Rolling my eyes, I sighed. “So a pink button-down and blue slacks are hipster clothes?”
He looked at the pink and blue plaid shoes I’d left at the door, following his “no shoes on the carpet” policy, and made a face. “They have this auction twice a year. We are lucky to be among the few people who get invited to both. So, missy, you will not go there looking like vagabond, or some hippy hipster.”
“I don’t think you know what the term means,” I offered.
He simply dismissed me with a wave of his hand. I looked in the mirror. I liked the hair. Dark chestnut waves draped down to my shoulders. I would’ve preferred my typical messy ponytail, but it was an exclusive auction, so I guessed I needed to dress up a little. The eggplant-colored dress complemented my fair skin tone and hazel eyes. But if I moved the wrong way, bumped into someone, or simply bent down too far, the “girls” were definitely going to be exposed. The cut was too low. I wasn’t modest by any standards, but Kalen made me seem like a prude.
He was over the top in every way. His blond hair had hints of silver in it that nearly duplicated his silverish eyes. He thought it looked good, and as a fae, he had the option to change it if he didn’t. It made him look a little older than late thirties, but quite regal. The slim dark suit showed off his sinewy build, and even in three-inch heels he had my five foot six inch frame by about six inches. Kalen was a lot to take in, and the orange, geometric-patterned tie was even more obtrusive.
“It’s an auction. If I go in like this, I’m pretty sure people are going to start bidding on me,” I teased. “Just change it.” Ice laced my voice to drive in my point. We had already wasted nearly twenty minutes on this.
“You may be the most stubborn woman I know,” he said with a scowl.
I shrugged and grinned. “Three years ago you gave me a job because you liked my tenacity. Now I’m stubborn? Pick a team.”
It wasn’t necessarily tenacity that got me the job—more like coincidence. Our neighbor, a witch who worked out of her home, was dealing with a disgruntled fae who was convinced she was holding out on him and had a way to remove the iron ring he had to wear as punishment by the Fae Council. He’d gotten off easy, but apparently he didn’t think so; however, if he’d been tried by the Magic Council, his punishment would have been worse.
One of the perks of being a fae was the ability to read thoughts, along with the ability to perform cognitive manipulation, getting people to do whatever they desired. But the rules about it were just as strict as privacy laws among humans, and he’d violated one by not obtaining consent from the person he was manipulating. Apparently the degenerate fae liked the “olden” days when it was acceptable to mentally violate others. It wasn’t really acceptable—humans didn’t know it was being done to them then because they didn’t know that faes or any of the supernaturals existed. Faes were extremely dangerous because there were no safeguards on their abilities, unlike vampires, who needed eye contact to compel someone into submitting to them.
Though the Cleanse devastated the supernatural and human world, the one benefit of it was that magic was now regulated. No more enthralling people or compelling them. Vampires couldn’t do it anymore, either. If they wanted to feed from someone they were reduced to old-fashioned seduction. Which explained why I hadn’t seen any ug-mo vampires—they would probably starve to death. Nor could faes change their appearance for deception; they had to pick their features and stick with them. The penalty for changing features wasn’t worth it, nor was that for their spells of the mind. There was more leniency if manipulation was done to another supernatural, but do it to a human and your use of magic was revoked.
I was just a bystander as Kalen seemed to be handling the situation and looked like he was about to subdue the irate fae. But during the struggle the fae managed to get the upper hand, so I poured coffee on him—nothing brave, I just opened the lid and my “quick thinking and tenacity” earned me a job. Three years later, my tenacity was getting me censured.
“Nice. That’s a wonderful way to talk to your boss.” Sparks flew from his fingers, flashes of blue, gray, teal, and fuchsia, and I inhaled, allowing a moment to appreciate magic. To be one with it, to allow it to drape over me like a comforting blanket. I didn’t have the luxury of using magic whenever the mood hit me. But the longing was there to do so, to will it to do my bidding. As the allure of it became stronger, I forced myself to think about the Cleanse. If the threat of being put to death didn’t snap me out of the desire to use magic, then that certainly would.
