Fireborne, p.5
Fireborne, page 5
part #1 of Raven Cursed Series
Landon often represented the Master. Possessing the same aloofness and views of human existence, Landon preferred the company of other supes for his social needs, and humans to satisfy the others.
He was handling things well—too well. I decided then and there that once I found the objects, I wasn’t going to give him the name of the person who’d taken them. I wouldn’t have their blood on my hands.
As I continued to look around, the lights suddenly blew out. A gust of putrid wind filled the room, and then fog so thick I couldn’t see my hands in front of me. Panic flooded me at the sensory loss. I listened hard for the sound of steps near me. Nothing. My hand went to the knife sheathed at my waist. Before I could do a blind search, the room was again brightly lit, the air clear, and every one of Landon’s valuables was gone, including all the alcohol off his middle shelf.
Landon glared at the empty shelves, the spots where swords had hung on the wall, and the bare tables. If he could have turned red, he probably would have. His eyes blazed. “Who the hell is doing this? I’m going to rip their arms off.”
“No need to do that,” I feebly reassured him. But based on how quickly the person had gotten in and out of a vampire’s home with a ton of valuables, I wasn’t sure he was going to be able to rip anything off them. I inhaled the air. I could feel the magic—dark, fiery. My skin tingled with it. I took another whiff. Magic felt different, depending on its source, the scent and feel as unique as a fingerprint or snowflake. Witches’ scent was earthy with hints of cinnamon. Fae’s florid with undertones of dark chocolate—the good kind. Less than fifty percent cocoa. Anything with more cocoa than that made me feel like I was snacking on dirt. Mages’ magic was breezy and cloying, like fruit with a tang of mint.
There were distinctions within each group. One witch’s magic could remind me of a meadow, another the forest, or clay sand. A mage’s magic could range from the light crisp smell of a pear or apple to something potent and invigorating like citrus. A fae’s magic could envelop me in hints of lavender, juniper, or lilies. The various scents I could still enjoy; it was the variation of the magic and how it felt when I had use of it that I could no longer experience. With the exception of my attempt to borrow magic from Grayson, Cory’s magic was all that I knew and felt now.
“We need to get Alex here,” I said.
“Why do I need him? I have you.”
“I’m not a shifter. My sense of smell isn’t nearly as keen as his. It would be a good idea to call Kieran as well.”
Vampires’ sense of smell was extraordinary, but unexceptional when compared to that of a shifter.
Alex’s expression was stern as he walked around the room, visibly inhaling, and then he frowned.
“Just like the last time, nothing. I just smell smoke. Everyone has a scent, but the smell of smoke is masking theirs.” His inability to get their scent was disappointing, but the intel I gathered was priceless: Shifters couldn’t track scent over smoke.
He scanned the area and his eyes went to a small mark on the floor: a partial footprint.
“What do you all do with your phones when you play?” I asked.
“They aren’t allowed,” Landon said. “No devices are allowed during the games.”
I looked for my phone; it had been taken. I turned to Landon. “Do you have your phone with you?”
He shook his head. At his age, he was probably used to a simpler time, so it might have been easy for him not to be attached to it. That wasn’t the case with me. The moment I realized mine was gone, I felt naked. I really needed to find the bastard responsible, now.
“The person wasn’t that stealthy. They put a spell on you all, and what you thought was them moving at lightning speed was actually you not moving—stuck in that single moment in time. They changed the clocks, watches. My phone is thumbprint protected; they took it so I wouldn’t have any idea how much time had passed,” I explained.
Brilliant. Now I had to find out who had the skill and magic to do it. And they would need to transport, too.
“You’re dealing with more than one person. One probably transported the other one here. The person who froze time wouldn’t be able to do that and also cast the transporting spell and leave without needing to rest in between. Magic like that extracts too much energy.”
“How did you come up with that?” Alex asked with a half smile. It was the first time I’d seen his predatory alertness; it reminded me of Asher. His eyes were focused keenly on me, and I didn’t like it. I looked down at the partial footprint, which had been modified. I used something similar on the bottom of my shoes during jobs. Alex’s eyes followed. I didn’t offer any more information.
“When I—” No. It wasn’t a good idea to disclose how I retrieved things.
He smirked, moved closer, the haunting glow of interest sparking in his eyes, and a brow rose. “When you what?” he asked, a hint of playfulness in his voice.
“When I deliver toys to small children on the twenty-fourth of December,” I said, then directed my attention to Landon, who only seemed interested in getting his things back.
“I have to go. I’ll call—” Dammit, I need a phone. “Once I have another phone, I’ll call you,” I told Landon.
Alex walked out with me.
“Do you need any help?” he asked as he headed toward a sleek, black, expensive-looking sports car. I hadn’t seen one like it before, which probably meant he wasn’t hurting for money. Owning a moon ring was additional evidence of his financial solvency, and if he’d been invited to play with Landon, he obviously had enough money to lose it frivolously. I figured Mephisto had probably charged a lot more than he’d offered me for this job and took out more than his typical referral fee.
I didn’t have time to dwell on my pay rate; I had thieves to find, ones with better resources than Mephisto. What I really hoped was that when I found the crooks, I could resist trying their magic for myself.
