Catalyst (The Second Cycle Book 1)

by Solstice Locke

  A distant chime pulled her from her thoughts. She lifted her head, waves of hair dyed in various hues of pastel tumbling about narrow shoulders. That was the chime for the front door to her shop. She paused, indecisive. She should get up and see to the customer, but on the other hand her enchantment wasn’t finished.

  “Hello?”

  The pen slipped from her fingers. She heard the shuffle of heavy boots and then another, “Hello?”

  That voice…

  “Helloooo?” A quick cough, clearing his throat, “Door was unlocked. Sign said open. Someone does work here, yes?”

  Gideon was entranced. It was a perfect register, deep, but not too deep. Masculine. The barest hint of a lyrical tone layered in there somewhere. He could sing, she was sure of it. Each ‘hello’ rolled through her like a caress.

  “I’m looking for Gideon Muray,” the voice continued, “Rather urgent, or I wouldn’t press. Gideon? Any Gideon’s around? Hell, I’d take any old corsair at this point. A receptionist perhaps?” This tirade was followed by a very pronounced sigh. Then his steps began to retreat.

  “WAIT.”

  Gideon leapt from her nest, papers flying like a dust cloud in her wake. She bobbed along her shelves in a frenzy. Searching...searching...aha! She snatched her prize and raced from the storeroom/office/living room, where she emerged out of breath and flushed.

  The man smiled. Gideon hadn’t thought about what he might look like, only that she had to hear him speak again, and so she was not prepared for him to be quite so beautiful. Blue eyes. Scruffy sort of brown hair, thick and wavy. Solid build.

  “There is life after all,” he said, strolling to the counter to lean his entire upper arms over it. “I’d like to speak to Gideon, if you don’t mind. Is he in?”

  She blinked, heart thudding so loud she might have to adjust her headband.

  “You alright, darling? You look a bit red.” He tried to meet her eyes, chasing her wandering gaze. “I could take a look if you like. I happen to be a doctor.” He winked.

  Right, his voice. Gideon finally motivated her feet to move until she could reach the counter. She unrolled her kit of small, on-the-go tools and worked a glove onto her right hand. She set a poker chip on the counter and in a blink used a pinch of Glint with her 3/8ths wand to craft the enchantment. A flick of her wrist. A tap. Two. Switch the 3/8ths for the 5/16ths. A twist of her fingers at a 45° angle. Puff of breath to blow away the excess. A burst of gold light. Done. She thrust the poker chip under his nose. “Speak into the chip, please.”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  She waved the chip impatiently. “Here, please. It only holds thirty seconds.”

  Her eyes flicked to his face, the grin was giving way to a familiar expression. Confusion. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s happening. What’s with the poker chip? And can I just speak to Gideon?”

  “Perfect!” She counted down the final seconds then bent over the chip with a marker.

  “I just need your name, please.”

  “My…name? Sorry, you need my name?”

  She didn’t look up. “Yes.”

  “Kirst.”

  She scribbled the name onto the poker chip and then tucked it tenderly into one of her many pockets. She looked up, adopting her customer voice. “Now. How can I help you?”

  “I’ve got the wrong address. That must be it. Sorry to bother you, um, miss. I was looking for Gideon Muray and must have gone to the wrong shop.”

  “This is the right address,” she replied with a wide smile. She always enjoyed this part.

  His shoulders sagged. “Then may I speak to him?’

  “You are.”

  “Are what?”

  “Speaking to Gideon.”

  He paused. “I see. You are Gideon Muray, the famous corsair of renowned enchanting skill. The greatest enchanter in history. That’s you.”

  She nodded. No one ever believed her at first, but she was so glad to hear that ‘corsair’ was catching on. It sounded so much cooler than black-market enchanter.

  “Well, then, I truly hope you can help me. I have a friend in need of some serious enchantments for a prosthetic.”

  “Interesting.” She began to tick through the possibilities. “Tricky, those. Not impossible. Depends on the limb, though. Which limb are we dealing with and how much of it?”

