by LJ Swallow
The arrangement suits us both. He has the network and I bring the goods. Malvorn claims he gives me a cut of the final sell price. I don’t believe that for a minute.
Dana taps her lips with two fingers. "What do you enjoy doing in your spare time, Syv?"
"What?"
"What do you do for fun? Focus on those activities for the next few days."
"And then the mark will go? That's the weirdest cure I've ever heard."
She splutters a laugh. "No, silly. Before you die, you may as well have fun."
Dex makes a choking sound.
Cillian mutters what the hell.
Morgan just gapes at us.
"That's not helpful," I say. "No amount of alcohol, sex, and Netflix makes up for an early death."
A chuckle comes from behind me and I can't tell who by. Fed up with standing, I sit in the nearest velour-covered armchair and almost sink into the cushions. "Please can you help?"
"I’ve had a few people ask to see me in the hope I can help, but most die before we have a chance to meet. You surviving overnight is unusual." She blows a strand of hair from her face. "I can possibly help, if you make it worth my while."
"Don’t worry, I can pay you what you need."
She tips her chin at me. "How much?"
I smirk. "A woman after my own heart. Whatever you want. I earned a lot from a big job a few months back. I helped save the world, you know."
She arches a brow. "Of course, you did."
Bloody hell, I put my life in danger for everybody, and the Horsemen get all the credit.
"Can you help her or not?" asks Cillian.
Dana sits opposite and brushes her long skirts. The room falls silent as she drifts off— or ignores us— eyes glazing. I exchange looks with the guys, who watch her expectantly.
"Can you help or not?" repeats Dex gruffly.
"I researched this already. There are ingredients you'd need for me to make something to help. I have some in my shop, and others are easily accessible, but not all." She opens her eyes and gestures around her.
"What do you need that you don't have?" asks Cillian.
"Nephilim bone. I just need some fragments, not the whole thing."
"Fuck." After five years scouring the world for magical items and artefacts, I'm aware what's real and what's a myth. I've looked for Nephilim bones before, for a mad man who told me he was an angel. Maybe he was. He was pissed off when I didn't bring him what he wanted, but I can't conjure up non-existent items.
"You'll find it, right?" Dex asks me. "You can find everything."
I shake my head. "Not this. The bones don't exist."
"Yes. They do," replies Dana. "Nephilim bones are powerful, and I imagine well-hidden from humans. Maybe you can't find them because of who you are."
"A magic-detecting mercenary? That's contradictory."
"No, a demon. A Nephilim bone has angel DNA, so you may not be able to detect it."
Angels. I sigh. Those lovely individuals who made an appearance last year, when Crazy God was about to wipe their God's creatures from our world. The world Crazy God created and didn’t like anybody playing with his toys.
The angels who tried to lure the Horsemen into helping them with promises of salvation. Cunning, conniving bastards. And they say demons have a bad rap.
"Yeah, I know I can't detect angel magic and when I touch anything containing it, something nasty happens. Angels don't like me. Honestly, if they paid me enough I would've stopped looking for the item back then. I have zero interest in using items I find. Knowing my luck, the magic would backfire and kill me."
"Which suggests you're a bigger threat than just being good at stealing," replies Dex. "I doubt it's only your magic collecting powers that Verin is scared of."
"Verin?" Dana cocks her head. "I’ve heard that name. Who is he?"
"The person we think cursed Syv and the other girls."
"I should research his name," replies Dana. "I thought a random magic dealer was doing this. Is he important?"
The guys do their ‘glancing at each other’ thing. How secretive is their mission?
"I don’t understand why this is happening to me," I interrupt.
Dex steps forward and touches my shoulder. I hadn't realised how tense I'd become, despite the rising panic. "It's okay, Syv. We'll sort this out, and then you can help us find the box. Keep it from causing problems."
I shake my arm at him. "But not if I'm six feet under, right? Can we deal with one thing at a time?"
