Now that was love. “That’s only because you were homeless in back alleys for a while. I’m not sure I could stomach a straw hut long-term for anyone.” I never wanted to feel the financial stress that my family felt after my grandmother’s addiction siphoned off the family fortune. I wanted to be a Sentry of the South and stash my earnings away until I had the biggest emergency fund known to witches.
“Do you think what your aunt said is true?” Bryn asked, pausing to admire a large bird flying overhead.
“Which thing?” I opened up my overnight bag and fished out a bottle of my special facial wash that Robin Chambers had pinched for me from the mixology lab. Now that he was no longer a prefect, he wasn’t nearly as uptight as he used to be.
“That we all make sacrifices to get what we want,” Bryn said.
I set the bottle on the nightstand. “I suppose so. I sacrificed a normal childhood in order to advance my magic.”
“Did you sacrifice that?” Bryn asked. “Or did you parents sacrifice it for you?”
“Good question,” I said. Bryn had a point, though I didn’t like to think about it. I preferred to view the decisions as my own. “I was willing to sacrifice a personal life at Spellslingers in order to hone my skills and be the best.”
Bryn fluffed her pillow. “But you do have a personal life, don’t you think? You have the three of us. You even have a boyfriend.”
I swatted her arm with one of the small decorative pillows. “Peter is not my boyfriend.” I’d met Peter Zilla when trying to honor my grandmother’s dying wish. He wasn’t the sort of guy I ever expected to fall for—he was a smuggler for starters—but he had an irresistible quality I couldn’t deny… to myself. I had no problem denying it to everyone else, including Peter.
Bryn chuckled. “Don’t tell him that. The druid is ready to declare undying love, I’m pretty sure, which is convenient since he’s immortal.”
“He’s not immortal,” I corrected her. “He just lives a really, really long life, if he’s lucky.” While Peter’s mother was a druid, his father was a Death Bringer called Javar. After his father’s death, Peter inherited his father’s staff, which gives him the power to kill someone with a single touch of the sacred wood. I only recently discovered his secret and was still coming to terms with his deceit.
“Gray’s immortality is intimidating sometimes,” Bryn said. “I hate the idea of him carrying on without me. Then I feel selfish for thinking that because I’d never want anything bad to happen to him.”
“I hope I find that kind of love someday.”
“Oh, come on,” Bryn said. “You don’t think you’ve found that with Peter? You seem smitten to me, whether you admit it or not.”
“Smitten is a bit strong,” I said, settling in beside her on the bed. I stared at the clouds overhead, glimpsing the silhouettes of a gryphon and a pegasus in the soft white formations. “I do like him. It’s impossible not to. He showed me something called the moonwalk the last time I saw him. He looked ridiculous, but he was so happy to share it with me.” A smile touched my lips, remembering his goofy expression. I wasn’t sure how he managed to be goofy and sexy at the same time, but Peter had a knack for it, that was for sure.
“A guy that can do the moonwalk?” Bryn queried. “That’s a keeper right there.”
“But he won’t give up smuggling and he knows how I feel about it,” I said. “What kind of a relationship can a Sentry of the South really have with a known criminal?”
“You should cut him some slack,” Bryn said. “His smuggling is pretty tame in the grand scheme of things, and he had his reasons for keeping his father a secret.”
I smiled. “You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” The identity of Bryn’s father had been a secret when she first arrived at Spellslingers and the revelation had rocked the entire academy.
“Good thing your aunt doesn’t know about my parentage or she’d probably need a Xanax smoothie with a tequila chaser,” Bryn said.
“What’s Xanax?” I asked.
She waved me off. “Human world reference. They’re pills to calm you.”
I laughed. “We have plenty of herbs for that.”
“We should slip them into her tea when we come back with the sword,” Bryn said. “Excuse me, I mean the half a sword.”
I snorted. “What’s up with that anyway?”
“Do you think it’s as valuable as she thinks?”
I shrugged. “Probably. Useless otherwise, though.”
