Smoke and Mirrors

by Jess Haines

  Once she rounded a corner created by a crushed velvet couch set on its arm and a larger than life oil painting of some lady in a too-tight corset and fancy Victorian dress, the labyrinth was left behind. The opening spilled her out into a sprawling smorgasbord of trinkets, treasures and trash of every variety, both magical and mundane. There was little rhyme or reason to the layout that Kimberly could see; hip-high bookshelves full of atlases, memoirs and occult texts flanked a case full of jewelry, rare stones, cut crystals, bones, and scraps of various furs. Carvings and paintings leaned against end tables, and stone idols sat in otherwise empty chairs. There was such a heavy aura of magic on the place that she couldn’t pinpoint which items were enchanted, which added a touch of disorientation to her already considerable trepidation.

  A tall, slender man in a fitted waistcoat stood behind the antique register atop a counter that ran half the length of the display floor. Nice body under those weird clothes. Very nice, she thought, noting how the coat somehow managed to both make him look like a gentleman while emphasizing his trim waist and the impressive span of his shoulders. The first thing that struck her once she got past the strange clothes were his eyes. An intriguing shade of icy blue set in a hawkish face, focused with the keen intent of a raptor upon his visitor.

  Everything about the man, from his anachronistic dress to the way he slicked back his dark hair in messy spikes, hinted at something feral hiding behind a thin veneer of culture. A culture from another time, maybe, but it didn’t seem to matter—she couldn’t tear her gaze away from those mesmerizing eyes.

  That is, until he spoke. His voice was low and husky, like whisky and smoke, warm with a hint of sting underneath.

  “Come closer, Kim. I don’t bite.”

  Kimberly jerked into motion at his words as it hit her that she’d been standing there, staring like a fool. She skirted around a stack of plaster Green Man wall hangings and set the cup on the counter, praying the heat in her cheeks wasn’t broadcasting her embarrassment and ignoring the little furrows that appeared between his brows at the streak of liquid left behind on the polished mahogany surface as she nudged it toward him.

  Get it together, she admonished herself. Keep it professional. Think about school. Graduating. The future. A cold shower. Oh, man...

  She took a deep breath to compose herself, then spoke in a rush. “It’s Kimberly, sir. Here’s your extra hot café latte, lots of cream, and a splash of hazelnut. Professor Reed said you’d like that.”

  He nodded, but didn’t touch the drink. “You’re late. Let me see your school ID, if you please.”

  “Story of my life,” she muttered, extending her left wrist so he could see the stamped coin on the silver wire bracelet. The school symbol on the coin was a combination of simple and complex; a trio of Nordic runes inset around the triple looping spirals of a Celtic triskelion, which was in turn surrounded by a snake eating its own tail. Like every other student of Blackhollow Academy, hers was keyed specifically to her, acting as her hall pass to give her safe passage through the school’s gates. At his nod, with a bit more grace, she withdrew and added, “I’m sorry. I came directly from work as fast as I could.”

  His icy gaze did not reflect any amusement. “Lack of punctuality has been likened to a lack of respect. I do not appreciate my time being wasted.”

  Kimberly paused. The guy was already ticked at her and she hadn’t even been there five minutes yet. This did not bode well if she was going to ask him for help. She closed her eyes, clasping the sage bundle closer to hide how her hands were shaking, and then bowed her head in what she hoped was a good show of contrition.

  “Mr. Hunter, sir, I am very sorry for being late. It wasn’t my intention to waste your time.”

  “It may not have been your intent, but you certainly succeeded.”

  Why wouldn’t he just drop it? She gritted her teeth against letting something unforgivable slip. “It won’t happen again.”

  No, it certainly wouldn’t. After tonight, forget how handsome he was—she hoped she never had to lay eyes on Cormac Hunter ever again. The last thing she needed was one more person in her life looking down on her and thinking she was just a waste of space. Once she got what she needed from him, she never wanted to see—or smell—the Wild Hunt again.