  “A leg. Not entirely sure how much, to be honest.”

  “A leg.” She tapped her finger on the counter as she thought. “Right or left?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Only if he’s ambidextrous.”

  “Forgot to ask, sorry.”

  “Well, I will need that information if I’m to make the prosthetic. Or do you already have it? That would make this much easier. Making them myself is difficult. Throwing fresh enchantments onto one already made is much simpler. Do you have it with you?”

  “About that…” he moved closer, his voice and tone changed, “Any chance you make house calls?”

  Her thoughts halted. “Not typically, no.”

  “Could you make an exception?” His lips were doing something odd now, his tone remained odd as well. Her thoughts were too focused on the possible job to try and figure out what his face was doing.

  It was also impossible to leave the shop. Given the type of clientele that sought her services, she had to consider her safety. They were not always the upstanding sort. Leaving was not possible. All her tools were here. Her supplies. Her calculations. She needed to tell him no and be done with it. She didn’t need the work, there were plenty of orders waiting to be filled and she was always paid well.

  But if she went with him, she could listen to him talk. ‘Meria. What if he laughed? The few words she recorded weren’t sufficient.

  “Do you sing?”

  He let out a deep breath, “I see talking to you is going to take some navigating. Do you mean professionally or the when-I-bathe-sort?”

  “Can you accurately mimic tones and notes in music?”

  “You’re an interesting one, that is for sure.” He stared for a moment before he shook his head, “I suppose I can carry a tune, is that what you’re asking?” He didn’t wait for her response before continuing, “Look, I’m not trying to put you out. My friend was injured in the attack in Meraton—”

  “Meraton?”

  “Yes, the attack. Free Chanters destroyed the entire city. It’s been all over the newsprints…”

  “Is Meraton in Vacua?”

  “You know what, that was my fault. Forget I mentioned it. The important part was that my friend was seriously wounded. His leg stopped working and the poor thing is hobbling around with a cane.”

  “I suppose that’s why he’s not here in person.”

  “Exactly. Our hotel is not too far from here. I’d be in your debt if you’d make an exception for me, darling.”

  “No debt necessary. I just need a few more recordings of your voice.” She stepped away to start gathering her tools. This was probably okay. He was probably not a murderer. What were the odds that a serial killer would track her down with that kind of story just to lure her out of her safe walls to slit her throat, cut her into pieces, soak the pieces in lye, and pour her soupy remains in the gutter for the rats? That was a highly doubtful scenario.

  Because he’d just shoot you and dump your body in a river.

  Gideon closed her eyes. Nothing was going to happen. Maybe this was her naïve, romantic heart doing the talking, but she trusted…what was his name? She turned abruptly. “What’s your name?”

  “Uh, Kirst.”

  She trusted Kirst. Her instincts weren’t telling her to bolt. There was a funny, sick sort of feeling in her stomach, but that was a mixture of nerves and excitement. That was a good sign.

  “Oh, aside from my fees, of course. Do you have Glint? I suppose I should bring my own supply just in case. But that’s extra.” She disappeared into the backroom. She started to tick through all the possible enchantments one would need
on a leg and grab the appropriate tools.

  “Yeah, so, just to clarify, what do you mean by recording?” He was in the doorway, watching her pack. Normally, she didn’t allow customers past the counter, but in this case she had no impulse to correct him.

  She snatched up her gloves, notebook, various magnification instruments, a vice. “For my collection,” she answered, “Where is my other shoe?” A small-heeled pump dangled from her finger.

  “This shoe?”

  She spun as he plucked it from the top of a shelf, nearly hidden behind a few teddy bears. “Yes!”

  “What sort of collection?” He asked as she hopped about to slide on her pump and set the straps.