Dana nods. "She's right. The death mark isn't taking hold as quickly as I’ve seen before. Let me find the book listing the ingredients we need. Meet me in the shop and we can gather up what I have."
Dana crosses to a tall shelf tucked into an alcove. Amongst the paperbacks are older leather-bound books, and she pulls one out.
"Let's go," I say and walk away.
We loiter in the shop, silently. We passed through quickly on the way in and I only had a whiff of the magic inside. I eye up fae weapons held in glass cabinets high on the wall and make a note to let Col know where to find more. Why was I unaware of this shop and person?
The magic mix is heady: fae, demon, Wiccan, druidic... and others I've not come across before.
Cillian wanders up and down the displays, pausing occasionally to read book spines or peer at trinkets. Nobody touches anything. Morgan points at a small, clear crystal nestled amongst a display. "Why does she sell these?"
"They're crystals. They have magic properties." I pick one up. "Not these though. They're fake."
"Yes. They're just rocks. Very odd."
Dana reappears with a thick, open book which she places on the low counter. The words inside look Latin, not uncommon, and she picks up a nearby dragon figurine and places it on the page to hold it open. "I do have access to this. Some items—such as imp dust—are expensive, but I'm sure Syv will find the money."
"I'm sure I will." I sigh and cross my arms. "And you can definitely perform the spell? End the curse?"
"If you bring me the bones, yes." Deep brown eyes look back into mine. Can I trust her? "And the money."
"I told you, money isn’t an issue. Time is."
"I’m aware."
"You have an odd mix of magic in here," I say. "How long have you owned this shop?"
"I have an odd mix of customers." She taps the book. "A few months. My skills are more in demand since the supernatural population grew."
"Are you a Dweller too?"
She lowers her voice. "Don't ask me that question. Dwellers don't identify themselves, do they?"
I take that as a yes.
My head begins to spin as the pungent incense burning on the counter crawls inside my nostril and blends with the magic circling in my head. The scent covers my clothes and I'm beginning to taste it.
"I need some air; your shop is uh... cloying."
"It smells bad," puts in Dex.
Dana scowls at him. Leaving their discussion about Dana's choice of air freshener behind, I walk back to the front door. A voile curtain decorated with pentagrams and runes hangs across and obscures the handle.
The bell above the door tinkles again, and a man strides in. He’s dressed in a blue business shirt with a tie and dark trousers. A lunchtime shopper? He bumps into me, we side step in front of each other several times before I manage to break past him and outside. He glances at the three guys behind me as he heads over to the bookshelf.
Dana's face lightens in relief. "Excuse me. I have a customer."
I watch as she approaches the guy and they begin a conversation about crystals. I guess telling the guy they're phonies won't help my cause.
7
The heat and humidity from the usual summer day stifles. I peel my leather jacket off and use it as a makeshift cushion on the low brick wall between the shop and the pavement. People and cars pass by in the busy street, petrol fumes mingling with the scent of spices from the neighbouring supermarket.
The sun bea
ts down onto my head and I push a stray lock of hair from my face. As I do, I catch sight of the mark. My mouth parches as I rub the spot, heart speeding. The last twenty-four hours have been confusing, and who knows what shit the next twenty-four will bring.
The shop door bangs closed and when I look up I'm surprised to see Morgan. He pulls at his collar then undoes the top buttons of the black shirt, revealing purple, runic tattoos beneath. He nods at my staring. "This is why I cover myself up. I have quite a few runes."
"Good thing I like a guy with tattoos," I joke.
He shakes his head. "I'd have some removed if I could."
"Tattoo regret, huh? I have a few too. Like this." I pull the edge of my vest top downwards, revealing badly inked, tiny black stars in a swirling pattern across my collarbone. "And then there’s this." I hold out my non-death marked arm and turn over to show my wrist. A rune like symbol, also black, around an inch wide. "I copied it from a TV show. How dumb is that?"
"Mine aren't tattoos. They're binding marks."
"Binding you to what?"