Bryn rested her arms behind her head and closed her eyes. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Chapter Three
Hunter Wiggin wasn’t at all what I expected. My experience with goblins was limited—we didn’t see too many of their kind in the area where I grew up. They weren’t the most poplar species in our world because of their morally challenged reputation. Hunter, however, looked straight out of an L.L. Bean catalogue, according to Bryn. I had no idea what that meant, so she explained that he was clean-cut and probably preferred vanilla ice cream to all other flavors.
“No wonder you and Peter get along,” I said. “You both make the oddest references.”
“They’re only odd because you don’t know the human world. Peter loves Terrene. I’m surprised he doesn’t move there.”
Hunter returned to the patio, where we were enjoying glasses of homemade zazzleberry punch. The goblin took great pride in his zazzleberry bushes in the garden. “Top prize two years running at the county fair,” he said, for the third time since our arrival.
“Yes, that’s quite an accomplishment,” I said. Again.
“Liliana was so thoughtful, sending you my way,” Hunter said, settling down on a chaise lounge. “She knows how much I adore entertaining. My house feels so empty without visitors.”
“There’s no partner in crime here?” Bryn asked.
Hunter laughed. “What a delightful expression. No, my last relationship ended when he decided he preferred a partner with horns. The bigger, the better.” The goblin rubbed his head. “As you can imagine, I wasn’t his ideal choice.”
Bryn took a sip of her punch. “You didn’t consider a little magical enhancement for his sake?”
Hunter’s brow lifted. “A horned goblin? Darling, I love it. I wish I’d thought of it then, but that broomstick has flown the cottage. Besides, if he’s that superficial, I suppose I don’t want him anyway.”
“Consider him a palate cleanser,” Bryn said. “Now you’re ready for your entree.”
Hunter slapped his leg, laughing. “My, aren’t you refreshing? Everyone in our sphere of influence is too busy being uptight to have fun and frank conversations.” His gaze darted to me. “Except your aunt, of course. Liliana is always a good time.”
Hunter seemed far too relaxed for a goblin that snuck into my aunt’s house in the middle of the night and stole her prized sword artifact. It was time to test the waters, though.
“She normally is,” I said. “She was upset this visit, though. That’s why we didn’t stay longer.”
Hunter appeared genuinely concerned. “Why, what happened? Is this because Wilhelm is traveling again? I just saw her the other day and she was fine. A little under the weather after too many bucksberry fizzes, but you know how that goes.”
I didn’t really, but I kept quiet on the subject. “Someone stole one of her heirlooms right out of the library.” I shook my head in dismay. “I think she sent us your way so that she could grieve in private. She put on a brave face, but I could tell she was struggling.”
Hunter’s jaw unhinged. “Stolen? Which heirloom? I’ve seen every piece in that library a hundred times.”
“The partial sword,” Bryn interjected. “It had been displayed on the wall.”
Hunter nodded, seeming to visualize it. “She and I spent hours not too long ago trying to figure out the markings on the handle. Probably didn’t help that we were deep in the cauldron by the time we decided to play historians. We were examining the runes like we were e
xperts, demanding silence while we worked.” He polished off his punch. “Your aunt even took out her wand to quiet some noisy birds outside the window. There was a crow getting the smaller ones all riled up.” He laughed at the memory. “She was so drunk that she misfired and her spell hit the mirror and bounced back.” He slapped his knee. “She couldn’t make a sound for an hour.”
“Deep in the cauldron means drunk,” I whispered to Bryn.
“Yes, I figured it out, thanks. I used my context clues,” Bryn replied.
“So what kind of markings are on the sword?” I asked.
Hunter set aside his empty glass. “Your guess is as good as ours. We couldn’t match the markings with anything in her books.”
“Why do you think someone would be interested in the sword?” I asked. “Because of its age?”
“I don’t know. What else did they take?” he asked.
“That’s the only thing missing,” Bryn said.
