Cold Burn of Magic

by Jennifer Estep

  I snorted. The plaque failed to mention the real history of the town. Namely, that the Sinclairs and the Draconis had both been poor mountain families who ran moonshine during Prohibition before they realized they could make more money by luring tourists to town and showing them the scenery and monsters. Rumor had it that a Sinclair had opened up the first business in town, a shack selling fudge and other sweets to tourists at the base of the mountain. A Draconi had retaliated by setting up an ice cream cart. And so on and so forth, until the town had become what it was today, with the Sinclairs and the Draconis still fighting for control of everything. It was more Hatfields and McCoys, or Capulets and Montagues, than a fairy tale come true, but the town officials had prettied up the past, just like they had everything else.

  I was skirting the fountain when a pack of girls stepped in front of me, laughing and talking. I rolled my eyes and pulled up short, but I still couldn’t help clipping the shoulder of the girl on the edge of the pack, one who looked around my age.

  “Watch where you’re going,” she growled.

  “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” I snapped right back.

  The girl stopped, then turned to face me. She was beautiful, with long golden hair, perfect porcelain skin, and dark blue eyes that glittered with anger. She was the only girl in the group not wearing a sundress, although her white shorts and cropped red top were still the best that money could buy.

  So was the black blade belted to her waist.

  Guns had long ago been banned in Cloudburst Falls for the simple reason that big, beefy, scary-looking guards carrying guns made the tourist rubes nervous. So the Sinclairs, Draconis, and other Families kept law and order with swords, daggers, and, you know, other sharp, pointed weapons. And the tourism officials had totally embraced the idea, claiming that the old-fashioned weapons added to the town’s magical atmosphere. Whatever.

  Besides, a gun wouldn’t do you much good against someone with a speed Talent, who could dodge bullets like they were as big and slow as beach balls. A little more magic and a whole lot more skill was involved to keep out of the way of a sword’s edge for any length of time, especially if the person wielding the weapon knew what she was doing.

  This girl looked like she knew exactly what to do with her sword. In fact, she was already rocking back and forth on her feet, ready to attack me at a moment’s notice, studying me as closely as I was her.

  She took in my battered black backpack, sneakers, gray cargo pants, and faded blue T-shirt that had been washed and worn a dozen times too many before her gaze focused on my wrist. I knew what she was looking for. A cuff that would let her know which Family I belonged to, if any.

  Like the one she was wearing.

  A gold cuff wrapped around her right wrist, a snarling dragon stamped into the middle of the gleaming metal. Blond hair, black blade, gold cuff. Terrific. Out of all the girls in the square, out of all the ones in the entire town, I had to run into her.

  I might not care much for the Families, but I recognized the dragon crest and the girl in front of me—Deah Draconi, daughter of Victor Draconi, head of the Draconi Family, the most powerful man in town.

  “What did you say?” Deah demanded.

  Her companions all wore the same gold cuffs stamped with the same Draconi dragon crest. The girls spread out, forming a semicircle behind Deah. Apparently, they didn’t want to get in her way should she decide to slice me in two with her sword, something she was exceptionally good at, if you believed the rumors.

  I would have liked nothing more than to tell Deah Draconi exactly what I thought about her, and especially about her horrible father, but I forced myself to swallow my anger.

  “Nothing.”

  “Yeah.” She smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

  Deah stared at me, her blue eyes bright with a clear challenge. Thinking that she was the alpha bitch here, she wanted me to lower my gaze and look away, but I lifted my chin and glared right back at her. Surprise flashed in her eyes, then wariness. She recognized an enemy when she saw one. Her hand dropped to her sword, her fingers curling around the hilt and hiding the intricate scrollwork and symbols from sight, as she considered me.

  Part of me wished she would draw her weapon. Because being a thief wasn’t the only thing I was good at, and I itched to show her that I was exactly the same sort of tough girl she was. Even if picking a fight with a Draconi was pretty close to suicide.

