by Casey Wolfe
“Thank you,” he said with a nod. “Again, I apologize. Hope you have a better day.”
It was there again, that sense of ease. Rowan only nodded, pocketing his wallet as he hurried off to meet Caleb before he started to worry.
SHAW WATCHED AS the mage left, noting the quick glance over his shoulder at them before he disappeared around the corner. Rowan, his ID had said.
Typically, Shaw didn’t step in when he caught knights pushing the boundaries of the law. As an inquisitor, he was above them in rank, yes, but they were also a separate division. He had enough to worry about without dealing with the overzealous knights in the city.
Something about Rowan had made him react. Shaw’s natural protective instincts flared, and he’d found himself confronting the brash young knight. He could have written it off as saving Danforth’s skin—after all, Rowan had looked about ready to flay him alive—but that wasn’t it at all.
No, it was Rowan’s presence. It had called to him. As cliché as it sounded, that was the truth of it. Drawn in, the feeling intensified when Shaw had looked up into those bright eyes. They’d been glowing at first, easing back into a deep violet once Shaw gained control of the situation.
Now, he had Rowan’s information copied into his notepad, tucked safely away in the pocket of his short-sleeve jerkin. Shaw wasn’t about to pretend it hadn’t been for self-indulgent reasons. Rowan was a tall drink of water in painted-on jeans. His lavender shirt complemented his eyes and his blue-gray overshirt had been left unbuttoned to show off a trim waist. A sharp jawline and a shock of blond hair falling in layers against his cheek had added to the hard stare Rowan had landed him with. Shaw had practically melted into goo right there on the sidewalk—damn it.
Shaw glanced over to find Dansforth standing there, appearing none too happy with his intervention. “Is there a problem, Knight?” he asked, a bit of danger in his tone.
“I was doing my job…sir.”
Shaw’s lips curled into a sneer. The man was being just this side of insolent. “I’d watch your step, Knight. I’m not filing a report on this. But I can change that at any time.”
Dansforth immediately relaxed his stance, leaning in toward him. “I thought you were clear on your next course of action, Inquisitor.”
So, now he’s showing respect. Shaw barely held back from rolling his eyes. “Well, he don’t have to know that, now does he?” He brushed it off, turning to leave. “Continue your patrol, Knight.”
“Yes, sir.”
In truth, if Shaw were to write up the report, nothing would ever come of it. The Inquisition took care of their own, first and foremost. Something as incidental as this would have been thrown in the garbage. If anything, it would create a target on Rowan’s back, and Shaw refused to be the one to put it there. The magicae in the city had enough issues without the constant harassment the Inquisition brought them.
He wasn’t in a position to do anything about it, so instead, he did his job. As an inquisitor, Shaw was afforded more freedom than the average employee, and he wasn’t about to risk that by making too many waves. If he could help magicae in the process, then it was all worth it.
Shaw returned to his issued car, having been on his way there when he’d passed by that little scene Dansforth had caused. He had been out contacting a potential witness for a case and, unfortunately, it was time to get back to the temple.
In his opinion, Everstrand’s headquarters was unnecessarily opulent. It had been constructed nearly thirty years back, but in the style of the castles and cathedrals of old. Its location in the historic Southern District, however, made it blend in rather nicely, as if it had always been there.
Shaw pulled into the employees-only lot behind the building, thankful to avoid the entrance at the front of the massive structure. It was all too much for him: the grand facade, the high-vaulted ceiling, and the paintings adorning the walls. It was easily the most nauseating part of the temple.
There was even a giant tapestry, complete with dragon-slaying, that paid homage to the Inquisition’s roots. From famed dragon killers to experts on all things magicae, it seemed every rising government had a consulting Inquisition presence. However, consulting turned into full-on law enforcement fairly quickly once they proved themselves capable of the task.
The rest of the temple, while still feeling grand and out of time, was far more subtle. Long parapets led to towers at the corners of the building. There was a final square tower in the center, which jutted out above the rest. The inquisitor offices were housed there, along with the rest of the high command.
