by Jayne Hawke
It had been months since I’d been granted a free day in the city. The huntresses were given a day off to rest and study, but we were to remain within the confines of our home.
A smile spread across my face unbidden. I’d gathered up enough money from the small wage earned as a huntress to invest in some books. The others thought it foolish to slip away into fiction, but I found it cathartic to escape for a short while. I could read about far-flung lands and dream of exploring them or leaving our island and really seeing the world.
Sienna and Nicole glanced over their shoulders, giving me small smiles before they stepped out into the darkness. The building felt so empty with only a handful of people left to rattle around. I closed my eyes and relished the peace and quiet. Gone were the voices clashing around me, the footsteps on the worn old wood, and the whispers of gossip and arguments.
There was nothing but the gentle breeze fluttering through the leaves of lone tree on the street outside, and the soft turning of pages of the younger huntresses lost in their study. A night of peace may well have been the greatest gift I could have been granted.
EIGHT
I had slipped out at the first possible opportunity with my money carefully tucked away in the inside pocket of my jacket. It felt a little weird wearing jeans and a shirt after spending so much time in my leathers. It was a welcome change, though. Stepping out into the bright morning, I felt my heart lighten and a smile come to my face. People were rushing along the sidewalks on their way to their normal jobs, most likely in an office. There were days when I envied them. They enjoyed freedom, space, and luxuries that I couldn’t. That feeling quickly faded when I remembered what I was doing in the world. I was protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves.
Cars honked at each other and some drivers started cursing out of their windows. I couldn’t help myself, I laughed. Being out in the city alone felt too good to let something like that obnoxious noise bring me down. The old red brickwork lacked the slivers of silver that wrapped around the nicer buildings in the city. The fae wanted no part of Brixton.
The grey rooves were pitched a little too steeply to make for good running, but that hadn’t stopped me in the past. There were times when I just needed to run. With the sun rising through the clear blue skies, I was quite happy down on the ground.
People spilled out from a small cafe onto the sidewalk. A hand-written sign on heavy pale-yellow card showed that the cafe had recently started selling magically imbued milkshakes. It looked like the entire neighbourhood had turned out to partake. Personally, I refused to touch anything with threads of magic in. A glance over the gathered crowd showed them to be humans, likely looking for something to give them a good kick to get them through a dull day.
It wasn’t uncommon to find magic in food and drink throughout the city. The form of magic ranged from pure starlight, which cost four figures for a single strand, to pixie dust that could practically replace table salt due to the sheer quantity of it the little buggers shed. It was said that the starlight gave you a connection to the wider world and night sky that was unlike anything else. I had to admit that I was curious, but those who were rich and foolish enough to have more than one thread in a night were lost. Reaching out, I ran my fingers along the cool black bollard that stopped the cars from mounting the sidewalk. It was an act to ground myself in the physical. I feared that if I ever tried starlight, I’d never wish to return.
My feet carried me through the streets, past the vibrant market where people sold their wares from handmade clothes and jewellery through to magical charms and wards. I very much doubted the wards did anything more than remove money from the buyer’s pocket, but that was between the seller and the buyer. The smell of freshly cooked pastries filled the air, and my stomach growled. It had been a year since I’d savoured a pastry. Breakfast at home was much like everything else: simple and low-cost.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I mentally thought through how many books I could buy for the price of one of those beautiful golden pastries. Three, if I went to my favourite second-hand shop. That was many hours spend wandering a fictional land and enjoying the company of fictional heroes.
Stepping under the heavy blue plastic that formed the roof over the market stall, I saw the one, the pastry that was worth losing three books for. It was pale golden with light flaky pastry and a brilliant swirl of ruby-red jam in the middle. My mouth watered just looking at it.
I handed the money to the older woman with her steely hair pinned back beneath a white cap and held onto the pastry as though it were a precious manuscript. It was still warm. The aroma of sugar, vanilla, and raspberry wrapped around me, begging to bite into the delight. I kept it close to me, keeping it warm and protecting it from commuters who knocked into me while rushing to get to their bus or underground stop.
Turning, I stepped into one of the fae-made parks that marked the exit from Brixton into the nicer parts of the city. The small square of peace had been carved between the three-story red brick buildings and formed a sanctuary from the bustle. Pale cream stone slabs formed a broad walkway around a small rose garden surrounded by a short, black wrought-iron fence. It was easy to step over, but it was a strong enough reminder to stay out that no one dared cross it.
