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She huffed a laugh. The fucking audacity of him. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“You’re at Catacombs entirely sober at two in the morning, and based on the expression on your face, you’d rather be anywhere else but here.”
Observant bastard. “You seem sober yourself, though not for a lack of trying.” So much for her plan to charm him.
“You’ve been watching me. I’m flattered.”
“Doesn’t take a genius.” She gestured at the empty glasses around him. “So are you going to sell me the direweed or not?”
“I’m not selling it. But I’ll play you for it, Caster.”
The word was a stab to the heart. She wasn’t really one anymore. Her Shadowflame danced over her skin, sending a cool shiver through her. Part of her wanted to ask him why he assumed she was a Caster. She buried her hand even deeper in her pocket.
“What did you have in mind, Wielder?” She hissed the term like an insult.
“Fireshield.”
She hadn’t played that stupid drinking game since her days at Scion. “So you can watch me get drunk?”
“So I can watch you use magic.”
The words slithered past his sharp teeth and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. There was a challenge in those vacant eyes of his, and she didn’t want to stand down.
“What for? Your personal amusement?”
“Call it curiosity.”
“Sure. You do strike me as an ever-curious person.”
He chuckled and ran his long fingers through his silver hair. The Shadowflame looked different on each person. His was sharp and violent.
Wielders were able to amplify their powers by gaining signifiers. Once they did, a corresponding symbol would appear on each finger—one for each signifier.
Mira had come across powerful Wielders with three signifiers, and she had seen the occasional one with four signifiers. The man before her had all five.
“By the looks of it, you haven’t even used a shield spell against the rain.” His eyes fell on her wet shoes. “Incompetence or reluctance?” he mused.
Wielders with five signifiers either had positions at the council or were highly paid demon slayers. Mostly, they came from influential families who could afford expert signifier tutors and trainers.
Mira countered his sharp grin with one of her own. “And how did you acquire your signifiers? Talent or your family’s money and connections?”
His gray eyes narrowed. She was quite certain nobody had ever dared to speak to him like that. “Well,” he said, and reached over the counter to collect a stack of glasses and a bottle of alcohol. “Why don’t we put your little theory to the test.”
She watched him arrange the shot glasses on the bar counter and fill them with alcohol. “People normally pay for drinks.”
“I have. I supplied all the bottles of Genieve whiskey. I can’t drink the drivel they normally serve.”
“Spheres, you’re insufferable.”
He laughed. A sharp and cold sound. Even her insult seemed to only further inflate his ego.
“Incompetence or reluctance?” he asked again when he had filled six shot glasses with Genieve whiskey. “I guess I’m about to find out.”
She bit her teeth together so hard her jaw started to hurt. “You really want to play a stupid drinking game?”
The right corner of his mouth ticked up just a tad. “You’re free to leave.”
She wanted to throw a shot glass of his overpriced whiskey in his face and go. But she wanted the direweed more.
