Shadows, Maps, and Other Ancient Magic (13 page)

Still tasting the vampire’s peppermint magic somewhere behind me, I stepped through the door. The cafe had a midcentury feel to it — black and white linoleum, Formica tabletops, wire condiment holders — but didn’t go overboard with the aesthetic.

Wisteria looked up as I entered, and I involuntarily flinched from the raging pool of witch magic that overlaid her eyes so densely I had no idea of their actual color. The reconstructionist frowned, but then immediately smoothed the expression from her face. I’d forgotten that the witch held her magic so intensely concentrated behind her eyes, and then in her hands. I imagined it had something to do with how she utilized that magic, but I had never seen witch magic held this way. By taste, Wisteria was nowhere near as powerful as Gran, or even my mom, Scarlett. But as I had the first time I met her, I understood that as tightly coiled as Wisteria Fairchild kept her magic, I didn’t want to be the one to see it all unravel.

“Jade Godfrey.” Wisteria’s American accent was subtle beneath the measured, polite tone that I imagined she had learned in some high-priced private school.

“Wisteria Fairchild. Thank you for meeting me.” I offered her a broad grin as I sauntered over to the table. The cafe was completely empty, and oddly tidy.

“As requested.”

Right. Boundaries erected and acknowledged.

I settled into the seat across from Wisteria, which placed my back to the entrance. No one with a drop of magic in them was going to sneak up on me even if they got past the vampire outside — which I wouldn’t hesitate to say was pretty impossible. Not that I had anything I knew of to worry about in Seattle. Like Vancouver, the Pacific Northwest in general wasn’t a hotbed for magic beyond the witches of the Godfrey coven. A coven that claimed me as one of their own, though I was only half-witch and effectively nonpracticing.

Wisteria changed the position of her folded hands. On first glance, her fingernails were tastefully French manicured. But with a closer look — beyond the magic that coated my human vision — I could see that her nails were painted a shimmery light blue beneath their white tips, rather than the traditional pink.

“Nice manicure.”

“I like yours as well.” Wisteria actually smiled. Well, the edges of her lips quirked upward.

I grinned and tapped my jade-green nails on the table one at a time. “They match my knife.”

Wisteria lost the half-smile, and I instantly regretted my flippant words. I didn’t want the witch to be any more scared of me than she already was.

The server crossed out of the kitchen and quickly unloaded her tray onto our table. She had a ring of pink roses tattooed around her right wrist that matched the pink streaks in her hair. She was also about one-quarter witch, her magic so diluted — just a hint of the grassy tone that told me she was of witch decent — that I hadn’t noticed it until she’d entered the room.

I glanced at Wisteria, who was gazing steadily at my left shoulder. Treating me as if I was a shapeshifter or a vampire, taking direct eye contact as some sort of power play — or an invitation to a power play.

The waitress placed a hot chocolate in front of me, and some sort of floral mint tea by Wisteria. The hot chocolate smelled divine, though slightly sweeter than I usually made it. Then she placed a plate of what looked like mini cheesecakes in the middle of the table.

“Um, hello,” I said.

The server laughed. “Not ours. Fortunately for me, or I’d be three hundred pounds easily.”

“I brought them,” Wisteria said but then didn’t elaborate.

The server placed a fork in front of Wisteria, and another in front of me. “Anything else?”

“No, thank you,” Wisteria said.

The server retreated back behind the front counter and through the swinging door to the kitchen.

I gestured to the plate of sweets. “You’re not trying to woo me, are you? Because for these, I might consider it.”

Wisteria barked out an involuntary laugh, which seemed to surprise her as much as it did me. A slight smile remained on her face as she gracefully lifted a hand to point at individual treats. I imagined it would be terribly painful to be Wisteria Fairchild’s full-time friend. I could pretend that all her apparent perfection was a learned facade to try to make myself feel better. But I could tell as easily as I could see her coiled magic that Wisteria Fairchild was a well-educated, cultured, and thoughtful woman. Around her, all my imperfections would be glaringly and constantly obvious to me.

“The cafe closes every day at three,” Wisteria said.

“I could have chosen another place.”

