I pulled my car over to the curb in front of an old white farmhouse with a small front porch and a black metal roof. Somehow, it made the dark street comforting. A sign in painted black letters embellished with stars read TWILIGHT NATURAL MEDICINE. Gareth’s shop.
I sat for a moment staring at the white batten board siding, my pulse racing. I knew there was a chance, a big one, that Gareth might refuse to ask Evanora for her grimoire. He might think it too dangerous. I would deal with that later.
I killed the engine and got out. Tyrius jumped out of the car and landed on the cement sidewalk next to me. The street was empty, but I heard the mumbles of cars in the distance. The sun had set a while ago, leaving the sky a dark navy. The only light came from the hissing lampposts making yellow puddles of light on the street and sidewalks.
Together, we made for the front door seeing the CLOSED sign on the window. The lights were off on the first floor, but I could see soft yellow light spilling from the second-floor windows.
“If he’s in there and not dying, he’s going to wish he was.”
Tyrius chuckled. “Just make sure he can still use his fingers to heal Danto. He doesn’t need the other parts.” With his tail high in the air, he looked at the door. “Is it locked?”
“Doesn’t matter. I have a key.” My set of keys jingled as I pulled them out, trying to ignore the smug smile on Tyrius’s face. I tried the handle just in case, but it was locked. I slid the key inside the lock, turned the handle and pushed the door open.
“So, does the elf have a set of keys to your place?” Inquired the cat, an impish smile on his face. “You know what that means, right? If he gave you keys… it’s freaking serious.”
I tried to keep my face from showing any emotions, but the curling from the corners of my mouth betrayed me. “Just get in, will you.”
Tyrius slipped past my legs and bounded inside the small shop, his tail in the air and laughing.
“Tyrius, one day I swear I’m going to kick you.”
The cat laughed harder.
I shut the door behind me and followed him in. The lights were off, but there was still good enough light pouring in from the outside street lights through the two front windows to light the entire place in a soft yellow glow.
The shop was small, about the size of my living room, cramped with rows of shelves stacked with hundreds of glass jars, all neatly arranged alphabetically. The air drifted with the scent of ginger and mint. And with it, the soft traces of sulfur and lavender, the scent of elves.
“He’s here all right,” mewed the cat, next to me. “It stinks of elf.”
But there was something else in the air. It was faint and cold, but I recognized it nonetheless—the familiar pull of demon magic, pullomancy.
My elf stone necklace pulsed, as though in recognition.
“This place is so clean, it’s sickening,” said the baal demon. He halted suddenly, sat on the floor, and began to scratch excessively.
“Uh… what are you doing?” I questioned as I crossed the room, knowing that baals couldn’t have fleas because their demon blood was toxic to insects.
“Just adding a little dander and hair is all,” answered the cat. He stood up and shook his body, sending more cat hair and dander into the air and onto Gareth’s spotless floor. His blue eyes met mine and he beamed. “It’s going to drive Gareth mad as hell. You’re welcome.”
Rolling my eyes, I made for the small back door next to the counter that led to the elf’s apartment on the upper floor of the shop. The counter was packed with an assortment of books, candles, and more glass jars. Just as I moved past the counter I halted.
“Gareth’s phone,” I said as I picked it up. I swiped the screen. Thirty missed calls. All from me. Damn. I was a stalker.
“At least you know now why he didn’t pick up,” said the cat.
With his phone in my hand, I slipped through the door with Tyrius at my heels and climbed the steps.
Boots clunking, I headed for the door to Gareth’s apartment, Tyrius going before me in bounds of cheerful curses and grunts. My heart beat in time to my steps, but I tried to stay positive. He’d better have a good excuse. If he was in there with someone else… I was going to castrate him.
The closer I got to the door at the top of the stairs, the faster my pulse throbbed.
I didn’t bother to knock as I turned the handle and opened the door, nor did I pay any attention at first to the strong sulfur scent mixed with lavender. But then it pulled my head up.
Heart throbbing, I halted mid-step, my hand still on the doorknob as I took in the scene before me.