  She smirked at me again. “Come on,” Deah said to her entourage. “This nobody isn’t worth dirtying up my clothes.”

  She drove her shoulder into mine, making me stagger to one side, before walking past me. The other girls giggled, but Deah never even looked back as she sashayed away.

  Of course she wouldn’t. I didn’t belong to a Family, so I was a nobody, just like she’d said.

  I stood there, my cheeks burning, my body rigid, my hands clenched into fists. Part of me wanted to run after her, grab her shoulder, spin her around, and plant my fist in her face for what she’d done to me, for what her Family had done to mine—

  A happy shriek of laughter from a little boy tossing pennies into the fountain snapped me out of my anger. I shook my head, banishing the treacherous thoughts. Letting my emotions get the best of me, especially when it came to the Draconis, would be a quick way to die, and I was far too sensible for such things.

  At least, that’s what I told myself. Even if I did glare at Deah Draconi’s back until she and her friends left the square behind.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I pushed aside the rest of my anger and headed for the store that took up the entire back section of the square. A flashing blue neon sign over the entrance screamed THE RAZZLE DAZZLE in ten-foot-high letters surrounded by a cascade of stars. As an added touch, the white stars winked on and off, burning even brighter than the blue letters. Mo wasn’t exactly subtle when it came to his advertising—or greed.

  I pushed through the double doors, causing a series of lochness bones to rattle together, and stepped inside. Despite its grand name and neon sign, the Razzle Dazzle was what most tourist rubes—what most everyone—would call a pawnshop. And that’s if they were being nice. Junk store was way more appropriate.

  Glass cases filled the store, stretching from wall to wall and front to back, housing everything from jewelry to digital cameras to musical instruments. And that wasn’t counting the metal racks full of books that crouched in the corners, the rolled-up movie posters crammed into bins, or the fake and not-so-fake art prints and paintings that decorated the walls, along with stuffed tree troll and other monster heads.

  All that and more could be found inside the Razzle Dazzle, as the tourists and other desperate folks pawned whatever they had for cash. These sad customers hoped for enough to buy just a few more casino chips or to pay their hotel bill for just one more night so they could strike it rich for sure the next day. Mo would pay or trade for anything he thought he could resell for more money later on, hence the odd mix of items. Still, I liked the cozy feel of the clutter. Mo had some real treasures hidden in here, and you never knew what you were going to find from one aisle, one case, one day, to the next.

  But the good stuff—the genuine, quality jewelry and weapons—was in the back half of the store, housed in cases much sturdier than the simple glass they appeared to be made out of, with locks that you didn’t dare try to pick or bust open, unless you wanted a poison needle to shoot into your hand. Mo might happily send me out to steal stuff, but he didn’t like getting ripped off himself.

  I walked down the main aisle all the way to the back of the shop, where a tall, muscular man with onyx skin and black hair shot through with silver threads sat on a stool behind a long counter filled with sparkling rings. The man’s elbows were down on the counter, and he was reading through an interior decorating magazine. He was always looking for new ways to make the merchandise more appealing to customers. He’d changed the paint on the walls three times so far this year. I wondered how long
the current robin’s egg blue would last.

  “Finally,” he growled, turning another page in his magazine. “I was wondering if you’d gotten lost, Lila.”

  “Nice to see you, too, Mo.”

  My snide tone got him to raise his black eyes to me. Mo Kaminsky might be a shady pawnbroker and fence, but he always dressed like one of the tourist rubes he was so happy to fleece. Today, he wore white linen pants and a blue Hawaiian shirt patterned with white hibiscus flowers. A white straw hat sat off to one side of the counter, and I knew that if I could see his feet, he’d be wearing white flip-flops. Mo took the idea of casual comfort to a whole new level. A small diamond signet ring flashed on his right hand, while a diamond-crusted watch glittered on his left wrist. Sadly, the gems were nicer than the ones in the cuff links I’d stolen last night.

  Mo huffed, but he put his magazine aside and crooked his finger at me. His buffed, manicured nails gleamed almost as brightly as the diamonds he wore. “Okay, kid, show me the necklace and whatever else you swiped.”