  For a long moment, he stood there staring at her, impassive. Then one corner of his lips twitched upward, betraying the cool exterior. That little slip softened his features, making him look more human, less predatory, to her eyes.

  “I’ll let it slide this once,” he said, his smile widening just a fraction. “Well, Kim, I thi—”

  “It’s Kimberly. Not Kim. Not Kimbellina. Not Kamehameha. Just Kimberly.”

  The moment the sharp words left her runaway mouth, she slapped a hand over the traitor, eyes wide with horror at her own slip. The last thing she wanted to do was alienate Cormac before she even had a chance to ask for his help, but much to her relief, he chuckled instead of taking offense.

  “I suppose I deserved that,” he said once the laughter tapered off. His tone went wry. “Well, just Kimberly, perhaps you’d like to tell me what you’re doing to my merchandise?”

  She looked down at the bundle of sage crumpled in her fist, and gasped in horror. He cocked his head and leaned forward as she frantically pawed through the twine and broken bits of twigs in her hands.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “The price tag. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—I’ll pay—”

  * * *

  Cormac found himself amused with this young woman though he wasn’t sure yet what it was about her that made him so tolerant toward her snippiness or manhandling of his stock. Maybe how she’d been so noticeably attracted to him from the moment she set eyes on him. He had tried to stay neutral but a very male part of him preened under that admiration in her gaze. Not to mention how she was so flustered in his presence that he couldn’t quite bring himself to be angry with her.

  At her stricken look and obvious panic, his smile faded. Her reaction was disproportionate considering it was a common, cheap spell component, but upon closer observation he noted the frayed edges of her shirt sleeves peeking out from under her school jacket. That, and the wear on her far too sensible, low-heeled shoes.

  Though he would normally have demanded immediate payment for the damaged goods, a pang of sympathy and an uncharacteristic desire to set her at ease made him hold his tongue. Instead, he held out his hand.

  “Nonsense. Give it here. I’ll find a use for it.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I’ll pay for it.”

  His eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a thin white slash. When she didn’t back down, he took a sterner tone. “Unless you’re practicing hedgewitchery in addition to the finer arts, you have no need of it. I’ll take it.”

  “No,” she said, to his utter bafflement, tilting her chin up and meeting his gaze with a fierce look of her own. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had denied him, let alone been so bold when facing his... well, if not wrath, his irritation, at the very least. “I can find a use for it, too. And I broke it, so I’ll buy it.”

  “Very well, Kimberly. Perhaps you’d like to tell me what you came in search of aside from some crushed sage.”

  Spots of color appeared on her cheeks, but she didn’t back down. “My professor told me that this was the place to come if I wanted to find a dragon. I was hoping you could point me in the right direction.”

  He burst out in laughter again, though when she flinched, he coughed into his hand to cover it. Then cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders to rid himself of the unwanted tightness building in his chest at the sight of her drooping shoulders. The way she bit her lip and avoided his gaze made it clear that mirth was not the reaction she’d been expecting from him.

  Eleanor hadn’t specified why this student simply had to speak to him. The sheer, ludicrous gall of this request explained why his old friend had hedged about the details. The old bat must have th
ought sending this desperate mageling to him was a pretty good jest, but the hurt in the girl’s eyes cut right through his mirth.

  “I may have many fine items in my catalogue, my lady, but I’m afraid I have no dragons to sell you.”

  He wiped the smirk off his face and beat back the urge to offer an apology in response to the moisture building in those hollow, vacant eyes that would no longer meet his gaze. That tightness in his chest returned when she withdrew. Subtly, maybe, but his keen eyes didn’t miss the way her shoulders hunched or the way her fingers knotted in the hem of her shirt until her knuckles went white.

  “Fine,” she said, voice gone thick. “But maybe you can tell me where I can find one? Or sell me a map? A book? Something to help me search?”