“Everything in the immediate area closes at or before 10 p.m. But a quick phone call here and a quick trip to the Confectional was easy enough.”

“You obviously know me too well.”

“The Confectional is actually one of my favorite places in Seattle. Shall I enlighten you?” she asked, referencing the mini cheesecakes.

“Please do.”

Wisteria pointed to a cheesecake wrapped in crinkly brown paper with a hint of a green swirl in its topping. “Key lime white chocolate. Usually only available for the summer season, but I managed to grab one before they changed their menu for the fall.” She tugged at the paper edge of another treat to reveal three layers. “Peanut butter and chocolate.”

I let out an involuntary groan.
 

Wisteria laughed under her breath. “Wait for it,” she said as she pointed at the final cheesecake. “The quadruple chocolate. Dark chocolate blended into the batter with chunks of milk-, white-, and extra-dark chocolate in the center.”

“Chocolate in the batter and extra-dark chunks mixed in?” I moaned. “I love you.”

“They have cheesecake truffles —”

“Enough,” I cried as I lifted my fork eagerly to the dessert before me. “I already don’t know where to start.”

Wisteria laughed quietly again, unfolded her paper napkin, and spread it across her lap. Then she lifted her eyes to me. I didn’t flinch when I met her gaze this time. She chose to dig into the key lime treat first. I managed to get a quarter of the peanut butter and chocolate onto my fork and into my mouth without salivating too unbecomingly. I never was one for delayed gratification. The peanut butter was smooth and creamy.

“Lovely,” I said.

Wisteria nodded. She was still savoring her first bite. I ruthlessly attacked the quadruple chocolate and immediately decided to somehow steal the idea — in cupcake form — for the bakery. Though the creaminess of the cheesecake might not translate … maybe in a thick cream cheese frosting —

“You have something you would like me to look at?” Wisteria asked, reminding me — very politely — that this wasn’t a play date.

“Yes, a map.”

“You think I can reconstruct the magic of a map?”

“I hope so.”

I glanced around. The cafe was still empty.

“The server will not return until after we leave. I’ve already paid her for opening and for her time.”

I reached into my satchel, which I still wore slung across my chest. I hadn’t even thought to hang it over the back of the chair, not with the knife and the map in it.

I nudged the plate of desserts and my ignored hot chocolate to the right edge of the table, against the window. I rolled out the map on the left.

Wisteria gasped and dropped her fork. It clattered against the lip of her tea and then flipped off onto the floor. “The magic …” she moaned, then clamped her mouth shut.

“You can see magic without a circle?” I asked. Most witches could feel magic, but very few could see it — like I did — without casting a circle.
 

Wisteria nodded, then shook her head to deny her involuntary admission. Her lips were so tightly pursed that I could see the outline of her teeth beneath her skin. Most Adepts were cagey about their abilities. It was probably rude that I had asked in the first place.

I looked away, directing my attention to the map before me and giving the witch some time to control her reaction. The tattoo map thrummed with spicy dragon magic, but it didn’t look any different in the lighting of the cafe than it had in the golden wash of the dragon nexus or the track lighting of the bakery. It was still a jumbled mess of green, blue, and black lines, surrounded by striped circles, leaves, and industrial blocks.

“It’s skin?” Wisteria asked. Her voice was pitched a little higher than normal, but she was obviously attempting to get down to business.

“Yes.”

Wisteria stared at the map, not speaking. She was clutching her hands together against her chest, her knuckles white.

“Is it …” She cut off own her question, then started again with her voice more modulated and muted. “Is it dragonskin?”

Smart witch. As far as I knew, she’d only met one half-dragon — me — in person and only seen one fledgling guardian in action — Drake.

“Yes —”

Something hit the window beside me. Wisteria flinched. It sounded like a bird, but when I turned to look, I couldn’t see anything but the deep shadows of the buildings across the street.

Then the shadow shifted where no shadow could be. It pressed against the window, spreading like stumpy fingers along the edges of the glass.

“What … is … that?” Wisteria murmured.

“What color is it? To you?” I wanted a confirmation of the black seething mass I was seeing.

Wisteria shook her head, but I wasn’t sure if she couldn’t see its magic or was refusing to look.

