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My lip curls and I growl towards the tipped-over stack, “You all better clean up your nests before Torment finds you.”
The grimoires hiding in the shadows and piles of papery nests hiss and draw deeper into the ruins of weaker books. I look down at what I tripped on. I snatch up the ratty stuffed bear and frown at it. There’s something familiar about it, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
“Did one of you steal this from a customer?”
The bear has seen better days. The eyes are missing and a hole sits where a nose once was. The fuzz is nearly all gone, and the limbs look thoroughly chewed on.
“Gross.”
I toss the bear towards the hiding grimoires. “Enjoy it while you can because she’s going to chuck you all in the incinerator when she discovers this.”
And I choose a different upright stack to walk through the dim bookshop, my rings lighting the way with the crystals still out.
CHAPTER 6
LUCAS’ APARTMENT, HAVENPORT, DELORNIA
LUCAS
Fuck, I’m going to be late. I yank my boots on, tying the laces in efficient tugs before standing up and snatching my leather jacket. If the walk home is any indicator of the weather, then I need to be prepared both for a tsunami and a blizzard. I squint out my tiny, misted-over window. The sun seems to be out. Hopefully it will stay that way.
I slide the soft leather on, and the magic tingles my rings. Years ago, Tor meticulously picked all the stitching out and re-wove in blessed threads. Her magic blankets me in a comfortable temperature. It’s saved my ass on more than one occasion with the protections she embedded in the lining. Little runes, the likes of which I’ve never seen before, cross-stitched with beautiful precision.
I should’ve known she was a blueblood just by looking at the tiny stitches, but back then I let myself be blind to all the signs of her past.
It only takes seconds to cross my small apartment to the front door. It’s basically a box to sleep in if I don’t stay over at the bookshop. The stained walls I never bothered to paint are bare, except for a few shelves and hooks to hang my tools, charms, and weapons. The kitchen is empty. The wood floor is scuffed and unpolished. When I left the Guild and my lush apartment paid for by Dimitar, I had no desire to live that way again. A bed to sleep in, a locked and warded place to keep my shit when I’m in town are all I need.
I quickly slip a few blades on my person. I’ve learned to always have a non-magical weapon on hand. Versatile for any situation, there is no lock I can’t pick with a knife, and weavers rarely expect to be stabbed. My keys jingle when I slide them into my pocket. My brows furrow when paper crunches. I withdraw a letter with my name neatly scrolled on it.
Valen. I’d snatched his letter where he’d left it for me on Tor’s worktable the night before and completely forgot it during the chaos.
The letter twirls in my fingers before I toss it in the trash. Fuck him.
I make it two steps before turning on my heel and stomping back. The envelope opens easily, a little seal of protection wisping away under my fingers. The paper is thick and expensive. I unfold it.
Lucas,
I crumple the paper with a snarl. I can’t do this. Not after he tried to take Tori and leave me behind.
But if I don’t, Valen will be on my mind all day. That’s almost worse. I wouldn’t be able to sate my curiosity until tomorrow, unless I bring it with me, which is out of the question. No, I need to read it now to get it over with.
I can do this. It’s like ripping off a bandage. I press the wrinkled letter to my chest to smooth it back out and try again.
Lucas,
I will make this brief.
I snort. How considerate of the long-winded asshole.
Lucas. Yes, Lucas. You have managed to force me to call you by your name without ever needing your clever little threads, for I could not say goodbye to you any other way.
Oh fucking hell. I can’t read this. I slap the paper down on my thigh and pace, my other hand raking my hair back and snarling in the strands. I grip it for a second, breath held, before releasing both with a gasp.
I lift the letter again.
Our time was short, but you managed to brand yourself within my soul. I fear being with you, near you, will only make this anguish worse. It is unbearable, this pain.
Lucas.