Slipping through the back entrance, Shaw nodded politely enough to those he passed. He hadn’t exactly been around long enough to make friends. Honestly, he didn’t even want to. Most of the people who worked for the Inquisition were undeniably assholes with a point to prove—bigots just seemed to go hand-in-hand.
He had a job to do, so Shaw would grin and bear the rest of it. He knew he could make a difference, given time. As each day dragged into weeks, however, he wondered if it would be worth it in the end, if anything would come of it.
Vaughn emerged from his office, spotting Shaw in the hall. “Inquisitor Shaw,” he greeted with a faux smile. “Anything to report?”
“When there is, you’ll be the first to know.”
Shaw walked right by. He refused to kiss Vaughn’s ass like the other inquisitors did. Assistant High Inquisitor had gone to Vaughn’s head, in Shaw’s opinion. No, the sole person he would even think to watch his step around was Meredeen—head of the inquisitors, and second only to Zane.
Slowing, Shaw looked over his shoulder to see Vaughn turning the corner. He waited a moment before rerouting to Vaughn’s office. Clicking the door shut behind him, Shaw gave the room a cursory glance. He would have to make this quick.
After kicking the computer chair out of the way, Shaw pulled a flash drive from a small pouch inside his boot. He slotted it into the USB port, waking the computer in the process. He needn’t worry about passwords; the program in the flash drive ran encryption-cracking software automatically.
Shaw let the drive do its job, turning his attention to the rest of the room. There was paperwork everywhere, along with stacks of folders filled with potential information. There was no way Shaw had time to go through it all.
Instead, he pulled a scroll from the hidden pocket inside his jerkin. Unrolling it exposed a spell written in Runic, which translated to “reveal that which is hidden.” A brief glow radiated from the scroll when he pressed it to the wall. Light washed across the floor, ceiling, and everything else within the room.
Shaw looked around, hoping to find any indication that the spell had found something. Unfortunately, he was left with nothing. He pulled the now blank scroll from the wall and shoved it back into his jerkin.
The computer chimed softly, signaling the end of the download. Shaw pulled the flash drive out, reset the chair, and returned the drive to its hidden pouch, before slipping back into the hall completely unnoticed.
Chapter Two
ROWAN SPOTTED CALEB on a bench by the square’s fountain. He might have appeared relaxed, but Rowan knew better. His friend was always alert, his canine senses stretched out. Caleb’s nose twitched, a slow smile spreading across his face as he no doubt picked out Rowan’s scent from the other people milling around. Warm, honey eyes opened, finding Rowan almost immediately.
Sitting up from his graceful sprawl, Caleb brushed angled bangs from his eyes. His dark roots were showing again, not that his hair ever stayed that way. Caleb had a thing for dying it any number of crazy colors—or three. At the moment, it was royal-blue—a great improvement from bubblegum pink.
“Hey, man!” Caleb greeted brightly. Evidently, Rowan was more shaken than he realized, as Caleb’s brows immediately lowered. “What’s wrong?”
“I see you wore the shirt I got you, finally,” Rowan said in a bid for avoidance.
Caleb was rebellious with more than his hair. Today, his c
lunky combat boots were paired off with black jeans that had buckled straps around the thigh and calf. Completing the look was a white long-sleeved shirt with gashes at the elbows, making it seem torn. He loved anything that made a statement, as long as it was in monochrome.
Caleb shrugged. “Not my fault it’s been too cold to go without a jacket and this doesn’t work with any I’ve got.” He hip-checked Rowan as he chided, “And don’t change the subject.”
Grumbling, Rowan held open the door to the Brew Room, the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee greeting them. They sat at their usual table near the back, where the large windows let in an abundance of light. One wave to the pretty nymph waitress and they knew their usual order would be put into the kitchen.
“What the hell’s goin’ on?” Caleb demanded, leaning forward on his arms and catching Rowan’s gaze.
“Had a run-in with a knight on the way over,” he answered. “Just freaked me out a little is all.”
Caleb’s eyes narrowed, trying to figure out if Rowan was being entirely truthful. “What the hell they want?”