The black mass, a deeper black than any of the other shadows on the street, suddenly peeled back off the window. Warner was standing on the other side of the glass and holding the seething mass aloft. It was writhing in his grasp, attempting to grab on to his arm, shoulder, and hip. Or more specifically, I could see it attempting to adhere itself to Warner’s magic.

The sentinel locked his gaze to mine. Then, with a grim sort of satisfaction, he grabbed another section of the black, roiling mass and ripped the shadow in half. The dark magic disintegrated into nothing. No ash or sand was left behind, as it was with the demons I’d seen vanquished. Vanquished, not killed, because my father had informed me that demons were from another dimension. Though that was only relevant if the shadows were some sort of demon. Warner and Pulou thought they were demon scouts, but now I wasn’t so sure.

Warner flicked his green gaze to Wisteria, who was staring at him with wide eyes. Then he turned on his heel into the shadows beyond the streetlights, disappearing as thoroughly as the vampire usually did.

“Well, that teaches me,” I muttered.

“What?” Wisteria asked breathlessly.

“Warner is pissed at me.”

Two bright pinpoints of red light across the street winked out. That was the only hint I had of Kett’s location. He was watching us from the stoop across the road, the red glow emanating from his eyes indicating that he had been powering up somehow.

“Warner?”

“The dragon, you know, hanging around outside the window, ripping shadow demons in half.”

“Dragon? Window? Shadow demons?”

The witch was shaken, still staring out the window and attempting to see the unseeable. But instead of feeling badly for her, all I could think about was her demanding triple pay, expenses, and a healer on call in order to meet with me. I imagined her inputting the receipt for the mini cheesecakes on an expense report, carefully broken out with the tax in a separate column.

“You still have that healer on call, don’t you?” I’d meant to be sarcastic but the question came out angry instead.

Wisteria cranked her head back to look at me, some retort — or maybe an apology — on her lips. But then she swallowed whatever she was going to say and stiffly nodded.

“Can you cast in a hotel room?” I had no idea how Wisteria practiced magic. Except she had to be able to do so on call, and on location, in order to execute the duties of her job.

The witch nodded, rose gracefully to her feet, and pulled her too-large designer bag off the back of her chair. With the bag hung over her shoulder, she stood waiting for her orders like a good little soldier.

I grabbed what was left of the desserts and walked out of the cafe, expecting the witch to follow.

She did.

Yeah, we weren’t going to be friends anytime soon.

∞

I could feel shadows shifting around us as we hustled along the sidewalk back to the hotel, but I couldn’t taste any new or different magic in the darkness. Wisteria clutched her huge purse to her chest, kept her eyes straight ahead, and her pretty pumps firmly planted in the pools of light emanating from the street lamps. Pretending that dangerous magic didn’t exist wasn’t the best MO. But it seemed to work for the reconstructionist, because we made it to the hotel without incident.

If the shadows were seeking the map like Warner thought they were, I wasn’t sure why they’d pressed against the window in the diner but didn’t try to grab me on the street.

I couldn’t tell if Kett and Warner followed Wisteria and me around the block and back into the hotel, but Kandy joined us in the lobby. She quickly relieved me of the half-eaten mini cheesecakes.

“Witch,” the green-haired werewolf said to Wisteria.

“Kandy,” the reconstructionist replied coolly.

We paused before the elevators. Kandy was grinning at Wisteria in a way that was sure to end in someone getting hurt. Probably me.

“Cool in here, hey?” Kandy asked me.

“Warner and the shadow thing freaked the reconstructionist out,” I replied.

“Shadow thing?”

“Demon or whatever. Warner tore it up.”

“Really? I just saw him twisting his hands in the air. I figured it was some sort of weird dragon sign language.”

I laughed, then focused on the pertinent part of Kandy’s statement. “You couldn’t see the shadow move across the window?”

Kandy shook her head. “The air was a bit musty, but I couldn’t see anything.”

Interesting. A shifter should be able to see demons. Even partly manifested ones. But typically they couldn’t see magic, only scent it. So did that mean the shadows were some sort of magic? And not demon scouts?
 

The werewolf then eyed Wisteria, who stoically didn’t meet her gaze. “She doesn’t look freaked.”