Gareth’s kitchen table was crowded with ceramic bowls, dishes, bottles, boxes, vials, flasks, tins and every other kind of small container imaginable. Individual glass containers were labeled with black marker. It was like he’d brought up an entire month’s supply from his store. Large pots were brewing on his stove, coating his apartment with exotic scents I wasn’t familiar with.
His kitchen was transformed into his own lab. I’d always wondered where he prepared his elf magic, his pullomancy. I just never expected it to be in a place so mundane as his kitchen.
Tyrius brushed my legs as he skipped past me into the room.
The elf looked up from the kitchen table. “Rowyn? Tyrius? What are you doing here? What’s happened?”
He was wearing a white lab coat stained with green, yellow and pink spots. But it did nothing to hide his broad shoulders and trim arms and thick chest. His dark eyes found me and my heart did a flip inside my ribcage. I was digging the sexy scientist look.
“What’s happened is that you should keep your phone on you. Always.” I closed the door and crossed the room. I dropped his phone on a spot on the table that wasn’t covered in jars, bowls or elf dust.
The elf gave me an impish smile. “Sorry. Pullomancy is a tricky business. I’ve been working all day. Measuring, mixing up ingredients, stirring, simmering, and waiting. Guess I lost track of time.”
He was lucky he was so damn cute in his lab coat. Otherwise I might have punched him. I moved over to the kitchen, my hip bumping against the counter as I leaned over his stove.
“Is this how you do it?” Every burner was occupied by large brewing pots. My nose was tickled by the scent of bubble gum and the strong smell of cinnamon.
“It is,” answered the elf. “I was running low on my dust.”
I raised my brow. “I never imagined you had to brew it first.”
“Like those damn witches with their cauldrons,” offered Tyrius as he jumped up on one of the empty kitchen chairs, his nose in one of the bowls. “Dude,” he added in a whisper. “You got any love potions?”
Gareth smiled. “I can arrange that for you.”
Tyrius sat back, his features complacent and looking way too happy. I was going to ask him about that later.
Gareth pushed back his chair and came to stand next to the stove, seemingly happy I showed some interest. “Each ingredient is different for each and every potion, and for each person who makes them. You need water as a base, and then you add your ingredients. Your solids, to engage your senses and your spirit.”
I gagged as one of the potions in the pot exploded into puffs of orange smoke that smelled of rotten eggs and began to froth.
I leaned back. “So if I were to do one, it would be weaker than if you did it.”
“Precisely,” answered the elf, looking pleased. Part of me wanted to pull him closer, to nibble on those full lips. “Once they’re ready, you have to put your own energy into them to activate them. Like turning on a switch. It takes a lot of mental effort and willpower. For me, it’s the energy that comes from the elements. I draw from them.”
“Elemental magic,” I said.
“Exactly.”
All this elf dust had me nearly forgetting the real reason we came here. I turned from the stove. “Gareth. Something’s happened to Danto.”
“And Layla too,” added Tyrius.
Garet
h glanced from me to Tyrius, his face tight with sudden nerves. “What about them?”
I shifted my weight. “Lucian tricked Layla into taking the gift. It’s in her now. And I couldn’t stop it.”
“And she kicked Danto’s ass with it,” finished Tyrius.
My stomached clenched. “She’s completely lost it. She doesn’t recognize her friends anymore.”
“She attacked Rowyn too,” said Tyrius.
Gareth’s smooth features went tight with a worry far beyond his years. His hands clasped before him with a white-knuckled strength, and his expression was pained—not for him but for me. Alarm shone on his face as he stepped closer, inspecting me like he thought I’d have the marks on me still.
“I’m fine,” I said, glad to see how much he cared on some level. “She’s Lucian’s puppet now. I have a really bad feeling he’s about to do something. I don’t know what, but I know a lot of people will die. But first, Danto needs your help. He’s in really bad shape. Evanora says—”
“You’ve been to see the witch?” Gareth’s posture shifted.