  Fun was fun, but this was going a bit too far. “Young lady, I would strongly advise you against this search. Dragons are dangerous beasts.”

  A flicker of life returned, her jaw clenching briefly before she responded. “If you can’t help me, just tell me how much I owe you for the herbs and I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “I didn’t say I can’t help you,” he replied, wondering what in the name of the gods possessed him to say so, “and I’ll be damned if I’ll take your money for that blasted bit of leaves and sticks.”

  Her eyes had gone so wide he could see the whites all the way around. The desperation digging tiny crinkles around her eyes and mouth vanished in a cloud of excitement and the sharp scent of herbs. “You can?” He suppressed a smile at how she clung to his words like a limpet, latching on and seeking answers. “How? Please, I’ll do anything.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he chided, not really meaning it.

  She placed her hand flat on the counter, leaning forward as she met and held his gaze. Her voice was pitched low and deadly calm. “I don’t.”

  He believed her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Cormac was deeply troubled by Kimberly’s request. Had she been sent by anyone other than Eleanor Reed, it would have been a suicide mission. The moment she left his shop, he was going to call his old friend to find out what in blazes she thought she was doing by dropping this load of baggage in his lap.

  What bothered him most was that she bought his implication that he could help as a promise that he would. A part of him wanted to help her. Something about her expressiveness—and perhaps a bit more than that, her stubbornness—intrigued him, but he wasn’t about to give anything away for free. Particularly when he knew so little about why she had come to him.

  “If I’m going to be able to do anything to assist you, I think I need a bit more information,” Cormac said.

  He gave her a pointed look as he picked up the now lukewarm coffee and cradled it in both hands, resting his elbows on the counter.

  Her brows knotted before she spoke. He wasn’t certain if it was in reaction to the flicker of magic and sudden temperature change in the air around his hands or due to his request for her to elaborate. Hot steam began drifting up from the hole in his cup lid, and he kept his gaze and metaphysical senses riveted on her as he took a sip. The drink was smooth, rich, and with just enough hazelnut syrup to soothe his sweet tooth. Perfect.

  “Well,” Kimberly said, “I don’t know what Professor Reed told you, but I’m in trouble. School ends in less than a month, and I still can’t summon a planar familiar.”

  “You look a bit young for college.”

  She frowned at him. “I’m not a child, and Blackhollow doesn’t base admissions on age. They take you on as a student as soon as you start showing signs of magical talent. Usually puberty.”

  “Oh? And how old were you when you found out you could cast?”

  Kimberly reddened. “I was thirteen, but didn’t enroll in Blackhollow until I was seventeen. I kept a lid on it since I thought maybe I was imagining things. I didn’t want to tell my mom and end up locked up for being crazy, you know? Seeing stuff that wasn’t there.”

  “Understandable. That makes you… twenty-one, yes? Oldest in your class, I imagine?”

  She shook her head. “There are a few others who enrolled late. Ones like me who didn’t know right away.”

  Cormac took another sip, then flicked his fingers in the direction of one of the bookshelves.

  “I see. Well, there’s a book over there, Familiars For Dummies, that I’ve been told despite its title is rather useful for shoring up any educational gaps that may be giving you difficulties on the subject.”

  She huffed, fingers tightening on the already mangled remains of sage again, sending a puff of herb-scented dust into the air.

  “I know the theory behind how summoning works, and I can create and close a circle as well as anyone else in my class,” she said, and in a tone that conveyed the unspoken ‘How stupid do you think I am?’ loud and clear. “It’s the power. I’m an illusionist—all elemental spells give me trouble.”

  He tilted his head in question, forehead wrinkling. In answer, she held his gaze as she lifted her hand with the sage. It burst into flames.

  Cormac straightened, eyes widening. Everything, from the flickering fire, to the crackle of charring sticks, to the pungent, earthy scent added to the already considerable miasma of aromas in the store, gave the impression that it was quickly burning to nothing more than a tiny pile of ash.

