Chapter 46
WILLOWMAN
T he van rattles as I drive over a pothole.
It’s been a while since I was behind a wheel.
A while since I traveled the open road like this.
Magic is temperamental this far west in the rims, leaving pockets of land where it simply ceases to work.
There is no warping because warping requires a steady flow of magic.
The last safe warp zone was from Outpost Two, and I took this ride from there.
The world around me is dull and gray, as if the color has been muted.
But this is normal for pockets with no magic.
It’s in these pockets that many of the humans who failed to get into the mageri-ruled city have settled.
Tulpas, shifters, vampires, and graynites aren’t a threat here.
They lose their power without magic to feed them, and the Stone Council has done its best to encourage humans to move to settlements in mundane pockets, but people are either too stubborn, too scared, or too addicted to magic to make the change.
The air is different here, empty and unsatisfying in comparison to the rest of the world, and people can feel that. The loss is an ache deep in their bones, and not all can live with it.
I know I can’t.
A sign rushes up to meet me.
Mistlegate population 550/450
I bite back a smile as I drive into the small town, past the neat gray-brick houses and busy streets filled with people. Humans going about their mundane, safe lives, wrapped up against the frosty elements.
This must be bliss to them, but there is an itch beneath my skin. A longing. A needing that will never be fulfilled here.
I press my foot down on the gas.
It takes less than fifteen minutes before the sky ahead takes on a shimmery quality. The colors seem brighter too.
The mundane pocket is about to end, smack bang in the center of the town. And this is what makes Mistlegate unique. It’s a settlement where mundane and magic exist side by side. Where one half of the town has none, and the other is saturated with it.
This is where I’ll find my contact.
Calista Bentleby is a well-kept secret. An anomaly who happened to save my life five years ago.
She could be anywhere from her mid-twenties to over a century old, for all I know. She doesn’t share her past, and I’ve learned not to probe. She’s made the pocket settlement of Mistlegate her home, and the people here seem to be under her protection.
The gray world blooms with color, and my body is flooded with power once more. It sings in my blood and ripples through my hair.
The ache, the itch, the needing, all gone.
The houses here are tall three-story affairs, built from red brick and decorated in blooming ivy. Summer hangs heavy in the air, defying the frost on the other side of town. This half of the settlement, with its 450 inhabitants, enjoys an eternal summer.
Beads of sweat have already broken out on my brow.
I take a left at the intersection and onto a narrow road that leads to the market vista.
It’s not hard to find parking. Not many people on this side of the town use cars because there are several port zones to get around.
I shrug off my jacket before grabbing the case containing Cameron’s blood from the back seat. The inside is specially designed to keep the sample cold, and hopefully the switches from mundane to magic haven’t messed with the structure of the case.
Van locked, I head to the nearest port—an ornate lamppost with a beautiful peacock statue set on top.
It takes one touch of my palm to transport me to the post opposite Calista’s bookstore, and there she is, arranging some books in a window display. She looks up and spots me. Is that a sigh?
I grin and raise my hand. She shakes her head and ducks back into the store.
She loves me, really.
The bell above the door tinkles as I enter.
“I had a feeling I was about to get a headache today,” Calista says from behind the counter.
“You knew I was coming, Cal. I sent a message.”
“Bloody Pollock. Nosy fucker.”
Pollock is the resident telegram man for Mistlegate. We keep in touch via magigram, and he let me know that Calista was back from whatever ‘job’ she’d been on.
“No one invited you, though,” an irritated nasally voice says from somewhere behind her.
I spot the speaker on the shelf behind her—a thick, leather-bound tome with intricate stitchwork that makes up a face.
It scowled at me. “We’re busy. Go away.”
“Now, now, Augustus,” Calista says. “I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t scare away the customers.”
“He’s not a paying customer,” Augustus retorts.
“He might be.” She arches a slender dark brow at me. “Right?”
“I can pay you in news.”
She rolls her eyes. “What do I need with news of the inner rims?”
“Just because the graynites won’t come this far west doesn’t mean you’re safe. The world could change at any time. The rift could open again, the alpha could attack, and—”
“The Stone Council will deal with it. Isn’t that what the big bad guardians are for?” She gives me a cheeky kitten grin.