I took a deep breath. “That’s how desperate I am. Danto’s dying. But she can’t help him. She says only you can save him.”
Gareth raked his hands through his hair. He was quiet for a long time, and that made me nervous.
“Gareth?”
“I don’t have the elf dust to heal him from that,” he said, and I frowned at the heaviness in his tone and the haunted look in his eyes.
I shifted from foot to foot. “But you’ve helped Evanora and me with your healing magic.”
His face twisted as though he was in physical pain. “This is different. This is archdemon magic. A dark, archdemon curse. It’s much more powerful.”
My heart sank. “Are you sure?” My insides churned like they were being rearranged in my belly, swirling up into my throat.
“I am,” said the elf, making Tyrius curse as he exhaled long and low. “Only dragon’s breath can save him.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Dragon’s breath?”
Tyrius perked up. “Evanora has a serious case of dragon breath.”
“It’s a very rare and powerful elf dust,” continued Gareth as though Tyrius hadn’t randomly interrupted. “It’s the only thing that can remove the archdemon curse and heal him. It burns away darkness.” He hesitated, his jaw clenching. “The problem is. The powder that is used to make dragon’s breath can only be found in one place in the world.”
My lips parted. “Where?”
Gareth reached out and touched my elf stone with his fingers, brushing it lightly.
“Imadell,” he said. “The elven city.”
9
Turns out, Imadell, the secret elven city was right here in New York City, right under the humans’ and our paranormal noses. You just had to know where to look—and how to look.
You needed elven magic to see through the glamour, like a VIP pass. Without it, you couldn’t see through their glamour. Which meant, only elves could enter the secret city because only they could actually see it.
Thank the souls we had an elf with us.
The last time I checked my phone, it was half past ten at night. Surprisingly I wasn’t tired. I was wired way too tightly. We needed to reach the elven city tonight if I wanted to save Danto. The fact that the elven city was in New York City gave me a sense of relief since it wasn’t too far away.
My boots crunched on the mix of rock, dirt and dry leaves as we hiked up the trail, a grove of giant oaks and maples on either side of the path. Gareth hiked alongside me, and Tyrius was wrapped comfortably around my shoulders while making snarky comments at my lack of speed.
Wind rustled through the forest around me, and silver moonlight, brighter than I would have thought possible, bathed everything in hues of silvers and blues—surreal beauty. It was enough to see the path clearly.
We were in Inwood Hill Park, the northernmost part of Manhattan. Unlike other Manhattan parks, Inwood Hill Park was largely natural, non-landscaped, and filled with mostly wild forest. The forest smelled of wet earth, leaves, and pinecones—a far cry from the exhaust fumes and the lingering stench of garbage I’d grown accustomed to in the city. The park was scenic and beautiful. I gladly breathed in the fresh air.
Trees and greenery grew thick, and the sounds that surrounded us weren’t the nighttime noises of New York City but the buzz of locusts and the chittering of other insects and animals I didn’t recognize. Somehow it didn’t surprise me that the elves would pick such a wild, natural and secluded environment for their secret city. There was something mystical about it.
Still, among its natural beauty, the supernatural lingered. I felt them. The familiar, undulating demon energies, crawling over my skin like hundreds of ants. The supernatural lived here.
“How much further, oh wise elf?” came Tyrius’s voice beside my ear, his whiskers rubbing against my cheek, and I stifled a shiver.
“We’re almost there,” replied Gareth, his stride never faltering as he hiked up the path like he’d done it a thousand times. He probably had.
He’d been very quiet since we entered the forest, too quiet. “How long has it been since you’ve been here?” I stepped over a fallen tree that’d split in half when it hit the ground. These were the times I was glad I had on my flat boots and not a pair of flimsy sandals.
A muscle feathered in the elf’s jaw. “Fifteen years.”
“Damn,” whispered Tyrius.
I squinted at Gareth. “I’m guessing the welcoming committee is out.”
Gareth’s face remained blank for a telling moment. “We’re here for the dragon’s breath. We get it and then we leave.”
