Chapter One
Leander stood in thefog.It matched his mood perfectly, as did the dark and dirty street.The funeral home, ornate with gilded details, stood on the other side of the rushing traffic.Large windows hinted at the lavish interior, but he had been to enough funerals to know what it looked like.He had walked the thick carpeting while numb with grief.He had seen his friends laid in coffins.He had smelled air thick with flowers whispering their secrets.But this time he couldn’t go inside.
Instead, he watched as shadows passed the front window as the ubiquitous guards watched the street.A fire mage stood on the funeral home’s roof watching, and once he thought he saw Salem’s small shadow.
His heart ached.
A man stepped out of the alley and moved to his side, staying in the shadows where Leander waited.He knew who kept this vigil with him, but Leander didn’t acknowledge Creek.The chasm between them was too great.His friendship with Creek had ended before he’d chosen to work for Druwolf, before Creek had joined the police, even before moving to China where Leander had studied magic.An eternity stood between them.
The clouds spat rain, the gray asphalt turning dark spot by spot while the air carried melancholy music from the funeral.No more shadows passed the windows, and Leander imagined the attendees sitting in neat rows, everyone in black and pretending to care about the woman in the coffin.
“It’ll be your turn one of these days,” Creek said.His voice was rough, as if he were recovering from a cold or he’d been screaming.The police were probably doing a lot of yelling and gnashing teeth.Tecca had been a blood mage beyond compare, and her death had fueled her last magics.The police department had paid a much higher price than the family had.
Family.
That was an ironic term.Growing up, Leander had believed Druwolf was the hero of this story.He offered protection to those with magical gifts while society expected them to serve the government or hide their talents.Druwolf taught them to be proud—to demand respect.Too late, Leander had learned the price.Creek was right it would be his funeral soon because Leander could not pay the cost of Druwolf’s protection forever.Sometimes he wondered what life would have been if he had taken Heng’s offer when he’d lived in China.Heng had named Leander his qidi—his little brother, although what they did in bed was not brotherly.He had been promised the protection of the Nie family.
But Leander was not a beggar to throw himself on the mercy of strangers.It would have only poisoned the ephemeral happiness he had shared with Heng.Leander often wondered if there was some curse in his blood, leading every relationship to end in pain.
The rumble of passing cars, the distinctive hiss of tires on wet asphalt and the distant crack of thunder filled the silence created by the lack of words.Leander moved farther into the shadow, pressing himself against the rough brick wall to escape the steady rain.
He waited for Creek to speak again, to make yet another argument for why Leander should help the police.Years separated them, and Leander feared he might call for backup.Leander had experience hiding his magic during questioning, but every time the police came near, fear gnawed at his soul.He was a coward.He did not hide from the truth.
On the other side of the road, the funeral ended, and the double doors opened.Druwolf appeared, backlit by the funeral home’s lighting, which spilled out into the storm-darkened afternoon.He had one hand on Salem’s shoulder.He was a big-eyed boy, lanky like his father, but with a round, soft face, like his mother.
But now she lay in a coffin, and Salem looked broken.Druwolf said something to him, and for a second, Salem leaned into him.At ten, Salem was small for his age, and Druwolf was a beast of a man with muscles developed by gym work paired with either magic or steroids.Leander specialized in plant magics, so he knew many magical elixirs could mimic steroids, trading physical side-effects for magical ones.But he also knew Druwolf would happily abuse a mundane drug if it gave him faster results.
He played at being a magical savior who disdained mundane society, but he used any tool that could give him power or money or pleasure or anything else he desired.Leander had once watched him torture a man to death over six hours, making the victim beg for death, because the man had owned property Druwolf had envied.With him dead, the widow had quickly decided selling was the only safe course.
Charlie Druwolf had smiled and put an arm around the widow’s shoulders and paid her a few thousand more than market value, telling her he would take care of her.Leander couldn’t remember the woman’s name anymore–just the bruised shadows under her eyes–and her fear.
Druwolf patted Salem and then stepped out into the rain.Two guards opened umbrellas for the short walk from the steps of the funeral home to the waiting car.Salem watched him leave before turning back.A few more people were leaving now.Some Leander knew, either from the Family or from a childhood friendship with Tecca.
“Won’t they question why you missed her funeral?”Creek asked.
“She married the man I loved,” Leander said, his voice devoid of emotion.“No one expects me to pretend to mourn her.”
“You are mourning her.”
Leander huffed.Ironically, Creek was the only one who knew him well enough to understand him.He mourned what they’d had before she got pregnant, before the friendship had turned to resentment.He turned to face Creek for the first time.“What do you want?”
“We can protect you.The police...we didn’t fire the bullet that killed her.If he’s willing to take out a blood mage, what will he do to you?”
“You say that like I have anything to fear.”Leander let derision fill his voice.If Creek wanted to trick him into a confession, he’d have to work harder.
Creek stared at him, dark blue eyes studying Leander.Growing up, Leander had been the cute one of the friend group—all big dark eyes, black hair, and round face.As a child, that had made him photogenic, but now he was an average adult who had grown sharp with a cruel twist to his lips.But Creek.Oh, the gawky boy who had dreaded dodgeball had turned into a handsome man.The rain plastered his hair to his head, but his five o-clock shadow and high cheekbones more than made up for the bedraggled hair.
Even Finn wouldn’t have been able to match Creek, if he’d survived.
“We both know how powerful you are.”
“You’re assuming you know anything about my life.Only an idiot would make that assumption.”The fact was most people didn’t understand what Leander could do with plants.Druwolf had heard of fantastical magics in China and had sent him to train with a sifu who specialized in teaching Western-style magic users to access a few of those amazing talents the Chinese had mastered.Since Leander’s magic focused on plants, he had learned far more than how to distill the essence of plants into the most powerful drugs.Much more.China didn’t limit magic or magic users the way Americans did.
“You always have to be right.”Creek sounded exhausted.
“I always am right.”
“You weren’t about Druwolf.”Creek’s voice was sharp.
