So when she refused to be fed a piece of cheesecake, Isaac employed the airplane method to get her to open up—and it worked like a charm.
Laughing, Edith grabbed his wrist and asked, “This is your idea of romance?”
“Is that what I'm supposed to be doing?” he asked, grinning. “Because I don't know a damned thing about romance.”
“Guess that makes two of us,” she smirked, snatching the fork to offer him the bite instead.
“Oh, you wanna feed me,” he remarked, parting his lips to accept.
Pulling the fork from his mouth, she snickered, mentioning, “Of course. Letting you stick things in my mouth too soon would just get your hopes up.”
Despite his vast amusement, Isaac groaned. If this was Edith's idea of playful banter, he was doomed.
But before he could make a comeback, the waitress returned and settled their check on the table. In the process, Edith became distracted from eating her own bite of cheesecake by watching the woman walk away, then excitedly patted her hand on the table.
“A feather!”
“What?”
“Her earrings were feathers, and I need one.”
Smiling over her excitement at discovering the next item needed for her Calling, Isaac inquired, “Just any feather?”
As if the question reminded her that she didn't have specifics, she cussed, “Damn. Now I need to figure that out.”
“Not having any visions of where to go?”
“No,” she drew out, staring off in thought. “When I saw the roses on the plate at Charlotte's, it felt like there was something on the tip of my tongue, as if I already knew what it was. But now? I just know I need a feather.”
Nodding, he suggested, “It'll come to you. Or I'll just have to alienate the entire bird population by plucking every feathered bastard I see until you get what you need.”
Having just sipped her drink, Edith quickly covered her mouth until she could swallow the liquid, then leaned against him, giggling incessantly.
“You're messed up, Isaac.”
“You won't hear me arguing,” he grinned, wrapping his arms around her—and damned if it didn't feel perfect. I might be messed up, but fuck if I'm not … happy.
His grin slowly faded at the thought, recalling a time when happy wasn't a part of his vocabulary, nor was he interested in learning what it meant. Ulric had just pulled him out of the Pit, and he was far from civil, having no idea what the mortal world was like, or why he should've counted his blessings for being there.
“You're actually more than I'd expected. Not that I set the bar very high.”
Isaac growled at the finely dressed female standing outside the steel bars of his windowless prison. It certainly wasn't a physical structure he couldn't escape under normal circumstances, but magic had rendered the bars impervious to damage, and his teleportation abilities useless.
“Why did you have mercenaries bring me here?” he demanded.
The raven haired beauty initially remained silent, her piercing silver eyes giving the impression they could see through him completely. She was the first aristocratic female Isaac had ever laid eyes on—that he could recall—and her gossamer gown, manicured nails, and regal stance was nothing less than what he'd expected.
It was her second visit to his cell during the three days he'd been held there. The first time, she hadn't said a word, allowing Dalris Dra'Kai to introduce her as Chandra, a sorceress who'd charged a mercenary band with the task of liberating him from the Pit.
Isaac demanded to know why then, so leery of everyone he'd come into contact with in this new realm that he'd almost rather kill them than look at them. But the sorceress only offered a scrutinizing gaze, then left the prison without an answer.
Now, she actually replied, “I have many reasons for freeing you, Isaac, but the most important is that you're going to fulfill a prophecy.”
“What prophecy? And why should I give a fuck?”
“Because this prophecy involves usurping the very demon who threw you in the Pit without a name.”
Isaac rolled his eyes. “I'm supposed to covet the chance for revenge against someone I don't even remember?”
“That wouldn't make you happy?”
“Happy?” He scoffed. “Doesn't exist, and I'd be just as happy snapping your pretty neck.”
“Curious,” she mused cryptically. “Then perhaps you'd be interested in knowing this prophecy also foretells your mate.”
Something deep within Isaac clenched with want, an instinctive reaction he'd never been able to rid himself of despite the dread that always accompanied it whenever he considered finding her in a place such as the Pit. But if this prophecy mentioned her, perhaps he was meant to find her elsewhere. Maybe I shouldn't kill them right away …
Still, letting his curiosity get the better of him would only ensure disappointment. So he ignored the sensation, shrugging his broad shoulders. “My mate? What woman would fate want to curse badly enough to make mine for eternity?”
Chandra parted her lips to respond, but the sound of a door opening at the other end of the hall interrupted their conversation—
“Isaac?”
Edith's voice brought his thoughts back to the present, and he looked at her just as she asked, “What are you thinking about? You look so serious.”
Without pause for thought, Isaac replied casually, “Just trying to figure out what color your panties are.”
Edith rolled her eyes. “Fine, if you don't wanna tell me, then don't.”
“What? That's a serious matter, and I'm guessing they're sky blue.”
“Why sky blue?”
He shrugged. “Lavender?”
“Stop guessing!”
“Are you even wearing any?”
“Shut it!” Edith exclaimed, laughing despite her retort, and Isaac grinned.
Centuries ago, he'd been unwilling to let himself hope, believing happiness to be a delusion at best, and a lie at worst. But after spending so many years in Terra, he'd learned that the truth of the matter was actually pretty simple, and it sounded in Edith's laughter; happiness was there for the taking if he wanted it badly enough.