  “Sounds,” she said, then ran through her checklist once more and decided she had everything. She stopped in front of him with her bag clasped neatly before her. “This headband lets me hear all sorts of amazing sounds…I had to collect them.” She fumbled about in one of her pockets and pulled out a few poker chips. “Here I have rain on a trashcan, the scritch-scratch of a pen, and this is one of my drinking glasses shattering against the floor. I didn’t realize it would make such an interesting crystalline crunch so I had to break another to get the recording. Your voice is my favorite so far. Right up there with the Allegra Sonata on piano and my various rain ones.”

  He looked at her hand, then up, but his expression wasn’t obvious enough for her to understand. She didn’t normally tell people about her collection, but it was fair considering she wanted to record more of his voice. Especially his singing. His smile suddenly shifted, which she took to mean he wasn’t angry.

  “Not that I’ve considered it before, but I think my favorite sound would have to be a cat purring.”

  “I have that one too!”

  He was silent for a second, head tilted to the side.

  “Shall we go?” She pressed.

  “You made a headband to help you hear?”

  “Enchanted one, yes.”

  “You’re deaf.”

  Hm. No one had ever called her on that before. She didn’t hide the fact, but when her enchantment allowed her to hear as well as everyone else—she assumed as well—it didn’t make a difference to others that she needed enchantments to do it. She had a terrible habit of working without it to concentrate, but thankfully that wasn’t the case today. “Mostly,” she said, “I can hear vacuous sounds like whooshes, but nothing defined and certainly nothing as heavenly as the sound of your voice.”

  His hands drifted to his pockets. “Then, Gideon,” the way he said her name, made her breath catch, “Whatever you wish to hear you have but to ask.”

  She smiled, wide and genuine. The long, pastel waves of her hair fell lightly about her shoulders as she leaned close, her eyes unblinking. She liked him. “Fair warning, Mr. Kirst. I may fall in love with you. I hope that’s not a problem.” She fell back on her heels and took a deep breath. “Well, then. Shall we proceed? I’m eager to get started.”

  Her shoulder brushed his as she passed, but he merely swayed like an untethered buoy. He didn’t move until she reached the front door.

  “I hope you don’t plan on staying, I have to lock up the shop and who knows how long I’ll be with your friend. Also, I don’t know where he is so if you aren’t coming I will need the address.”

  He cleared his throat and followed her outside. His eyes kept wandering away from her. “I’ll lead the way then,” he said, his tone and inflection different from earlier.

  She bolted the door and followed.

  He stopped suddenly and said, “Look, I gotta be honest, this has been the weirdest meeting I’ve ever had. I’m still not entirely sure we’re on the same page or…plane in reality. And don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly not complaining. I never mind chatting with a beautiful woman, but you seem to be working on a different frequency and I’m having a hell of a time catching up.”

  “Beautiful?” No one had ever called her that to her face. Odd, yes. Weird. Quirky. Freakish. Other names that were more about her manners and how she was different than any sort of compliments. The only compliments she ever received were for her work. Which was fine and nice. But she was also an adult woman. Being beautiful to someone was…very welcome.

  He laughed, the sound cascading over her like pearls of sunshine. It warmed her inside and out, every corner, every inch of her. He smiled and she was too flustered to attempt to understand it. She was already grasping for a blank poker chip.

  “Do that again,” she instructed, scribbling the enchantment too quickly and nearly burning her finger-tip in the process. She had it in his face desperate to catch that sound.

  His hand curled gently over her wrist and he eased her back. “Can’t really do it on command, sweetheart. Or it won’t be genuine.”

  “I see,” she said. He was still holding her wrist when she chanced looking in his eyes—they were so very blue and pretty—“You’re not the first to call me interesting, though most don’t put it so kindly.”

  He let go of her, hands returning to his pockets. “Interesting is not a bad thing, darling. And people are assholes.” He sighed, “We should get going. I don’t want them to think I got lost.” He smiled, this one catching her off balance in a way none of his other smiles had, “It’s funny, you wake up and think your day will go one way and it’s never where you end up.”