"Time. Places." He pauses. "People. The other reason I cover up?" I shake my head. "Because if somebody who knows what they're doing finds me, they can use my magic."
I study the sullen guy and the troubled look in his eye. This explains his attitude and suspicion around people. "Wow. That sounds like some serious shit."
"Yes. And the magic wouldn’t be used for good."
"Right. Ever thought about laser removal? I heard it hurts like a bitch but works on tattoos. Might work on those." I point at the purple marks beneath his collarbone.
"What the hell are you rambling about now?" Again, that cute, confused look.
"How long have you been here, Morgan? You don't know much about the world."
He tips his head. "Six months. Since my portal opened."
"Are all of you from behind the same portal? Dex won't tell me where he’s from."
"Dex is from a different one. We only met him a couple of months ago."
"You invited him too?" Morgan nods. "Do you have many Dwellers living at your London place?"
"A few." He clamps up and looks over my head at a bus travelling by.
"Now I know why you don't ask the Horsemen to help. They're hunting down anybody who came through the portals."
"We're aware of that, Syv. They're euthanising the troublemakers, but what's their criteria when deciding who’s ‘trouble’? We want to help people fit in and live peaceful lives—like ourselves."
"How much do the Horsemen know about Kirkas?"
He shrugs. "Recently they've become aware of our organisation, which worries Donovan. You know how the Horsemen like to interfere."
I wrinkle my nose and picture the Four, plus Vee, storming in and wiping out this challenge to their self-imposed authority over the supernatural underworld. "Yeah, they're not very cooperative, less so since the end of the world issue."
"I can understand why they don't trust others." He crosses his arms and more runes are revealed as his sleeve slides up. "Everybody has their own agenda in this world."
"You said Dex is from a different portal. Which one?"
He purses his lips. "Perhaps speak to him about that. It's not my place to explain his origins to you."
I straighten. The California portal contained demons—they were seen escaping. Is Dex from there? He can’t be fae, and he isn’t elemental.
"He's fine. You can trust him."
"I know, Dex is the one I trust the most out of all of you."
I have an unfortunate habit—I speak my mind. Not in the way my friend Vee can't lie, but because my brain forgets to think first. This bluntness isn't always useful, including now, because Morgan's expression flickers with something before he retreats back to his guarded attitude. Hurt?
Awkward. Leaning forward, I unlace and kick my boots off. I wriggle my toes. "Man, my feet are hot."
Morgan peers at my red painted toenails. "You are a very odd girl."
"You told me before."
Morgan spoke about trust, they all have several times. Before I become more deeply involved, they'll need to open up. In my experience, people don't let others into secret circles unless there's a good reason.
I need to know what this reason is.
The door opens and Dex and Cillian walk out, squinting in the brightness after the darkness inside the shop.
"Everything okay?" I ask. "Can we trust her?"
Cillian shrugs. "I think the money will sway her. If she finds a ‘cure’ for the marks by experimenting on you, she has a nice income source."
"She’s nervous," puts in Dex. "I could sense that from her." He buries his hands in his pockets and glances back. "I’m sure she doesn’t want to cross us. She knows how powerful your magic is."
"And your strength," puts in Cillian.
My stomach rumbles and I cough in an attempt to disguise the sound. Dex looks at my stomach. "I'm hungry," I announce. "Can we stop for food?"
"We need to head back and talk to Donovan about this," says Morgan and stands. My conversation with Morgan ended the moment I took my boots and socks off. Did I offend him? Are wizards repelled by feet?
"He’s right. We should get back to the house." Cillian pulls car keys from his pockets.
I huff and my stomach growls in protest. "Please? Look. There’s a café over there." I point across the street. "Dana told me to do what I enjoy for a few days. I need chips. Warlock's orders."
"You really are a strange girl," says Morgan. I catch his eye and a hint of a smile plays around his lips. "Cillian? Maybe we can spare half an hour to eat. Before Syv starves?" He points at my feet. "Perhaps put your boots on first."