Isaac had never figured out if he actually deserved it, but he also didn't care. One way or another, he was going to grab it with both hands and hold on for eternity.
Ten
• • •
Regardless of Isaac's reassurances, an entire week passed and Edith was no closer to figuring out what kind of feather she needed.
But she was seeing them everywhere.
One was stuck to the car when they left the restaurant, and another on the sidewalk outside of the hotel she'd chosen to stay in. The next morning, a bird got trapped in the lobby, leaving several tail feathers behind. What's more, they were all white, but that certainly wasn't specific enough to be revealing.
Charlotte tried to help by sending text after text naming every single bird with white feathers she could think of, and even listed a few supernatural creatures such as griffins. But none of them set off any bells.
So Edith watched television and surfed the net looking for clues, only to be met with the same negative results.
But the situation wasn't entirely frustrating when other items were revealing themselves in the meantime, and some were strange, such as a wine bottle cork. But the most difficult to find were the wings of a Greta Oto—a Glasswing Butterfly—and Edith hadn't even acquired them herself.
Instead, whenever she mentioned an item to Isaac, he'd say I'll be back, teleport away, then return a little later with precisely what she needed.
At first, Edith was grateful for his quick deliveries. But when Isaac continued to grab the items without her needing to lift a finger, she began feeling uneasy. This isn't exactly how a Calling is supposed to go.
She also had the sense that saving magical energy wasn't the demon's only motivation for going alone, nor was it a matter of safety. His assessment that the shadow fiend was only a spy seemed to
be accurate considering Edith hadn't been attacked since then—a trend she hoped continued.
But somehow, every time Isaac gave her something she'd needed for her staff, it felt personal, as if he was offering a gift no one else could've given. He's trying to impress me.
Not that Isaac was doing much flirting otherwise, or even generally misbehaving. Quite the opposite, actually. His oath prevented him from invading her privacy or pushing to get close, and they were getting along well enough.
Yet Edith was avoiding the demon as often as possible.
Ever since their lunch together the day she'd acquired her rose quartz, she knew there was much more to Isaac than she'd initially given him credit for. Was he truly some noble knight in shining armor? No way. More like a devious hellion in tight leather pants—and good lord, those pants. Every time Edith thought of the way they'd showcased his ass, she nearly fanned herself.
But for all his misconduct, she'd come to realize he'd never actually hurt anyone unless he thought they deserved it, and it was getting harder to ignore her growing interest.
Still, it seemed … wrong. A sexy, virile demon was ready to shower her with as much attention as she could stand—if she let him—and knowing he wouldn't reject her was promising after years of low self esteem had kept her alone. But that wasn't the right reason to pursue an interest.
They both deserved better than settling just because one had a fated connection and the other was starved for attention.
Besides, she was still mortal, and no matter how confident she was about completing her Calling successfully, Edith wasn't going to count her eggs before they hatched.
So she'd avoided Isaac, pacing herself to make certain she was beginning to like him for the right reasons. But that was just as hard to figure out as the type of feather she needed, and by the time the weekend rolled around, Edith decided she'd searched for answers long enough.
It was Friday evening, and she opted to do something entirely unrelated to her Calling by visiting a place she'd wanted to see since her training began—the Mystic Market.
It was an industry set up by supernaturals in the mortal world focused on the trade of magical goods. Most markets existed in Spires, and though Edith considered her visit recreational, who knew, someone could be selling tools that would come in handy on her Calling, or even give her ideas for making her own.
So, at her request, Isaac teleported them to the Richmond Spire, and the market was certainly lively. The scent of various spices mingled with that of magic while consumers browsed, bartered, and argued over prices.
Those arguments remained verbal, however. Because a Spire was meant to be a sanctuary where violence was forbidden on pain of death, the consumers and vendors never raised a hand no matter how loudly they started yelling.
This also meant Edith's safety wasn't an issue, allowing Isaac the freedom to roam—and he took advantage. About ten minutes after they arrived, the demon mentioned his intent to return soon while staring off toward a particular area as if something had caught his eye.
“Okay,” Edith returned somewhat absently, too busy looking over the items at a booth she'd come across to pay much attention. Curse boxes, potions, wands, and even a basket filled with enchanted jewelry were all lined up in neat rows across the table top, and she rummaged through it with interest.
“Hey there, looking for something specific?” a man's voice asked.
Edith glanced in the direction the question had come from, but no one was there. So she looked down. Then down again.
Not far away was a two foot tall gnome with large, pointed ears, wiry brown hair springing up from a set of goggles strapped around his head, and a friendly smile that proved to be infectious.
Shaking her head, Edith replied, “I'm just browsing. Is this your shop?”
“Yep, and I was gonna suggest visiting my place in Atlanta because my best jewelry is there, but if you're just browsing, then browse away.”
Edith grinned as the gnome climbed to the top of his counter via stepladder, then took a seat on a small pillow at the right corner that resembled a miniature bean bag.