  2

  Jade focused on the hairbrush like it was about to tell her the meaning of life. It was an ordinary hairbrush—not jeweled or very pretty, with the odd strand stuck in its teeth—that had been tossed onto an end table the night before. After a deep breath, her fingers reached out, then folded back before gaining the confidence to rest her hand on the handle. All her energy refracted into a singular focus on the brush and she was still for several seconds, body vibrating, waiting.

  “What the fuck am I looking at?”

  Liam’s drawl broke Jade’s concentration and she dropped her hand from the, still, ordinary hairbrush. “Why did you talk? I almost had it.”

  He rolled his eyes as he leaned back into his bed. “You mean enchant?”

  She pursed her lips. “Fine, don’t believe me, all I know is that the relic was broken and then all of a sudden it’s moving.”

  Liam crossed his arms, but lost the criticism in his tone when he asked, “Have you checked the relic since? Maybe it was some easily explained mechanical problem. Or the enchantment needed a second to kick in. Or any other reasonable explanation than you suddenly figuring out you have magical powers.”

  Jade stood, hands in tight fists. Something was off with Liam, she didn’t know what, but she knew he was being more moody than usual. More critical and less around for her to talk to and aloof and distant. This was the first time she’d had a real chance to speak to him about this and it had been days since the attack in Meraton.

  “Look, are you going to help me figure this out or not? Cause it’s not like you’ve been around a whole lot anyway.”

  He got up. “You mean, you noticed? Not too busy eye-fucking our boss? Not too busy in Jadeland where everything is about you?” He looked away, shoving his hands into his pockets. A clear sign he was done arguing. He started to walk toward her. His posture was different, deflective, his walk and something in the way he wasn’t meeting her eyes. It occurred to Jade in that moment, and not a second before, that he may be keeping something from her. He let out a sigh and finally met her eyes, his full of secrets. From her. “I want to help,” he said.

  He was just being nice, saying he wanted to help because he cared about her—which he truly did, she knew that with unwavering certainty—but it was not the whole truth. They’d been too close for too long for her not to know that right now he wanted to be somewhere else. That she didn’t know where he’d rather be was on her.

  “Thanks,” She said, but she turned away from him and headed for the door, “I appreciate the offer, but you’ve got a point. It was just in my head.” No, it wasn’t. She had felt it. Felt the energy in
her fingertips, this sizzly hum in her pulse. “It was probably stress cause the whole city was on fire.”

  Liam walked with her into the hall and his gaze kept shifting away, to the stairs and presumably something more interesting than Jade and her problems. But before he went, he added, “I know you’re going to keep trying. So come get me if it works. Either way, we’ll figure this out. Always do.”

  She smiled, a bit cheered up, but not really. Once he was out of sight she looked at her hands and went back to the room. The hairbrush sat, unsuspecting, and this time she didn’t try so hard. She walked up and grabbed the handle, lifting it into the air, her grip firm, and tried to find that sizzle in her veins. She tried to give the powers a goal and gently filled her mind with one word: glow.

  It started slow, like the buzz of a limb that fell asleep, then light warmed her fingers and the hairbrush burst into a blinding white light. The brush clattered to the floor as Jade rubbed at the stars popping in her vision. Once her eyesight returned she found the hairbrush smoking and singed. The whole room smelled like burnt hair, but that wasn’t important.

  Because something definitely happened that had no reasonable explanation—thank you Liam—and that confirmed her theory. She was a Chanter, just not a very good one.

  Fitting. If Jade was going to stumble into a secret power after years of skirting the line of survival, she may as well suck at it. She fell back onto the bed, still fully clothed. It was too early to sleep, even if she was able, so she hopped back up and headed for the door. She threw it open and nearly ran into Dian, mid-knock.

  “Hey,” She said, swallowing down the flutter in her chest. What a terrible time to find out she was a Chanter. In the midst of a war she wasn’t supposed to be part of, lusting/crushing on her jailor, while her best friend suddenly found a life of his own. It was all a little bit overwhelming.