Hunter leaned back against the chair. “Really? The only item stolen was half a sword? How bizarre.”
“Did you learn anything about the sword itself when you researched the markings?” I asked.
“Nothing at all,” Hunter replied. “It was as though the sword never existed.”
“Would you mind trying to recreate some of the drawings on paper?” I asked. “It would be helpful if we could look into them, too. The academy library is great for that sort of research.”
“Spellslingers is world renowned,” Hunter said. “I have to imagine the library is exceptional.”
“Definitely. They manage to acquire books and resources that aren’t available to the average paranormal,” I said, which brought me back to the sword. “It sounds like my great-grandfather sometimes acquired things he shouldn’t have. Do you think the sword could be one of them? Maybe someone came to claim what was rightfully theirs after all this time?”
“Doubtful,” Hunter said. “A legitimate claimant would have gone straight up to the door and demanded its return. Sounds to me like we’re dealing with a professional thief.”
“Why professional?” I asked. And why did Hunter know so much about professional thieves?
“They left no trace, presumably, or your aunt wouldn’t have asked for your help.” His mildly smug response made it clear that he knew our visit wasn’t purely social. Ah, well.
“She’s not even sure how they got in,” I said, dropping all pretense. “There was no sign of forced entry.”
Bryn took the interrogation one step further. “Let’s cut to the chase then, since you seem to have figured us out. Did you have anything to do with taking the sword?”
“Absolutely not,” Hunter said. “Your aunt is a diamond in the tiara. I’d never do anything to scuff her shine.” His response was so vehement that I almost felt guilty for asking. I knew I’d have to squelch my personal feelings once I became an actual sentry. There was no room for guilt when interrogating suspects and witnesses. Hunter continued to swear up and down that he’d never take a thing from my aunt, not even a packet of herbs, until I finally had to cut him off.
“We really appreciate your candor,” I said. “If you think of anything later on that might help us, please don’t hesitate to get in touch.”
“I certainly will,” Hunter said. He rose to escort us to the door. “And can I just say what a relief it is to finally meet you?”
I craned my neck to look at the tall goblin. “A relief?”
“Well, your aunt often says how much you favor your grandmother,” he explained. “So I worried you’d be a magical mess. I’m happy to see that’s not the case.”
“No, Dani tends to be very much in control,” Bryn said quickly. “It’s fairly annoying, to be honest.”
Hunter chuckled. “The AMF should be careful having agents like the two of you. Paranormals might turn to crime just to spend time with you both. It’s highly entertaining.”
The goblin certainly was a charmer. No wonder my aunt enjoyed his company. Flattery was his hostess gift.
We left the cabin and headed for the train station on foot, since it was only a mile away.
“We really need to invest in a falcon cloak like the chancellor has so we can avoid public transportation,” Bryn said.
I laughed. “You can’t pick one up at the market. It’s been in her family for generations. It’s basically one-of-a-kind.”
“Why don’t we fly on broomsticks?” she asked. “Trains feel so human world to me.”
“Broomsticks are best for shorter journeys,” I replied. “And you never know what kind of weather you’ll encounter.”
“I’ve been thinking about the markings they couldn’t identify,” Bryn said. “You should show Hunter’s drawing to Cato. He knows everything about everything. Annoying, yet surprisingly useful.”
“That’s a good idea,” I said. “You should come with me, though. Cato likes you better than he likes me.”
Bryn snorted. “Somehow I don’t think that happens very often.”
I shrugged. “You might have a little competition. I think I’m growing on him.”
Bryn flashed a smile. “Like a weed.”
“Hmm,” Cato said, studying Hunter’s drawing of the top of the sword and its markings. “I’m afraid I don’t know recognize it.” Cato was a literal fixture in the Spellslingers library. Mercer, the founder of the academy, had bested Cato in battle and respected him so much that he’d mounted the gryphon’s head on the wall and used necromancy to keep Cato as a source of wise counsel and information.
“You don’t know? Is that a joke?” Bryn asked, aghast. “But you know everything.”