  Then she blew on the ash, and a cloud of miniature, flaming butterflies launched from her palm. Their wings brushed against his cheeks as they flew by, stirring his hair, then winked out of existence. As each butterfly disappeared, the sage came back into view like a picture coming into focus, appearing to turn solid in her palm again once the last one was gone.

  He shut his mouth, realizing it had gone slack.

  “Fair enough,” he said, giving her a stiff nod.

  A spell so finely woven, one that seamlessly blended olfactory, visual, audio and tactile impressions on a target, took considerable skill. He hadn’t seen illusions that fooled his finely tuned senses so thoroughly in more years than he wanted to think about, and that it had come so easily to her made it clear that she had mastered the art. Such power was dangerous in the wrong hands.

  He eyed her intently over the rim of his cup, leaning closer to her. A surreptitious sniff told him that the fire and butterflies were not the only illusions she had cast. She smelled of coffee—his coffee—and nothing else. No soap, nor sweat, nor skin, or any of the thousand microscopic particles of the city she should have picked up on her way to his shop. Was that the only thing she was obfuscating? He couldn’t help but wonder whether she had done something to alter her appearance as well as her scent.

  Next time she came to his shop, he would be more prepared to deal with her prestidigitation.

  “If you can’t conjure, that’s one thing. You obviously have the talent to secure yourself a decent position in a coven, so what are you worried about?”

  “No one will hire me without a diploma from Blackhollow. And I can’t graduate without a familiar.”

  Cormac shook his head, frowning. That wasn’t how he recalled things being done back when he bothered himself with the affairs of magi. Granted, that had been decades earlier, so he supposed it was possible their requirements for entry into a coven had changed with the times, much like the rest of the world. Instead of interviews by senior members of the coven and making the potential cast a few things to show a measure of skill, now they required background checks, drug screening, and diplomas (oh my).

  “That still doesn’t explain why you’re set on finding yourself a dragon. Why not something a little less dangerous? At the very least, one less likely to eat you.”

  Her voice wavered, but she lifted her chin and didn’t flinch from giving him the answer he was looking for. “Because I’m broke and I’m desperate. I’m a sorcerer, not a mage, which means I need a familiar who can protect me until I get accepted into a coven.”

  Cormac went still. Kimberly either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the sudden surge in ley line ener
gy that swirled to life around them. She continued on as if he wasn’t activating protective glyphs, one after the other. It was all that held him back from directing them at her.

  “Before you ask, my teachers already know what I am. It’s the other students and their parents I’m worried about. If I had a choice, I’d take anything, even a brownie or a wood sprite, just to pass my final exams. The problem is that I need a strong familiar to show them I’m not a pushover. If I can bind a dragon, there’s no way I’d be turned down when I apply for a place in a coven. And even if I was, I wouldn’t have to worry about supporting myself or how to keep my mom safe from the others anymore. She’s a mundane—she doesn’t have any magic, and I can’t be with her at all times to keep her safe. I need help, Mr. Hunter. Please.”

  His eyes widened. Her candor was almost as striking as her admission, leaving him reaching for her unthinking—then catching himself and pulling away.

  Dangerous, he reminded himself. More dangerous than she looks. Hands off—for now.

  Clearly Eleanor Reed had recognized that a sorcerer could be useful, but if she didn’t have the power to pull the strings necessary to get Kimberly a place in her coven, then her reasoning for involving him and sending her on this fool’s errand began to make sense.

  Terrifically small-minded creatures, magi, he thought. Illusion had many uses in clever hands, and a sorcerer willing to play by the rules of a mage coven was nigh unheard of in this day and age. Not since the sorcerer bloodlines had been nearly wiped out to extinction by magi in the 1920s. He was intrigued and curious, but needed to know more before he made any commitments.

  “I see,” Cormac said. “I’ll have to do some research on the matter.”