Lifting my hand to scratch my chin, I pause as weak flickers of electricity shoot from my fingertips. I stare down at my hand. What the hell? I don’t have any magic abilities. The warmth in my chest continues to bloom, settling my thoughts until a clear vision of Rune’s face dances in my mind.
Well, I’ll be damned. It worked. Sleeping actually worked. I canfeelRune—weakly, but it’s there.
I hop out of bed, excited and hopeful that this new development will lead to the mage, but I need help. I have to sleep more. Maybe if I can fall under again, I’ll be able to get a sense of where Rune is. It’s worth a shot.
Darting out of my room, I hurry down the halls to the common area, but it’s empty. Right. It’s the middle of the night and even we need our rest. I’m not sure they could help me anyway. What I need is… A new thought comes to me. I need a magic user. Someone who can give me something to make me sleep whenever I need to. The only challenge is that I’m not usually susceptible to magic—not easily, anyway. I need someone powerful, almost as strong as Rune, but where could I find someone like that?
Xanthis.
Risky? Yes. But we’ve learned she has a soft spot for helping people who need to connect. Lovers, mates, and the like. Not that that’s what me and Rune are, but there’s clearly a connection of some kind between us. She might be willing to help.
How would I get to her though? I don’t know where she actually lives, not specifically, and I’d have to involve Mac to get to his brothers, which seems drawn out.
Wait. The black magic alley in New Orleans. I haven’t been there in at least a century, but rumor has it that the area is still alive and thriving. I could get there, find a magic user willing to help, pay their price, and make it back before the guys even notice I’m gone.
I return to my room and freshen up enough to be presentable before closing my eyes to transport to New Orleans.
The landing is bumpy, as it always is when entering a place with heavy magic and supernatural energy in the air. The streets are oddly quiet, but it’s not the tourist season, so the locals are actually in bed, the supes in their own designated haunts. I could use Roman’s nose or Drax’s instincts right now to find the area I need, but I guess I’ll just have to do my thing.
Walking to the nearest building, a large old church, I scale the side and make my way to the roof, where I can perch on the edge and look over the city.
“Hey, gargoyle.”
I twist around to see two fellow gargoyles behind me. My jaw drops. “Hi,” I mutter in a momentary stupor.
I haven’t seen my own kind in so long.
The shorter, stockier one lumbers forward. “What are you doing here? It’s dangerous.”
“Why?” I cock my head, trying to imagine what could possibly be dangerous for a gargoyle. We’re built to withstand nearly anything, that’s the whole point. We’re not vulnerable to much magic, our bodies don’t require much to keep us going, we’re nearly indestructible.
The other gargoyle turns its head to look over its shoulder. “If the witches of the Ninth Ward find you, they’ll steal your shift.”
“What? Steal my shift?”
The first gargoyle nods. “They took our human forms.”
I pull my head back. “Why? How?”
“Energy. Every time they can steal a shift, it makes them more powerful, so they target things that can’t fight back as well.”
“How does their magic work on you?”
The second gargoyle shrugs. “Wish we knew. Why are you here?”
“I’m looking for the black magic alley. Does it still exist?”
They both blanch, their stone faces hardening for a moment before they blink. “It exists,” the first one says. “It’s behind Cemetery One. They congregate there most nights.”
“It will cost you,” the second gargoyle says. “Nothing they offer is cheap.”
“No, I didn’t expect it would be. Thank you.” I straighten my shoulders, about to start my shift, but both gargoyles rush forward, putting their stone hands on me.
“No, keep your human form. It’s safer.”
“Right. Thank you.” I nod to them as I part, making a mental note as I climb down the side of the building to come back when all this is over and find some way to help them if I can. When I reach the bottom, I glance up at them one last time before taking off down the darkened streets of the French Quarter. It doesn’t take me long to find the cemetery, and when I arrive, I slow down and quiet my breathing, following the musky scent of incense and magic in the air.
I come upon a small group of five people who all immediately look at me. A woman stands, dressed in all black with bright purple hair and oddly kind eyes given her general dark aura.