Tugging a pipe free of his belt, he asked, “Don't mind if I smoke, do ya?”
“Not at all,” she answered, lifting a vial of clear liquid to read the label; Three Hour Invisibility Potion. The description made her smirk, while the three hundred dollar price tag made her cringe.
Settling the bottle back down—carefully—she asked the gnome, “Do you do a lot of business here?”
“Not as much as in Atlanta, but I do well enough.” Puffing his pipe against a lit match, he exhaled a few smoke rings, adding, “You new to the supernatural?”
“Not exactly, why? Do I look too mortal or something?”
The gnome grinned. “Naw, it was just your reaction to the price tag on that potion. Most humans always seem surprised.”
Nodding in understanding, Edith qualified, “This is my first visit to the Mystic Market,” without saying more. Strangers didn't need to overhear that she was on her Final Calling, or even know she was a mage at all.
So she changed the subject to keep the gnome from asking questions. “Where does all this stuff come from, anyway?”
“Depends on the vendor,” he answered. “Some are mages who craft their own items, and others, like me, tend to scavenge, or buy broken goods to fix and sell.”
Edith had taken to looking over his merchandise again when the mention of scavenging struck a chord. Somehow, the thought of a scavenger seemed pertinent to her need for a feather. But Charlotte already suggested a vulture, and that's not it. So what the hell is it?
Putting her attention back on the gnome, she asked on a hunch, “Do you sell any feathers? Or know anyone here who does?”
“Sure. What kind of feathers?”
That was the very question Edith was hoping to answer now, and she shrugged. “Any kind. Birds, griffins, whatever has them.”
The gnome seemed to think it over, then snapped his fingers and stood. “Actually, I do have some here, but just a handful of cockatrice and harpy feathers.”
The moment he said harpy, Edith gasped, “That's it.” Harpies were scavengers, so it made perfect sense!
“What's it?” the gnome asked, rummaging through a bag.
“Harpy feathers,” she replied just as he tugged an ornate box out and brought it to her.
From inside, the gnome plucked up his supply, handing them over. “There's what I have here, five harpy feathers.”
Taking them, Edith spread the medium length feathers out in her fingers like a hand of cards, then frowned. They're all brown and black.
“No white ones?”
He thoughtfully narrowed his gaze. “Harpy feathers don't come in white that I know of. But you could probably dye them.”
Dying the feathers wouldn't get Edith what she needed precisely, though she had no idea why her Calling was directing her to get a white harpy feather if they didn't actually exist. Must be rare. Wonderful.
Still, she smiled at the gnome and nodded, handing his merchandise back. “True, I'll just have to get some dye to do it.”
Smiling, the vendor wished her luck, and Edith offered thanks while leaving to find Isaac and let him know he wouldn't have to pluck a bunch of birds after all, grinning when she recalled his ridiculous boast.
But it seemed the demon had already found her, strolling in her direction from across the way with a particularly satisfied, and altogether devious smirk on his face.
Suspicious, Edith inquired, “What did you do?”
“Don't know what you're talking about, I'm as innocent as the day is long.”
Leading him away from the majority of the vendors so she could inform him of her discovery without anyone overhearing, she mentioned, “If that were true, Charlotte would be extremely unhappy because daytime would only last about five minutes.”
“Not sure it'd even be that long,” Isaac grinned, coming to a stop with her at an empty space near a
n elevator. “So, find anything interesting?”
“Yeah, actually. I finally figured out what kind of feather I need, but I think it's rare.”
“What is it?”
“A white harpy feather.”
Isaac took that in, then scoffed. “That'd be a crone harpy feather, and they're kinda rare, but not impossible to find.”
“A crone harpy?”
“Yeah, just an old harpy with white hair and feathers,” he explained simply. “Harpies fight so much they don't usually survive into old age, but sometimes one ends up taking over a nest.”
Edith had never seen a harpy face to face, but she knew they were highly aggressive, avaricious creatures who stole and scavenged whatever they could get their talons on. More importantly, she knew they were easily charmed with magic, but could also see through certain spells, such as invisibility.
Still, her knowledge meant little until she located a nest where a crone was roosting. It was just a matter of researching their favorite hangouts—or asking Isaac, who probably already had an answer.
“Okay, how do I find one?”
“You let me take you to it. I know where a nest with a crone is.”
“How?”
“About two years ago, Ulric was commissioned to recover a stolen crown for some noblewoman. I helped, and we tracked it to a nest and found a crone wearing it.”
“You didn't have to kill her to get it back?”
“Nah, the nest was sleeping when we got there, and I teleported over, snatched it, and we left. So she should still be there, unless someone else destroyed the nest since then, which … I won't lie, it's possible. But even if the nest's gone, there's probably some feathers scattered around, so we can just go, grab one, and leave.”
That was true, and it sounded easy enough to get the feather whether or not the crone was actually there—though Edith was really starting to wonder if Isaac's abilities just made things seem that way. When they'd acquired her rose quartz, they'd worked as a team, but he'd been grabbing items for her left and right ever since, and it was making her feel the same way she had as a teenager. Not good enough.
The Final Calling Page 10