“Hmm. As my boss, shouldn’t you want to enforce a dress code?” I joked, looking at the new dress he put me in. Same eggplant color, strapless, a little longer than the other, landing just below my knees. He stepped back, giving me a long assessing look, flicked his fingers, and a small silver necklace was placed around my neck and a goddess bracelet around my arm.
“You do enjoy this, don’t you?” I asked.
He smiled, exposing perfectly aligned white teeth that hadn’t become discolored by the ridiculous amounts of coffee he drank each day. It was safe to assume they were the result of fae magic. “Anytime I can get you out of the dreadful plaid shirt and tattered jeans is a win for me.”
“Fine, the next time we have to go mining for things in a cave, I will make sure I wear heels and a fancy dress. Then maybe I can stand back and bark orders while holding a flashlight, while you do all the grunt work.” Sewers, caves, and disgruntled supernaturals were rare in our job. Generally, we went to estate sales, community yard sales, and storage unit auctions and answered ads on Craigslist to find merchandise. Auctions were very rare, especially one like this. In Kalen’s quest to diversify his antiques acquisitions business we’d stumbled into finding magical objects, too. In the past year, that’s where we made the most money. An antique sewing machine was nice, but we’d get twice as much for an earth spell book.
I picked up the large tote that I used as a purse and checked the items in it: lipstick, brush, my twins—two sai—and a small dagger. We should be safe.
Kalen shook his head. “It’s an auction, a very exclusive one. I doubt weapons will be needed, just cash.”
He didn’t push the matter when I kept them with me. Doesn’t matter how exclusive it was, auctions with magical antiquities always brought out the undesirables. Except they were the ones with an obscene about of money, and whether they were human or supernatural, I was always suspicious about their intentions regarding whatever was being auctioned. For the three years I’d worked for Kalen, we’ve attended Mystic Auction every six months. The first time we were invited, I was put off by the invitation process: Nothing is exchanged; a visitor comes to invite you, and you are given a number that will get you into the event. An answer is required at the time of invitation, and if you accept and fail to show up, good luck getting invited again.
Officially we were acquisitions specialists— a fancy title for getting things. We acquired objects and resold them. Sometimes we were hired by someone to find a particular object. Usually those jobs were dangerous, but paid really well. Auctions were where we acquired most of the inventory that Kalen deemed too dangerous for the general population, which he gave over to the Magic Council. Kalen had become their golden boy, and many of our acquisitions had landed him on the news. Yeah, that’s all he needed, more cameras and people fawning over him. But it worked for us. I didn’t want or need the publicity. I helped acquire and quietly slinked off into the shadows, content in my role as the silent partner. This time we were trying to obtain an object for a private client.
The auctions were held at the same place each time. It was a palatial pewter-colored Neoclassical home. Large pillars decorated the entrance, and as usual we were greeted by men in tuxedos under a chandelier. Dimmed lights offered soft illumination. Expensive art hung on the walls, but I didn’t have a chance to really look at it or any of the unique sculptures because we were promptly escorted to our seats. Before the auctions servers often offered a glass of wi
ne or two. Most of the items purchased ran in the high six figures, some as high as seven, so a glass of wine was the least they could offer. I would have settled for a five-course meal.
I grabbed a glass of wine and looked around the large room that held just twenty guests. The most I’d ever seen were twenty-five. We were seated behind a regular, Big Hat, who was always positioned front and center and wearing a hat that reminded me of something someone would wear to the Kentucky Derby. She was definitely human—there wasn’t a hint of magic to her. Like so many, she was drawn to the mystique of magic, wanting to claim some for herself. Something unique and rare that couldn’t be purchased on Coven Row, a street monopolized by witches and their various businesses ranging from them reading your aura to providing protection charms.