  “How do you know I took something else?”

  He grinned. “Because you never miss an opportunity to put more cash into your pocket. Just like me.”

  I unzipped my backpack, drew out the black velvet box, and set it on the counter, along with the cuff links and other items I’d stolen. Mo caressed the velvet before cracking open the top.

  “Hello, ladies,” he crooned to the rubies. “Come to Papa.”

  Mo picked up the necklace and examined each one of the rubies in turn, making sure they were the real deal and not well-done fakes. He had a minor Talent for sight, but he didn’t need it, not when it came to this. He’d been in the business a long time, and nothing got past him.

  “Well done, Lila,” Mo said. “The necklace is in perfect condition. Did you have any problems snatching it?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  Mo nodded. He knew better than to ask questions about what happened on the jobs he sent me on, just as I knew better than to ask what would happen to the rubies now.

  Mo put the necklace back into the box and snapped the lid shut. He examined the rest of the items I’d stolen, then moved over to the cash register, opened the drawer, and reached inside.

  “And now for your payment—”

  “One thousand,” I interrupted him.

  He raised his eyebrows. “We agreed on five hundred.”

  “That was before I ran into the three guys guarding the house, the ones who chased me across several rooftops and threatened to chop off my head. One thousand.”

  “Five-fifty.”

  “One thousand.”

  “Six hundred.”

  “Eight hundred.”

  “Seven.”

  “Seven-fifty.”

  “Done.”

  “Done.”

  We shook on it, but Mo still gave me a sour look.

  “Serena never upped her prices on me like this,” he grumbled.

  For some reason I never quite understood, Mo and my mom had been friends. Like, good friends, for as long as I could remember. She was the only person who’d ever been able to make him laugh or smile or talk about something other than money. In a way, Mo had almost been like her manager, since most of the bodyguard gigs she’d taken on had come through him and his connections. Mom had asked Mo to look out for me, and after her death, I’d started doing errands for him, minding the shop, picking a few customer pockets, taking sensitive packages here and there. Eventually, I’d moved up to bigger, tougher, and better-paying jobs. Now, I was Mo’s go-to girl.

  “Well, my mom was nicer than I am,” I quipped.

  “No argument here.” Mo gave me another sour look, but then his face softened. “I haven’t seen you in a few days, kid. How are things?”

  I shrugged. “Same old, same old. School, work, more school, more work.”

  “And the library?”

  “Great,” I lied. “Just like having my own apartment.”

  Mo opened his mouth to ask me another question, but I cut him off. I liked Mo, but I didn’t want or need him butting into my business. I could take care of myself. I’d been doing it for a long time now.

  “Speaking of work, you got anything else for me?”

  He hesitated. “Actually, I think we should cool it for a few weeks. I’ve been hearing some rumblings about trouble between the Families. I think it’s best if we lay low and wait to see how things shake out.”

  Despite the fact that they already got a piece of everything in town, the Families were always fighting for more—more magic, more money, more power. So squabbles between them were common. And so were feuds among their own members. Most of the Family connections were based on blood ties, since that’s how the Sinclairs and Draconis had started out way back when. If you were kin, you were in, no matter how distantly related, rich, or powerful—or not—you might be. But today, all the Families accepted whoever might be useful, provided that you had enough magic, money, and power to buy your way into their good graces.

  Still, there was one Family that stood above all the others—the Draconis.

  They were the ones with the most magic, money, and power, and they were always ready, willing, and eager to grab more. Most of the feuds between the Families had started because of the Draconis, and the Draconis were the ones who ended them—usually in blood.

  The Sinclairs were the only ones powerful enough to stand up to the Draconis, and even they had to pick and choose their battles or risk the other Family wiping them out.

  “So who’s been stupid enough to piss off the Draconis now?” I asked, more curious than I should have been, than I wanted to be. “Is that what this is about?”

  Mo shook his head. “Not exactly.”