Cory and I walked slowly through the alleyway, looking at his phone as we attempted to track mine. The little dot flickered, alerting me to the location of my phone and possibly that of the thief who took it.
“It has to be a witch,” Cory said after several moments of deliberation. As a witch himself, he had to be reluctant to accuse one. He felt witches were always the first ones people considered when strong magic was performed.
“It could be a mage,” I suggested, but it lacked conviction.
Cory’s face twisted and his eyes scrutinized me.
“Name one mage that can do a spell that powerful.”
“I can’t think of one,” I panted as we started running full tilt toward the location of the phone. I could see the back of a hoodie peeking out from around the corner. Hints of pine lingered in the air, mingling with the putrid smell of refuse. Our pace quickened to close the distance between us and the hooded figure.
Once in striking distance, I lunged at the figure, my arm outstretched. If I couldn’t grab the thief, at least I would be able to see their face, hair, or some distinguishing feature. But I didn’t get anything more than a flash of skin from the hand that flicked back in my direction. Just a little magical shove to get some distance, then the phone thief vanished. Cory was a couple feet behind me—solid and slow. Getting hit by him would surely knock you out, but if you could run fast, you were likely to avoid that fate.
“Pine,” I announced to the empty space. Apparently, other supernaturals didn’t have hyperosmia when it came to magic—just me.
“Still think it might be a mage?” he questioned in his mocking I-told-you-so voice. The rivalry between mages and witches was bewildering. Their magic was closely linked and mirrored each other’s, yet both races pretended their magic was so different that they didn’t understand how it could be confused. There were elemental mages, but there were witches who could control the elements, too. Depending on who was telling the story, one race originated from the weaker sister.
Ameritis, the goddess of magic, had two daughters: Verne, the forebearer of witches, and Prae, the forebearer of mages. Whoever was giving the history lesson, mage or witch, determined which sister was the weaker of the two.
The debate didn’t make sense to me. They were sisters who both conceived children with human men, the results were the same: Ameritis was their grandmother. Pointing out their similarities was useless because doing so led to an unrequested and rambling history lesson. Because obviously me and the rest of the world were too simple-minded and inept in our magical knowledge to see the nuances in their magic.
We didn’t have time for a debate, so I let it go.
“We’re looking for a witch or witches.” But something gnawed at me about everyone smelling smoke. Why smoke? Smoke covered most other smells. An elemental mage could control it without setting the whole place aflame, so it could be an elemental mage, but I didn’t know that they were able to transport themselves. I thought only witches could do that. On the other hand, a vampire had borrowed magic from the Crelic, and the magic it imbued him with would allow him to Wynd and magically transport.
“Text Madison and find out if the Crelic is still in their possession,” I asked Cory. While he contacted Madison, I processed all existing information: The smell of smoke lingered long after the assailant was gone; a partial footprint was left. Whoever had my phone was a witch—the hint of pine—and had likely been part of the heist. They also had the ability to transport, which meant either the witch was one of the strongest witches I’d ever encountered, or they were in possession of an object similar to the Crelic to boost their magical ability.
CHAPTER 6
Five more minutes and I was going to be late for my appointment with Dr. Sumner. I reached for the door handle and stopped, needing a few more minutes. I was stressed. Madison had sent me a text. She was looking out for me and it was hard to be irritated with that, but I was all the same. It was a less than subtle reminder that she didn’t have confidence in me and that it was only a matter of time before she would need to fix another situation of my making. I took out my phone and stared at the link to the job in archives she’d sent me and her comment. It’s yours if you want it. I shoved the phone back into my purse and frowned. Archives? They had state-of-the-art technology, everything was digital, why the hell did they need someone in archives? I pulled out my phone again and looked at the duties. Ah. It was to make everything digital.
I got a headache just thinking about how mind numbing and boring that job had to be. Could I function shut away in an office, uploading things into files, logging information, and never getting my adrenaline rush? Maybe my life would be infinitely easier with a dull nine-to-five job, and being confined in a room away from magic, with just paper and a computer to keep me company. Briefly, I considered the possibility, but I knew the answer.
“Erin.”
The familiar deep voice pulled me from my thoughts. On my right, Mephisto was getting out of his car. He’d traded his customary black suit for one in midnight blue, a woven dark patterned tie, and a shirt just a shade or two lighter than his suit. He looked at the building and then back at me. His brows arched, but he didn’t ask and I didn’t tell.
“You have business in this area?” I asked.
He nodded. “It seems that someone has been very busy claiming items that aren’t theirs.” His tone was rough, agitated. Perhaps he thought he would be next. The thief did seem to have a type: supernaturals who prided themselves on their collection of valuable magical objects.
“What was taken?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll have more information when I meet with them.”
I glanced at my watch, hesitating. Given a choice, I would rather continue to talk to Mephisto than to Dr. Sumner. But I didn’t have that choice.