Although most things were authentic and unique, occasionally they weren’t. We’d often tried to warn her, but after several sharp comments and cutting glares, we realized she had more money than sense. The large glasses and scarf she wore would make it difficult to identify her. Which didn’t bother me because most of the things she purchased were just a step above a Magic 8 Ball in their magical ability.
Most of the faces were familiar except for the guy who sat in the back dressed in all black, including dark shades that he dropped down his aquiline nose to look at me and then quickly pushed back into position. After a few minutes he returned to slowly looking around the room, assessing everyone. Our eyes locked, human—I think. But there was something off-putting about him. His sharp angular features were distracting. I didn’t think he was handsome, but the scowl that overtook his features bothered me. He looked like he would rather be anywhere but here. As the auctioneer took his position in front of the room, I glanced back at the stranger again. He’d taken off his glasses, his eyes cool and as dark as the clothes he wore. He finally did something other than scowl; a faint smile brushed his lips.
“I see you’re drawn to the city’s very own fundamentalist,” Kalen whispered, pulling my attention from the stranger in black.
“What?”
“That’s Daniel, the founder of Human First?”
That explained the scowl. He pretty much hated everyone in this room, including me because he probably considered me an empathizer. Which made his presence at the auction all the more peculiar. This was a group that was very vocal about keeping humans and supernaturals separate and had suggested many times dividing the city to accomplish it. They weren’t able to be linked to any crimes to be considered a hate group, and most didn’t consider them one, but the world wasn’t ready to oblige them. The supernaturals had been woven into the fabric of society. Naturalists and clean eaters were drawn to the earth witches and their use of nature for magic. And most people paid well to find homes near the “natch,” aka the supernaturals. Preppers and nature lovers enjoyed living in Forest Township, near the shifters in an area comprised of lush forestry and campsites. And they were drawn to by the hope of seeing a submission fight on any given day, a chance to be allowed to have hunting competitions with actual predators, or the right to pay to fight with a bear shifter in animal form for sport. Then there was the charm of the faes and their ethereal beauty and gifts of glamour and illusions. People were intrigued by the vampires’ immortality and drawn to the night dwellers because they commanded the darkness with seduction and the promise of unequivocal pleasure. HF couldn’t turn people against mages and their magic, which was stronger than the witches’ and far more impressive to watch than that of any illusionist.
Humans First didn’t have a lot of people willing to buy into the rhetoric even when they invoked the Cleanse as an argument. And it was a hell of an argument. After the Cleanse the world was different. It was a spell intended to wipe out all supernaturals, which was stopped, but not before it killed so many. The weakest were the first to go, a lot of them humans who had no idea that their aunt who had heightened senses wasn’t just hyperaware, but a distant descendant of a fae. Or that cousin who seemed inhumanly strong and fast could trace those little assets to a liaison with shifter. All the people with a hint of magic that most considered just enhanced abilities were often descendants of some supernatural entity. They didn’t have enough magic to perform it or to be classified as a supernatural. They were killed, along with thousands of other supernaturals.
My kind was responsible for it. The others were exempt from blame and rightfully—they were as much victims as humans were.
Regardless of Daniel’s rhetoric and motives, he was dangerous. I was sure, like us, he was there to bid on the Necro-spear, a weapon that could be used against shapeshifters who were immune to most magic in human and animal form. If stabbed with it, a shifter was not only prevented from shifting but while it was embedded in them they were vulnerable to magic. It was created by a Legacy and possessed their magic—my magic.
Anything made with our magic was dangerous. Really dangerous, because we were magic. The purest form of it that transcended anything that people saw now. I had no hubris or arrogance about it, because I wished it weren’t the case. The magic and gifts that were afforded to various supernaturals in fractions, we possessed as a whole. Our magic could affect shapeshifters and anyone else. It was the Alpha and the Omega and all the crap in between, and when all was said and done it was what broke my kind. I lived my life in fear that people would find out what I was, because my form of magic could perform the Cleanse.
I sat in the auction, hoping that the Necro-spear was just a rumor and not up for sale at an auction.
