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“Oh, yes, Obryn. How is that cranky old bastard? Don’t answer that.” She laughed, setting Mira at ease. “So, you’re interested in potions?”
“Yes, I’m currently working on a project, and what you said about attaching Dark Magic to potions—could you elaborate on that?”
“Oh, and what is your project about, if I might ask?”
Mira couldn’t exactly tell her it was to remove Dark Magic from Synth in her arm and heal her scar. “Separating base Dark Magic from someone’s powers. I have a patient who suffers from it.”
Eriksson blinked her eyes rapidly. “Huh, I’ve never heard of that as a possibility, so I’m not sure if my theory will help you. What I discovered is that if we turn Dark Magic into a solid form, we can attach it to potions.”
The Highmage talked to her in detail and Mira wondered if she could use Eriksson’s idea to extract the leftover magic from her own powers.
After she thanked the Highmage, Mira stood alone in the sea of fancy tuxes and ball gowns, sipping her Goldwine so she had something to do.
Across the room Dawson finished his conversation, and the man with slicked-back hair handed him a strange-looking gold coin. She squeezed by people and made her way to him.
“What was that about?” she asked.
Dawson let the coin travel between his fingers. “It’s an invitation to the oldest underground club in Triphea. If this is the official event, then that’s where the after-party is. Think of it as the less-legal side of tonight’s convention.”
Perhaps this evening hadn’t been a waste and they could still find whatever object the council was after.
“Okay, great.” She finished her Goldwine. “Let’s go.”
He chuckled. “Trust me, Winters, this isn’t for you.”
She got the picture. Drugs, prostitution, forbidden spells, and potions.
“I can handle being at whatever shady Dark Magic event this is going to be.”
“It’s not your average club. It’s members only.”
“I’m sure you’re a member.”
“I am.”
“Problem solved. Let’s go.”
A hint of amusement glinted in his eyes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He pulled her closer and flipped his coin, and they arrived in front of an old door. Dawson knocked three times and waited a beat before it opened. He had to duck as they walked down the empty tunnel, lit only by torches.
“And you think someone from the council will be here tonight?”
“Oh spheres, no. This is not exactly the place for them. I’m assuming the council sent some sort of middleman.”
They made it to another door. He spoke a password and it opened. Another tunnel followed. Where was this place?
“Getting nervous, Winters?” He smirked. “You can still turn around. I promise I will tell you whatever it is I find out.”
They both knew he wouldn’t. “Nice try, but I’m coming with you.”
When they stood before a gold door covered in an intricate design, he turned to her once more. “Last chance.”
She simply crossed her arms and stared him down.
He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “You asked for it.”
Dawson whispered an entrance spell, the door swung open, and they stood in a room that could pass as an elegant hotel foyer. The black marble desk gleamed with gold finishing.
