. She waved it about, eliminating the threat of tiny fires.
So much for a peaceful morning; she’d had quite enough already and hadn’t even finished her cup of tea. It would be cold now.