The cafe is cramped and the queue long. I shuffle from foot to foot as I wait impatiently behind two teens in deep conversation about guys. The older man serving holds a harassed expression. I run my tongue along my lips appreciatively as he dumps a generous serving of greasy chips on my plate. I order coffees for the guys and edge my way past the mum and stroller behind me.
Tables are littered with empty mugs and half-eaten meals. Coffee rings and spilt drinks cover most vacant tables. The guys sit at one with a view of the street. Morgan stares out the window, chin propped on his hand and with an elbow on the table. Dex is hunched down, avoiding people’s eyes, but people are taking an eyeful of him. Only Cillian pays attention, eyes darting from person to person as he waits.
Sitting, I place my tray on the crumb-covered table. "Well, this is nice." Dex studies the takeaway coffee I place in front of him before taking a tentative sip.
I tear open a ketchup sachet and squeeze it across my chips in a swirling pattern.
"What's that?" asks Morgan and his fingers curl tight around his coffee.
I tense and whisper, "Who? Where?"
He leans across and peers at my meal. "No, your sauce. What's the symbol?"
"It's just sauce, dude." I reach out for a chip and Dex catches my hand, his large fingers encompassing mine as he squeezes.
"That's a rune." His bright eyes narrow in suspicion beneath his curled fringe. "Where do you know this from?"
I study the tomato sauce. "Is it? Looks like a random pattern to me."
"Are you trying to do something unpleasant?" asks Cillian.
"What? Like attack you with magic? Or steal your car and leave you here? Yeah, that's sensible since you’d find me again. No. I just squirted sauce. Wow..."
I blink as Morgan takes his phone out and photographs my plate.
"Are you posting my meal on Instagram?" I ask and smirk at my joke.
Morgan responds with a blank look. Dwellers. Clueless.
With a shake of my head, I tuck into my chips. Paranoid, or what? Dex takes one and watches me as he eats. He reaches for another and I slap his hand. "Buy your own."
As I chew, I chuckle at their ludicrous accusation.
"What's funny?" asks Cillian.
"I can't believe you accused me of creating magic from toma
to sauce and chips." I snort another laugh. "Are you really that worried I have hidden powers?'
They all regard me with serious faces.
What?
"Are you? Really?" I wipe my hands on a paper napkin and point at my death mark. "Because of this?"
"Mutual trust has to be earned, right?" Cillian helps himself to my chips too.
"This is true. But you're the ones who half-abducted me." I arch a brow and pop another chip into my mouth.
"And now we’re the ones that will help you," puts in Morgan in a terse tone.
I sigh. "Yes. You remind me of this every second breath."
"What do we do next?" asks Dex, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Maybe we could find a Nephilim and ask for a donation?" I suggest with a smile.
"They don't exist anymore," says Morgan.
"Probably."
I sit forward. "But I met angels a few months ago, and nobody knew they existed. I refuse to believe there's never been a Nephilim."
More stony silence replies.
"Well, if you don’t help me, I’ll find someone who can."
"Like the Horsemen you keep rambling on about?" asks Cillian. "Why would they help you?"
I pause, chip in front of my lips. "They owe me."
"If they hear you’re working with us, they might change their minds."
"Fine. I’ll ask the Collector." I bite and chew on the chip. If he’ll talk to me.
I drift off, ignoring the way my appetite wanes when I think about him. He’s my sanctuary. My safe place. The guy who doesn’t ask questions but allows the untrustworthy girl into his home. We met when he hired me to locate a fae jewel for him five years ago. Five long years to me, the blink of an eye to him as an immortal. As my work for him continued, he would allow me to stay at his place when I was between homes. The fae recluse allowed me into his life.
Last year, he saved my life.
How bloody stupid am I, allowing this grudge to continue? We need to talk. Reconnect. I can save face by pretending this is only because I need his advice. Even though we’ll both know I’m lying.