The gryphon blinked its eagle eyes at Bryn. “That’s kind of you to say. To be honest, I wish I knew. I’m disappointed in myself for this unforgivable gap in my knowledge.”
Bryn patted his head. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. We still respect you.”
“What would Mercer say?” Cato hung his head in shame. “I’m a disgrace to fonts of wisdom everywhere.”
“That’s probably overstating it,” Bryn said.
“Should we search the books?” I asked. “Maybe ask Robin?”
“No, I don’t believe you’ll find what you need,” Cato replied. He perked up. “All isn’t lost. There is another who may be able to provide valuable insight.”
“Who’s that?” Bryn asked.
“An ancient water demon called Aenon,” Cato said.
“An ancient water demon sounds like someone we would want to fight, not seek information from,” Bryn said.
“No, no,” Cato said. “Not this demon. He may very well be able to help you…for a price.” Cato’s expression turned solemn.
“What kind of price?” I asked. “Why do I get the impression you don’t mean gold coins?”
Cato observed me. “Correct, young Degraff. I do not mean money.”
“Then what?” Bryn pressed. “We need to answer a riddle or something?”
Cato sniffed. “Aenon is not a sphinx.”
“You say sphinx like it’s a bad word,” Bryn said with a laugh. “Old rivalry, maybe?”
Cato’s beak twitched. “Aenon is unique,” Cato said. “He is a water demon, but the only one of his kind.”
“What should we do to prepare for the visit?” I asked. “Do we need an offering?”
“If he wants alcohol from the human world, I’ve got it covered,” Bryn said.
Cato chuckled. “It will be nothing of the sort, I’m afraid.”
“Will we need to duel each other or something?” I asked. “Winner gets to ask a question?”
“You shall find out his requirement when you see him,” Cato replied. “Be sure you are armed.”
Inwardly, I shivered. “With a wand…or more?”
“A wand is good,” Cato said. “A sword or another blade might also be of use.”
“Against a water demon?” Bryn asked. “How is a blade any good in that scenario?”
“You won’t use the weap
on against Aenon,” Cato huffed. “Perhaps for some other purpose.”
My throat became dry. “All this for an answer to a question about a broken sword?”
Cato’s beak formed a wry smile. “You should feel fortunate that I do not exact a price for my knowledge.”
Bryn patted his eagle head. “I’m seriously starting to appreciate your birdbrain.”
Cato glanced at me. “That’s a compliment, right?”
I gave him a broad smile. “I think so.” With Bryn, you could never be too sure.
Cato told us where we could find Aenon and we exited through the open wall of the library and into the cool night air. Fred and George had been dozing on our way in, but now the two stone gargoyles seemed alert and ready to engage.
“Our favorite strawberry and blueberry,” Fred said, catching sight of us on the steps. “It’s our lucky night.”
“I get why she’s a strawberry,” Bryn said, touching my strawberry blond hair. “But how am I a blueberry?”
“Your hair is so dark, it’s almost blue,” George replied.
Bryn’s brow creased. “Okay, I think of the bratty girl from Willy Wonka who gets turned into a blueberry.” The gargoyles stared at each other. “And you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
“Sounds like magic,” Fred said.
“Movie magic,” Bryn replied. “Goodnight, guys.” She tossed a casual wave over her shoulder and we continued to the base of the steps.
“I don’t know why anyone is afraid to walk past those two,” I said. “I think they’re so sweet.”
“That’s because they don’t pick on us,” Bryn replied. “When I first met Robin, he hurried past them like his feet were on fire.” She stifled a laugh. “They can be pretty brutal, apparently.”
“How do you feel about going to see Aenon?” I asked. “Are you game?”
“Totally,” Bryn said. “But let’s ask Mia and Cerys, too, so they don’t feel left out.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You think they’ll feel left out if they don’t get asked to bring weapons to see a water demon.”
Outfox: Spellslingers Academy of Magic (Sentry of the South Book 2) Page 3