  “So what is it about, exactly?”

  He shook his head again. I thought about pressing him for an answer but decided not to. It didn’t matter. Despite my run-in with Deah, I didn’t have anything to do with the Draconis or the other Families, and I preferred to keep it that way.

  “Anyway,” Mo chirped, dipping his hand into the cash register and passing me some bills. “Here you go.”

  I didn’t even have to count the bills to realize there were a few missing. “Nice try, but we agreed on seven-fifty. Not five hundred.”

  He waved his hand. “Fine, fine. But I’ll have to go into the back to get the rest. It’s been a slow day.”

  Mo grumbled about my robbing him as he pulled a key ring out of his pants pocket, flipped through the keys, and plugged one into a hole that was embedded in a door in the back wall. He cranked the key, and the door popped outward, swinging open. More glass cases featuring all sorts of goods lined the hallway on the other side before the area opened up into a crowded living room. Since the Razzle Dazzle was at the back of the square, Mo had some extra space that doubled as his home behind the storefront.

  “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

  I snorted. “As if I’m going to leave without the rest of my money. I’m sure you’d conveniently forget all about the extra cash you owe me the second I walk out the door.”

  “Would I do something like that?” he asked in an indignant tone, puffing up his broad shoulders in protest.

  “Absolutely.”

  He grinned before disappearing. Sometimes, I thought he enjoyed haggling and trying to pull one over on me more than anything else. We had played this game ever since I was a kid trying to con him into buying me two ice cream cones instead of just one. Still, despite his grumblings, Mo had been good to me. He was the only one who’d really cared when my mom had died, and he was the only one who’d tried to help me after she was gone. I owed him for that.

  Mo had just closed the door behind him when the lochness bones over the front door rattled, and a girl stepped inside the shop.

  She was a brunette, prettier, taller, and older than me, with a long, lean body. She entered the shop and stood in the doorway, as if she expected someone to leap out from behind one of
the glass cases and attack. Her brown gaze flicked over the store, analyzing everything inside, and she had a sword strapped to her waist. So she was protection then, a bodyguard dragged along for some rich kids’ shopping spree.

  The girl stepped to one side of the door so that two guys could enter. The first guy was undeniably cute, with wavy black hair, bronze skin, and the kind of dark, soulful eyes that girls write poems about. He started wandering through the aisles, looking at everything and nothing in particular.

  But it was the second guy who caught my eye. Like the girl, he, too, paused by the door, seeming even more wary than she looked. The sunlight streaming in through the windows highlighted the rich honey in his dark chocolate brown hair, even as it cast his face in shadow. The tan skin of his arms resembled marble—hard, but smooth and supple at the same time.

  He must have passed through the mist spewed up by the fountain outside, because his black T-shirt was wet in places and the damp patches clung to his skin. The wetness allowed me to see just how muscled his chest was. Oh, yeah, I totally ogled that part of him, right up until I spotted the silver cuff on his right wrist.

  Given the angle, I couldn’t tell what crest was stamped into the metal, but I glanced at the others, who also wore cuffs. I sighed. So they belonged to some Family then. Wonderful. This day just kept getting better.

  I stayed at the counter and watched the three of them walk deeper into the store. They passed by all of the junk in the front, only slowing down when they reached the back half and the beginning of the genuine, expensive items. Then they started roaming through the aisles, going from one case to the next, whispering to each other.

  Well, actually, only the girl was whispering. The first guy looked bored, although he did perk up when they passed by a case that contained some old chemistry sets.

  The bodyguard noticed me watching them, and she gave me a suspicious look, taking in my cheap clothes and casual stance, as well as my battered backpack sitting on the counter. She kept her hand on her sword, but she relaxed when she realized I didn’t have a weapon. Her mistake. I couldn’t carry a sword with me to the rube high school, but I always wore a thick, wide belt around my waist—one that had several hidden slots and was studded with three stars. They might look like pretty decorations, but they were actually black blade throwing stars, and I had excellent aim.