Prologue: Death of an Author
One Month Ago - New York City
The crystal chandeliers of "Between the Lines"—Manhattan's premier magical bookstore hidden behind what mortals saw as a dusty used book shop—cast ethereal shadows across the velvet chairs, making the sparse crowd look even smaller than it actually was.Cornelius Lennox adjusted his tartan scarf and tried to project a confident bearing, but his hands shook slightly as he gripped the podium.
"Thank you all for coming," he said in his refined Scottish accent, though his voice cracked on the word 'all.'Three witches.Three witches had shown up for what was supposed to be his most important tour stop at the most prestigious magical literary venue in North America.
An elderly witch in the front row checked her pocket watch—a delicate timepiece that ticked backwards when the moon was full.A young warlock near the back was already packing up his messenger bag.His familiar, a silver-furred ferret, chittering disapprovingly.The third attendee—a reporter fromThe Magical Tribune—huffed a bothered sigh as she pulled out her pen and notepad.
"I'd like to read from my latest work,Hearts Divided: The Final Chapter," Cornelius continued, opening the book with trembling fingers.The words on the page seemed to blur together, mocking him with their inadequacy.
"Margaret gazed upon the moonlit landscape, her heart filled with emotions that were...emotional,"he read aloud, his Scottish burr making the terrible sentence sound even worse.He cleared his throat and tried again."The feelings she felt were very love-like in their emotional intensity..."
The elderly witch stood up and walked out.
The young warlock followed.
Even the reporter was shaking her head as she headed for the door, muttering something about "career suicide" and "what happened to the romance?"
Cornelius stood alone behind the podium, staring at the empty chairs.The bookstore manager—a harried-looking warlock whose purple hair shifted colors with his mood—approached with barely concealed pity, his hair deepening to a sympathetic plum.
"Mr.Lennox, I'm afraid we'll need to wrap up early.We have a book club meeting at eight."
"Of course," Cornelius managed, his voice barely above a whisper."I understand."
Outside, the bookstore's magical facade shimmered back into place, making it appear to passing mortals as just another cluttered used bookshop with dusty windows and a flickering neon sign.Cornelius stepped onto the busy Manhattan street, where yellow taxis still honked their way through traffic and mundane pedestrians hurried past, completely unaware that one of the magical world's most celebrated authors had just experienced his fall from grace.
His phone buzzed with a text from his brother Magnus:How'd the tour stop go, little brother?Mystic Thunder Rock just sold out our next show again!3AM show!Primetime baby.Primetime.
Cornelius deleted the message without responding.
Another text, this time from Duncan:Saw the review online.Chin up, mate.My new film comes out next month—family screening?
Delete.
Alistair chimed in:Just finished commentary for the Witches and Warlocks Tennis Championship.Thinking of you!How's the new book tour going?
Delete, delete, delete.
The Lennox name demands recognition,his father's voice echoed in his memory.Power, Fame, Glory—that's what separates us from the rabble.
But there was no recognition this time.No fame.Certainly, no glory.Just a failed author wandering the streets of New York, invisible to the mortal world and forgotten by the magical one, haunted by the ghost of his former success.
Cornelius walked aimlessly through the city, past restaurants whose windows glowed with light and laughing groups of friends who might or might not be entirely mortal, feeling more invisible than he'd ever felt in either world.How had it come to this?Just a year ago, his books had topped every magical bestseller list.Romance readers around the world had hung on his every word.Literary critics atEnchanted Authors Quarterlyhad called him "the voice of modern love," and said "he wrote and understood mortals like no other."
Evelyn.The name hit him like a physical blow.She'd been gone for two years now—tragic accident, the police had said.Stepped right in front of a subway train during rush hour.Poor thing had always been nervous in crowds.
Without his loyal assistant and editor, his writing had crumbled into the pretentious, emotionless drivel he'd always produced.The final book in his beloved series had been universally roasted, and tonight's pathetic turnout proved that his career was over.
Lost in his brooding, Cornelius stepped off the curb without looking.
The taxi's horn blared through the night air, but it was too late.The last thing Cornelius Lennox saw was the shocked face of the driver through the windshield, and his final thought was a bitter laugh at the cosmic justice of it all.
The once-famous author died as he had lived—taking credit for something that wasn't entirely his fault.
The next day The Magical Tribune ran his obituary:
The magical world mourned the loss of Cornelius Lennox with the kind of dramatic outpouring usually reserved for truly beloved figures.His brothers gave moving eulogies about his artistic passion at the Grand Magical Memorial Hall.Fellow authors praised his "unique voice" and "emotional depth."Fans left flowers and handwritten letters at magical bookstores hidden throughout the world.