Settling myself down on one of the curving benches in the corner with a dragon carved along the back, I lifted the pastry and really looked at it. I wanted to savour every last bite. Breathing in deep, I took my first bite. The crisp layers of pastry gave way to the warm, slightly chewy centre where I found a thin layer of jam. Closing my eyes, I moaned in pleasure. The warmth brought out the taste. Vanilla wrapped around spun sugar, and the sharp tang of something citrus cut through the raspberry, balancing it.
I must have spent fifteen minutes savouring that pastry, and it was worth it. The fae were far from perfect, but their baked goods weren’t.
NINE
Libromancers came into view as I turned into the corner. A glance at the clock hanging outside of the pharmacists told me that it was almost 10:00 am. That gave me a good eight hours to enjoy the interior of the bookstore. I wasn’t sure if the owner would allow me to stay that long, but there were other second-hand bookstores to enjoy. I had until 11:00 pm to while away my time and enjoy what the city had to offer.
The exterior of the bookstore stood apart from the stores around it. Where the other stores had opted for brilliant red, yellow, and orange facades, Libromancers had a black frontage. The bricks beneath the window giving a view into the cosy space inside had been painted a matte black, along with the frame of the window and the sturdy door. The gold script that showed the name of the place gave it an air of class, or at least I thought so.
I opened the door and smiled at the tinkle of the bell as I did so. Taking a deep breath, I enjoyed being surrounded by the scent of paper and ink. Books were piled up on every surface and two or even three deep on the floor-to-ceiling shelves that lined the walls. Small signs hung from the ceiling showing where the lines between the genres had been formed.
Non-fiction had taken over a large portion of the front of the shop. Glossy hardbacks perched precariously on the old pale wooden shelves. Books on the history of the sidhe butted up against books on the Russian revolution and how to bake better bread. There was no organisation there, and I loved that about it.
Glancing up at the little signs, I decided that thrillers were calling to me. They said that fantasy had been overhauled when the new era came in. What were once beings and creatures of myth and legend were suddenly walking amongst us. They had reportedly found the fantasy books hilarious and quaint.
Now fantasies were a rarity; they had, instead, been replaced by a booming romance market where lowly part-breed fae could find love with a powerful god touched. I walked around the wobbly stack of science fictions, careful not to brush against the colourful spines, and made my way up the cramped and winding stairs. The red carpet had seen better days and was worn through in a few spots, revealing knotty wooden bo
ards beneath.
I almost paused to pick up a thriller with a dark green cover, but it appeared to be one centred around god-touched politics. Political thrillers had never been my thing. I much preferred the books that were closer to action and adventure, where the heroine raced against the clock to find a mysterious artifact and stop the dangerous cult before the world imploded.
The walkways between the bookshelves were narrower on the first floor. The shelves had been packed in tight, and stacks of books were piled high at the ends (and sometimes in the middle, too). I made my way down the centre of the room and turned to the left and began browsing the thriller titles.
I was lost in my own world, reading the back of a slightly tattered book about a beautiful treasure hunter who was taking on the dangerous underworld to protect the world from a rogue god. His scent slowly drew me back out into the real world, and I looked up to find Evander standing next to me with a smirk upon his pretty face.
“I had you down as a mystery girl,” he said.
“As much as I enjoy a mystery from time to time, I far prefer a good thrill,” I said.
I turned away before he could see the heat spreading across my cheeks. That was possibly the worst thing I could have said.
His fingertips brushed over mine as he gently turned the book so he could see the cover.
“I read that when it was newly published. It was a thoroughly enjoyable series,” he said, nodding at the book in my hand.
I looked from him, in his well-fitting long-sleeved shirt and tailored jeans, to the tattered book in my hand, and back again. The image didn’t fit in my mind. He tucked his hands into the pocket of his jeans, and my eye was drawn down his bare forearms where he’d rolled the sleeves up. There was something ridiculously sexy about rolled up shirt sleeves, and his golden skin made it even more so.
He reached past me, his hand brushing my cheek as he did so, and pulled down a black-covered book with a dagger on the front.
“I highly recommend this book, too. It’s a little grittier, but I felt like the characters were beautifully drawn,” he said as he handed it to me.