“No idea. Some upstart looking to make a name. Flexing his power.”
Huffing, Caleb turned sideways so his back was against the wall and window, arm slung over the back of the chair. “Fucking assholes,” he muttered. “Surprised no one’s been buggin’ me yet.” To Rowan’s questioning look, he asked, “Don’t you ever watch the news?”
“As if.”
“That bill I told you about? The one that would require all were-creatures to wear collars?”
“Don’t tell me they actually passed it.” Rowan felt his stomach drop at the thought.
“No, but it’s up for vote in Parliament next week.”
It was natural Caleb would be concerned. Plenty of were-creatures wore anti-shift collars while out in public around the time of the full moon. It was a choice, however, with few exceptions, but the law in question would make them mandatory. Extremists were even pushing them to be an everyday requirement outside the home.
Caleb was staunchly against the collars. Then again, it wasn’t like he needed one. He had been controlling his shifts completely for nearly a decade—being a born werewolf sure helped in that regard.
“It’ll never pass,” Rowan said. The bill was being backed by the Inquisition, and with all of the heat being brought down on the organization lately, Rowan couldn’t see that it would get the type of support they needed.
“I hope you’re right,” Caleb murmured, sinking back against the wall. “We’re a minority if enough magicae races want to turn their backs on us.”
Rowan couldn’t say that they hadn’t seen it before. Fearmongering and bigotry were perhaps to be expected between mundanes and magicae, but it still surprised Rowan to watch magicae turn on their own. “It won’t pass,” Rowan insisted, as though that settled the matter.
Danais, their usual waitress, came over with their coffees. Rowan was one for tea, but he couldn’t argue how good the hazelnut blend was here, a little vanilla cream added to make it perfect. She also had a pair of sugary pastries. “Your sandwiches should be up shortly,” Danais said with a smile, before going to attend other customers.
“Anything new?” Rowan asked, nodding toward Caleb’s sketchbook on the table. He always carried one with him. At least he’d stopped bringing charcoal with him, too, as it often caused messy situations.
“If I ever meet my muse? I’m going to drop-kick her into the Grey Tides.”
Rowan choked on his pastry.
“I’ve just been so stressed out with all this political shit going on, I can’t seem to get anything to work right,” Caleb continued without notice. Clearly, Rowan’s attempt at a distraction had backfired. “Pollock threw his hat in the ring for Prime Minister.”
“And you think a guy who campaigns openly as anti-magicae is going to win?”
Caleb sent him a look. “He got into Parliament, didn’t he?”
“Well, he’s going to need support from more than his district to pull it off.”
Caleb’s frown deepened, looking down at the table. “I’m scared, Ro,” he admitted quietly. “I’m scared of what this country’s becoming. And I’m terrified for what it means for all of us.” He shook his head. “I mean, when did it get so bad that someone like Pollock is even in the running?”
Rowan frowned as well. “I don’t know.” He understood Caleb’s distress. It was inconceivable that things had come to this. “We have to have faith in each other.” He reached out to take Caleb’s hand. “If we stand together? I think we’ll be alright.”
Caleb’s lips twisted up into a little smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Caleb squeezed his hand.
After a long moment, Caleb released his hand and grabbed his sketchbook, flipping open to a fresh page. Pastry in one hand and pen in another, Caleb started to doodle.
“So, are we hanging out tonight?” Caleb asked absentmindedly.
Rowan shook his head ruefully—typical Caleb. At least he was done with all the politics talk. Rowan took a bite of his pastry and was chewing when Caleb looked up at him for an answer.
Swallowing first, Rowan replied, “I’m heading out to the Guild after this. Need to set up for my next exam.”
Caleb’s eyes widened a bit. “Yeah? You were serious then.”
“It’s time to get it done,” Rowan said easily enough.
“Well, good luck.”
Rowan chuckled. “Little early for that, isn’t it?”
“It’s also you,” Caleb countered. “I’ll be lucky to see you at all before it’s over.”