I can’t help but smile back. This woman has way too much charm, and if I’m honest, I may be a little in love with the minx. “Yes. That’s what they’re for.”
“We have our own problems,” Augustus huffs. “Like just today, we had to—”
“Augustus,” Calista snaps quickly. “Remember how we spoke about discretion? Why don’t you take a nap?”
The book huffs, and the stiches on its cover melt away.
Calista presses her palms to the counter and looks me up and down, her gaze lingering on the case in my hand before sweeping back up to my face. “I hate how pretty you are.” She sighs. “Okay, so what do you need, Marcel?”
I’m so used to being referred to as Willowman that for a moment I’m thrown by her use of my first name. “I need a blood sample analyzed.”
“Then go to a lab. I’m sure your council has several.”
I hold up the cold case containing the vial. “It’s not that kind of analysis.”
But she knows this. She knows I wouldn’t be here if what I needed didn’t require her unique ability.
Her lip curls in disgust. “Urgh. I’m going to curse Pollock.” But she lifts the counter and ushers me into the back room.
The books in the store are neatly arranged on shelves and in displays, but back here, there is no visible order, just piles of texts on every available surface.
Calista clears a space on one of the tables, and I pass her the case. She pops it open and carefully retrieves the vial.
“Are you ready to catch me?” she asks.
“You could sit down.”
“Do you see a chair?” A hint of annoyance filters into her tone.
“I’ve got you. Just…please help me, the young wom—”
“Stop. Don’t tell me. The less I know, the better the reading. Okay?”
“Fine.”
She uncorks the vial and takes a deep breath. “Bottoms up.” She tips it back and swallows. “Hmmm, that’s kind of sweet and—” Her body goes rigid. “Oh shit, here it comes.”
Her eyes roll, and she collapses.
I catch her and carefully drop to my knees, taking her with me.
The fact that she’ll do this with me proves how much she trusts me.
Proves that despite her prickly attitude, she believes me to be a friend.
I’m not sure what I’ve done to earn so much trust, aside from almost dying and allowing her to save me, but Calista sees things.
She knows things. And those things have allowed me into her inner circle.
Long minutes pass before her eyes snap open. Her gaze is glazed, though. She’s not back yet.
Several seconds pass, and finally she blinks and focuses on me. “Well, that was interesting.”
“What can you tell me?”
“The blood is a cocktail of elements. I see human and gargoyle.” She frowns. “Although the gargoyle element is weak. But that could be because of the fae element.”
“Fae?” Cameron has fae blood?
“Yes. The fae element is strong. I saw the moon covered in blood. I’m thinking maybe a luna line or even Baobhan sidhe? Could be both, mingled in a human bloodline and brought forth in the owner of this sample.”
If Cameron has fae blood, it would account for her strange behavior during the last omega moon, because the omega moons always coincide with a sidhe moon. “Thank you. This helps.”
“Don’t thank me just yet.” She sits up and sweeps her luscious locks over her shoulders. “There’s something else. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.”
“What do you mean?”
“Another element. But it’s hidden. Muted.
” She wrinkles her nose in that way I recognize to be irritation with herself.
“I don’t know what to call it. Sometimes this can happen with the blood of someone going through puberty or some kind of developmental change.
Or if there’s a sickness or disease in the blood.
” She taps her chin. “It didn’t feel like a disease, though.
Diseased blood has a specific bitter tang to it, and this blood was sweet.
” She stands and brushes off her clothes.
“And that’s all. You can leave now. I have work to do. ”
This is plenty. The fae aspect gives us something to work on. “What do I owe you?”
Her expression sobers. “Let’s leave it as an IOU.”
“I don’t like IOUs.”
“I guess you’ll just have to make an exception. Now if that’s all—”
“Actually, there’s one more thing. I need to know how to restore a ghost’s memories.”
She stares blankly at me. “I gotta give you credit, Marcel. You never come to me with boring tasks.”
“So you can help me?”
“Nope. But I know a man who can.”