“That simple, huh?”
“Yes.” The light wrinkles around his eyes deepened as his jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened.
I knew he was risking more shunning and banishment from his family coming back to the city and coming with me—a non-elf. I didn’t know much about the elf culture, but I did know they didn’t like outsiders. Right now, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what they thought of me. I wasn’t here to make friends. Danto’s life was more important than good relations with the elves.
There was history that Gareth never shared with me. He never talked about his family, and I never really saw how much it bothered him until now.
Fifteen years was a long time without seeing one’s family. People changed. They grew old and bitter. And something inside me told me that getting our hands on some dragon’s breath wasn’t going to be easy.
“Uh—I think that’s it,” said Tyrius as he leapt off my shoulder and landed on the ground. “Yeah. There’s definitely some glamour here at work.”
Sure enough, a tingling rolled across my skin, and the air was thick with a pulsing energy. The tingling lifted, and I peered around the edge of the forest with Tyrius leaning next to me. Ambiguous, shadowy shapes stirred in the wind between us and the forest, flimsy as any shadow.
A wind rose, and the wall of trees and forests lifted, revealing a large meadow with hills surrounded by silver waters. Hundreds of shimmering golden lights floated out across the field like fireflies, little more than mirages of moonlight.
And there, illuminated by the soft glow of city lights, was the elven city.
“Welcome,” said Gareth, his shoulder brushing against mine, “to Imadell.”
“Wow. It’s beautiful.”
No wonder the elves chose to live here instead of the cramped and dingy Mystic Quarter. This place was a paradise of grassy hills, wildflowers, and cherry and apple trees still in full blossom, all surrounded by shimmering silver waters. It held an eerie beauty at night, so I could only imagine it must be breathtaking in daylight.
Hell, even I would live here. But I knew I was just kidding myself. Non-elves weren’t welcomed in the city, as Gareth had put it.
As soon as we’d crossed the invisible barrier, or glamour, I felt the energy of the elves coursing throughout the forest, concentrated, filling up t
he air, the ground, and even the trees surrounding us. The smell of lavender, wildflowers, and earth was intoxicating.
The trail wound back and forth and then opened onto a grassy clearing, and Gareth and I followed it. The cat crept along the path ahead of us, his ears perked high on his head and his tail low to the ground, twitching with a nervous energy. He stopped every few feet to sniff at the ground or a shrub and then took off again.
Seeing Tyrius edgy had my own tension rising. Prickles of sweat popped out on my forehead, my armpits wet and sliding effortlessly as I swung my arms. Great. Now I’d meet Gareth’s family drenched in sweat and stinky.
I clenched my hands, not knowing what else to do with them without the feel of a weapon grasped there. I knew I wouldn’t be welcomed here, and I was taking a huge risk venturing into a secret city where I knew there’d be trouble of the fighting kind. I just hoped they wouldn’t kill us before we got our hands on some dragon’s breath.
I eased into a more comfortable walk and calmed my breathing, straining to listen to the forest over the wind and getting a feel for the natural sounds. A breeze set the branches rustling. I scanned the hills carefully, watching and listening for sets of feet or anything else.
“Fifteen years is a long time,” I told the elf, watching for a reaction and getting none. “You think we can still get some dragon’s breath.”
“Don’t worry about that.”
I pressed my lips together. “I am worried. Evanora said Danto’s aura was thin. He doesn’t have very long. What if we get there, and they refuse? Then what?”
“They won’t.”
“And you’re sure about that.”
“I am.” Gareth looked at me. “It’ll be fine. We’ll get the dragon’s breath and we’ll save Danto.” His eyes moved to my necklace. “Keep it hidden under your shirt. Don’t let them see it.”
“Why?”
“It’s for the best. Just do it.”
I opened my mouth just as Tyrius came bounding down the path. “Can you feel the wild magic? The elves’ energies? It’s everywhere. In the trees, the grass, the flowers. Even in the air you breathe. This whole place stinks of it.” The cat made a face. “I think I’m going to hurl.”
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