“So how do we do this? What’s the plan?”
He scratches a hand through his beard at the side of his chin. “I’m open to your suggestions. Seems like you were making better progress than I was in Faerie. At least before… well…”
“At least before I almost got myself killed?”
“You said it, not me.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, thinking. “You’re some kind of demon bounty hunter, right? What does that all entail?”
“Mostly paltry jobs for rich bastards with too much time, money, and ego on their hands. Retrieving stolen objects, apprehending the occasional criminal. That sort of thing.”
“Could come in handy,” I say, still thinking. “And you’ve obviously got the muscle I always look for in a henchman.”
It’s meant to be a joke, but I swear Callumpreens. He tries to hide it, but his whole face lights up and his shoulders square up and back.
He likes praise, it would seem.
Against my better judgment, I tuck that detail away.
For what? I’m not going to think about it.
“You’ve said a bit about your magick,” Callum says as he retakes his seat at the kitchen table, “but I’m not sure if I understand it fully. How it works, how you wield it.”
I think for a moment. “Name something in this apartment.”
Another arched brow. “What do you mean?”
“A trinket. A piece of clothing. Anything. Name it and give me a brief description.”
“Hmmm… A ring. Gold, with a blue stone.”
“Interesting choice,” I murmur, then close my eyes.
The apartment maps itself out around me.
It’s always been difficult to describe this part of my magick.
This incorporeal sense, the way I can close my eyes and follow the tendrils, follow the webs they create. Like a second sight that only appears when I allow myself to indulge my magick completely, the way it lets me see is entirelyother.
Different from my human eyes. Different from any sense spoken language has a way to describe.
I see the way forward in energy, in waves that tug and call to me, speaking directly to my soul as they guide me toward what I’m seeking.
Really freaky stuff, actually.
Enough to unnerve even the most stodgy coven elders.
Enough to intrigue Esme Hawthorn herself.
This magick isn’t like anything they had ever seen, and though back then I was always hesitant to let it unfurl to its full potential, now I don’t hold back.
Damn, it feels good not to hold back.
The tendrils stretch and seek, wisping out around me until they’ve mapped the entire apartment. If I let them, they’d keep going. Out into the neighborhood, the city, the province, therealm. Out into the whole world if they needed to, but for now this will do.
The ring shines like a beacon in the darkness.
In the tall dresser beside the bed. In a drawer. In a wooden case. In a smaller, velvet-lined box. The ring gleams in my mind’s eye all the way until I have it in my fingers, heavy and cool to the touch.
