“Because your book says so?”
My jaw dropped. I had suspected that might be it, but having him confirm my thoughts was still a different thing altogether. Ifhe could get past an agency-executed spell, then did that mean he was also working for the government?
His lips suddenly twitched. “You didn’t think I could read it, did you?”
“I...I...” My shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. “I have no idea what to think about you.” I hated how boring my answer was, but I was such a bad liar it was useless to even try.
“If it’s any consolation,” he murmured, “I also think you’re a bit of an enigma yourself.”
I was?
His smile turned faintly apologetic. “I didn’t expect you to be working for CSI. I’d never have imagined you the crime-fighting type.”
“That’s because I’m not,” I answered somewhat guiltily. ‘Crime fighting’ sounded so violent, and I had always been more of a pacifist, the kind that insisted on seeing half-full glasses even if there was only less than an ounce left. “When I got recruited, I only signed up for Local Misdemeanors.”
“Missing cauldrons, vandal spells, things like that?”
I nodded. “I know most people find it boring...”
“But you enjoy it,” he concluded. “Don’t you?”
“I’ve lived 26 years of my life without magic, so everything still feels so new and exciting. I know it’s silly,” I confessed, “but I’m always looking forward to every case assigned to me.”
“No matter how minor?”
“No matter how minor,” I affirmed firmly. “There’s actually a running joke in HQ. They say I’m the only agent who’d cry at being given a day off—-” I stopped speaking.Oh, cast it. I just realized I had allowed my mouth to run away from me.
Mr. Handsome, however, didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, and he reclaimed the reins of our conversation with the enviable ease of a practiced charmer. He asked me about my Level 1 lessons and whether I found it easy or difficult. I had the most shameful urge to lie, but in the end, I simply opened my book to a random page and let him see the humiliating truth with his own eyes.
The page I had opened to was heavily underscored with neon highlighters, and the margins on both pages filled with my scribbles. “Be honest, please – does this say passionate about work or desperate to pass Level 1 exams so I won’t be the only neophyte witch in the agency?”
Mr. Handsome grinned. “It’s that bad?”
“Well...considering how my instructor asked me to start saving money so I could afford an expensive offering to Athena, what do you think?”
“Extremely bad,” he answered right away with a grin. I grinned back of course, all the while thinking that I couldn’t remember feeling any happier.Oh, be still, my bewitched heart.
It suddenly occurred to me that we had been talking for some time without having even exchanged names, and I took a deep breath, wondering if I could find the courage to ask for his first. I opened my mouth, but before I could say another word, lightning flashed outside the diner, followed by the power goingout. Another second passed, and my phone started playing the theme song ofMission Impossible.
Oh, dear.
This was not good.
Chapter Two
ALTHOUGH CSI IN THEnon-human world functioned as a crime scene investigation unit as well, the letters actually stood for Circe Security Initiative. While history mostly remembered Circe for her failed attempt in seducing Odysseus to become her lover, there was little mention of the kind of life the world’s first self-taught witch led afterwards. This was unfortunate since Circe’s accomplishments following her doomed romance were as great as any other Greek hero.
Sick and tired of being painted as the villainous almost-adulteress, Circe had devoted herself to aiding Thebe in her quest for justice, and her subsequent acts of valor were such that the Titan goddess later on granted Circe immense fortune and a taste of ambrosia. Circe could have been a happily retired immortal after that, but instead she had chosen to spend her extended lease on life training special humans to become self-taught witches like her. Through it Circe had eventually found her renewed purpose, and thus CSI was born.
The agency’s recruitment process varied from case to case, and with mine it had started with an email and a hologram of Circe popping up in my living room. It had taken a while, but the self-made goddess had patiently waited for me to finish freaking out before launching into her be-a-crime-solving-witch pitch.
‘Only one percent of the human population has the ability to be a self-taught witch,’Circe had explained among other things, and this mainly boils down to how much faith the person hasin magic rather than mere skills. She had beamed at me then, saying, ‘It’s how you’ve made the cut.’
Naturally, she had also included a caveat, warning me that if I were to accept her job offer at CSI I would have to leave my life in California and move to Silver Mist. In return, however, I would have my own home, above-average wages with the possibility of earning performance bonuses, and – best of all – I would have magic in my life.
When Circe had finished with her spiel, I had looked at her while thinking about the choice she was asking me to make: my present life, which was the definition of purpose-less mediocrity, and the other life she offered, which was full of the most exciting and magical possibilities.
What do you say then, Blair?