This auction was like the others. Kalen waited patiently on items worth bidding on. Most people came here hoping they could acquire things that hadn’t been regulated or restricted by the Magic Council and about 40 percent of it was. We passed on a painting that was supposed to bring fortune upon any house it was in, and we didn’t bid on a beautiful string of love pearls that Big Hat acquired. We probably wouldn’t have bid on them even if we weren’t holding out for a particular item. The magic that came off those things seemed off, and from the peculiar way Kalen looked at them, I suspected he felt it as well. Not only could he sense the magic, he had an extensive knowledge of magical objects. Supernaturals had an advantage that humans didn’t at these auctions, which made me wonder why they would ever consider coming alone. It was like buying a used car without a mechanic. Well maybe worse, at least you could get a warranty on a car. Once you walked out the door here, that’s it. You may have just paid six figures for a junk necklace, a paint-by-numbers painting, or a decorative rock that you could have gotten at Target a lot cheaper.
The auctioneer held up a dagger. “And this ladies and gentleman is a Necro-spear. It is rumored that there are only six in the world.” A collective gasp was heard throughout the room.
My heart clenched and dropped to the pit of my stomach. The magic off the Necro-spear coursed through me like a wave. Its familiarity caressed my skin, and the danger of it triggered my fight or flight responses. I swallowed several times and then sucked in a slow breath that didn’t help. It was indeed a Necro-spear, something created by a Legacy, one of the rare things that could prevent a shapeshifter from shifting. But that wasn’t the worst part. It had our magic, my magic in it. It could be used to track other Legacy. If someone was inclined to believe we still existed this could be used to confirm or deny it. I tried to remember what Kalen had said about the client. It was for a shifter, someone from the Shapeshifter Council. That was good, they would probably want to destroy it. Worst-case scenario, they would keep the spear, and it would probably be used as a submission tool to apprehend misbehaving shifters.
I wasn’t happy with anyone having it, but since shifters couldn’t perform magic it wasn’t as bad. Having something that was made by someone was just as bad as having their blood. I didn’t want anyone to be able to trace this back to me and expose me as a Legacy.
The bidding started out at a low four figures and quickly increased to five-figure bids and slowed as it inched to the high five figures. Toward
the end, the only people bidding were Big Hat, the head of HF, and Kalen.
The war to obtain the Necro-spear continued, and I tried to get a feel of everyone involved. Mr. HF’s jaw was clenched too tight, anger— I knew he was out. Big Hat would be out soon because she’d just spent a small fortune on what might prove to be just a simple string of pearls or worse, costume jewelry. Five aggressive bids later, Kalen was the new owner of the Necro-spear.
Before the bidding for the next object began, Daniel slipped away with two people following behind him: one a bulky gentleman whose wealth of blond hair was a little bit too long to be contained behind his ears. His rugged beard and how uncomfortable he was in a suit made me think he was more at home with a man bun and in a pair of jeans and t-shirt. The beautiful woman next to him was in white from head to toe. The way she wore the white strapless dress that slinked around her thin frame and six-inch heels made me want to applaud such grace. Both Daniel and the woman in white looked back at me, casting another long gaze of curiosity in my direction.
The last item, a bowl, was given a fancy name and was said to be known to help people navigate through realms. Yeah, if the realms were between two restaurants, because the bowl was as magical as the one I ate my cereal out of this morning.
Holding the beautifully wrapped spear, I fell in step with Kalen. “How well do you know the client?” I wanted to know what they planned to do with it.
“Gareth?” he asked.
I’d forgotten his name. “Yes, Gareth.”
“The better question is why don’t you know Gareth?”
“Why should I know him?”
“For heavens to Nancy, he’s the new commander of the Supernatural Guild! And was the head of the Shapeshifter Council before taking this position.”
“Who’s Nancy and what does she plan to do with heaven?” I asked, a grin curling my lips as I ignored the look of derision he slipped in my direction.
Double-Sided Magic (Legacy Series Book 1) Page 2