Our session went as it always did, me looking at him for the first ten minutes as he waited for the metaphorical dam to break and for me to reveal all my feelings to him. It had been over two years and he was still waiting. Initially, I’d been going to the Stygian, but Sumner had condescended to take me on as a client. I’d always thought it was peculiar that a human would distinguish himself as the preferred therapist for supernaturals. It wasn’t as if there weren’t any—supes were in all professions—but ten years ago, when the city was plagued with young shifters who had difficulty controlling themselves and the city experienced a rash of vampire attacks, he’d been instrumental in helping manage the mayhem and his role became defined. I remained unconvinced his intervention was the reason for the cessation of attacks, which coincided with a change in the Alpha of the Northwest Pack, and the return of Landon and the Master of the Vampires to the city. I suspected a visit from the local Alpha and the Master did more to manage the shifters and vampires than anything Dr. Sumner did. But Dr. Sumner lavished in the accolades that came from his great work. His brilliance as a therapist and physician wasn’t in question—I’d give him that. I was, however, skeptical of his ability to deal with supes with the expertise for which he’d been celebrated.
He pushed his glasses up his nose, crossed his right leg over his left thigh, and looked up after he finished reviewing his notes. We started with all the same questions.
“When was the last time you borrowed magic?”
“A while?” Grayson didn’t count. I didn’t use the magic, and as far as I was concerned, it only counted when I did.
“Meditation?”
I shrugged. “Meditation.” It worked sometimes, but my mind drifted too much to my desire for magic, that initial feel of it coursing through my body. The euphoria of possessing it, having it at my fingertips. Meditation didn’t work as expected—not for me. But at the Stygian, I put on an award-winning performance about the therapeutic wonders of meditation.
“Are you drinking?”
“More than I’m meditating because it works better.”
He went on his spiel about alcohol decreasing inhibitions, masking problems, blah, blah, blah. I’d heard variations of the same line over the years. Eventually he noticed I’d zoned out and was staring at the closed drapes, which were never open during my sessions because, apparently, I’m too easily distracted. Now I was distracted by the patterns in the curtains.
“Wine comes from grapes, whiskey and bourbon from barley and corn. If I can farm it, is it that bad?” I asked.
A disapproving moue formed and disappeared.
“Drugs?” he breathed out in a stiff voice, poorly veiling his irritation.
“If it can be grown in my apartment, is it really a drug?”
My attention going to the door earned me a stern look. His glasses inched to the bottom of his nose so he could look at me over the top of them. My money was on the glasses being fake, worn solely to add to the stock therapist look he had going on, straight from central casting. I snorted.
Reasserting his neutral demeanor, he pushed his glasses farther up his nose in such a practiced sweep, I knew it was something he did often as an alternative to showing his emotions. His face didn’t show them, but his glacial stare did.
“You don’t have to tell Madison when I miss an appointment. She’s not medical power of attorney. I am.”
“These sessions were court ordered. The confidentiality requirements are different,” he said coolly. “It’s been over two years, and we aren’t making progress. I’d like you to go without using your magic as a choice. Like you’re human. Humans don’t have the option to use magic.”
Human. The word seemed so obtuse in describing me and my magic. Saying what people considered me was too simplistic. I only had magic when I borrowed magic from others, so many supernaturals didn’t consider me one of them. But I had the ability to borrow magic, something humans couldn’t do, so I would never be considered human either.
“I can get you a prescript—”
“I don’t need a goddamn med, sorry.” The sorry was punctuation, not an actual show of remorse. “I don’t even think about possessing magic for myself anymore. I know that it will always be fleeting. That I will never have it indefinitely and at my disposal. And when I do use magic, I only borrow it from one source, Cory, my best friend, and I would never take his magic as my own.”
I didn’t elaborate because Dr. Sumner knew what it entailed to take someone’s magic. He didn’t need reminding of it, of what I was, or my past transgressions.
“Let’s explore your relationship with Cory. Are you two lovers?” He tilted his head before scribbling something on his pad. The unreadable look on his face bothered me. His low and even tone bothered me. It was the way they spoke at the clinic. But this wasn’t the clinic. His office had light walls and a nice-sized window that looked onto the street. Dark wooden bookcases filled with books lined one wall. His desk, just a few feet away, was neat. Everything had a place. Structure.
I didn’t want to “explore” my relationship with Cory. I let my eyes meet his light-blue ones again. They always held a hint of disgust.
“You don’t like me?” I asked. Sumner didn’t say it—I doubted that he could as a professional—but I wondered if he thought I was nothing more than a woman who’d gotten away with murder. A death mage.
His eyes widened and he moistened his lips. “Would you like another therapist? Perhaps a therapist from the Stygian?”
Refusing to succumb to the anxiety that accompanied any thoughts of returning to that place, I took several slow, measured breaths. He knew I didn’t want to go back there. He was losing patience with me. I was just one psychological test, angry word, or inappropriate joke from being put back in there. Continuing with Dr. Sumner was my best option.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
He looked me over slowly. I had made sure my hair was neat, a few soft curls framing my face. I had on a fitted white shirt. I liked white. It was calming, pure. But only for clothes. I hated white walls. His gaze roved over my jeans and lace-up boots and then back up to my face. I had on lip gloss, and his eyes rested there while measuring the smile that it highlighted as I waited for him to answer.