“You got me there,” Rowan grumbled. He had the tendency to get obsessive, he knew, but that was just who he was.
“So is that a ‘no’ for tonight?” he asked, attention back on his drawing.
“I’m going to have a lot of work to do.” When Caleb looked at him pointedly, Rowan grimaced. “That would be a no.”
Caleb rolled his eyes. “One of these days…” He took a sip of coffee before humming as he remembered something. “Oh, I got that new painting done for the shop. I’ll bring it by later.”
“No rush,” Rowan assured him, finishing off his sweet.
Caleb’s last painting, a stunning night scene of the Sacred Timber, had caught the eye of one of Rowan’s customers. They had made an offer on it, a sum too good to pass up in Rowan’s opinion, so he had let it go and passed the money along to Caleb. He had been a bit put out that Rowan had sold something meant as a gift, but Caleb did need the money—the whole reason Rowan had done it, as trying to lend Caleb money never worked.
It was Rowan who suggested Caleb make more pieces to put up. Another avenue to show his work never hurt. Besides, anything truly meant for Rowan was at his cottage. That evening piece had mostly been there because Caleb complained the shop needed more atmosphere.
“I think you’ll like it,” Caleb pressed on. “Floating islands with waterfalls flowing off of them into the abyss.”
“I’m sure it’s amazing.”
Caleb gave a noncommittal grunt.
It was always like this, from the day they had met at a street faire. Caleb hadn’t been in Everstrand long, and he was there selling his art. Rowan was impressed, but Caleb never thought all that much of his own work. He was far more confident in his web design skills that he used to pay the bills. After updating the website and social media for the then-new Charmed to Meet You, they became fast friends and, soon thereafter, inseparable.
Danais returned with their sandwiches—roast beef for Caleb and tuna for Rowan—promising to check on them in a bit.
Digging in, Rowan glanced at the sketchbook. It was rough, but there was no mistaking the figure on the page as anyone other than Rowan. A spell of some sort was floating above his palm, and the shape of a wolf was forming beside him.
Rowan’s lips quirked. “Y’know,” he mused, “if you keep drawing us together, people are going to get the wrong idea.”
Caleb barked a laugh. “What
? You embarrassed that people might think we’re dating?”
Rowan scoffed, which made Caleb laugh harder. “You know I love you,” Rowan said, “but you are not my type.”
“Well, mysterious and handsome is a lot to handle in one man.”
It was Rowan’s turn to laugh. “I can’t even with you. And no, you know exactly what I mean.”
“Ah, yes.” Caleb feigned seriousness. “I am a slut.”
Rowan threw his head back and laughed, the bright sound filling the cafe. “Oh my Goddess.”
“Hey, I won’t argue.” Caleb smirked. “I’m not ashamed of it.”
“I know you aren’t.”
Rowan knew that better than anyone. Caleb never led men on. They were all well aware that it was nothing more than a hookup—maybe even on multiple occasions if they clicked. Caleb claimed he was having too much fun exploring himself and the world to worry about commitment. Still, Rowan would argue having regular sex with a person was some kind of a relationship.
It was Rowan who required a commitment. If they were dating, then it was exclusive. Sex for sex’s sake wasn’t his thing. Not that he saw anything wrong with it. Perhaps he was too busy looking for that perfect partner instead of simply enjoying life, as Caleb put it.
It was hard keeping a boyfriend with his schedule. Maybe he really should have been considering something a bit more casual—if only to have companionship outside of Caleb.
“And if anyone so much as looks at you crossways for it,” Rowan promised, “I’ll fry them.”
Caleb’s grin flashed sharper-than-average canines and he flipped his bangs from his face. “See, this is why I love you. You’ve got a devious streak hidden under there.”
Rowan smirked in reply.
HAVING PARKED HIS bike in the lot for the Mages Guild, Rowan walked to the brick and wrought-iron archway. It wasn’t a physical barrier, rather one that was enchanted to grant or deny entrance as visiting hours allowed. His brows lowered when he saw the notice on the event board that said they were closed to non-guild members for the day.