I’d never pictured this stunning man reading thrillers. In my mind, on the rare occasions when he’d read he had chosen complicated literature and obscure non-fiction.
“Thank you,” I said, allowing my fingers to linger on his.
His presence in the store was jarring. A man like him could afford to buy whatever he pleased. He had no need for anything second-hand. Yet I was glad to have bumped into him, to reassure myself that he wasn’t some dream.
“I rather enjoy second-hand bookstores. I like the history that`s written on the pages, the love that people have given to these stories. And this is the best store in the city,” he said, gesturing around us.
Now he was truly looking like my dream man.
TEN
Evander reached out and entwined his fingers in mine.
“Come. Let me show you why I came here today,” he said with a warm smile.
My hand felt so right pressed against his. Warmth spread through me, and I allowed him to lead me between the stacks of well-loved books. To my surprise, there was a small dark door hidden behind a stack of old young adult books. I swore that I had explored every inch of that store, but I’d never seen that door before.
Evander twisted the bronze doorknob and opened the door to reveal a set of dark twisting stairs. We walked up the stairs, our bodies close as we ascended through the gloom into a space I hadn’t known existed. We emerged into a bright and airy space which stood in complete contrast to the store downstairs. Old leatherbound books had been carefully displayed in glass cabinets and sat upon glass and steel pedestals. The air was filled with the pleasant aroma of old books.
We took two steps into the room before Evander paused and grinned back at me, an expression I hadn’t thought a fae lord to be capable of. His eyes danced with happiness and excitement as he squeezed my hand and led me towards the centre of the room. There sat a large book bound in blood-red leather. A complicated Celtic knot had been inscribed on the front cover. I resisted the urge to reach out and touch the beautiful old cover. It must have been a century old, possibly more.
“As much as I adore the second-hand store downstairs, today I came here to purchase something very special. When I need to unwind and hide from my duties, I come here and enjoy the company of these ancient books,” Evander said.
I looked around slowly, drinking in the variety of books and the great swathes of open space. The windows were formed of white frosted glass that blocked the view outside, yet the interior was bright as though filled with sunlight on a bright summer’s day. My stomach began to sink as I realised we must have been in some form of pocket dimension. The building was only two stories tall on the outside.
Evander moved closer to me and stroked his thumb over the back of my hand, a gentle soothing motion.
“This book is many centuries old. The ancient druids wrote it about the fae. They got some things wrong, but there is a lot of accuracy and truth within it. It’s very rare,” Evander said, gesturing to the red book.
It was pristine. There wasn’t a single blemish upon the book, no sign either of wear or that the book was as delicate as it must have been. The craftsmanship on the binding was stunning, especially for something so old. The stitches were tiny and perfectly spaced. I didn’t want to think how long it took someone to put together.
Evander unwound his fingers from mine and wrapped his arm around my waist, a not-unwelcome gesture. He slowly led me around the room, telling me the history of each book on display. There was a grimoire from a witch present in Salem, one of the original Brothers Grimm books which contained some lost stories, a stunning book from ancient Egypt, and two more from ancient China.
I became lost in the warm words Evander spoke with such happiness. The smile never left his face as he enthused about each book. I found myself leaning into him and hoping that he didn’t stop talking.
We stopped in front of a small slender book with a pale cream cover wrapped with spiderwebs. I’d never seen a fae-created book before. It was so simple and yet somehow entrancing.
“This is why I came here today. This is the book that my parents read to me as a little boy. I’m purchasing it as a gift for someone.”
My heart swelled at the sentiment there.
“What is the story?” I asked.
Evander’s gaze became distant.
“It tells of a prince that explores the worlds beyond fae and his many adventures there.”
There was a ring of truth to his words, as though that story wasn’t fiction.
“And is that why you’re here?” I asked.
He laughed softly.
“I suppose it’s partly to blame, yes. I’d never liked the idea of being locked away in the courts.”
An older man with a halo of white hair approached us with a small pen and piece of paper.
“Are you ready to purchase it, my lord?”
Evander inclined his chin slightly and reached out for the pen. A glance down at the paper showed the book to cost in the high five figures. My chest tightened. I couldn’t imagine being able to spend so much on a single item, and yet Evander signed it away without any pause.
I was reminded whom and what I was spending my time with, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Evander had been so normal, so easy to relax around, but he was centuries old. He squeezed my hip gently and gave me a warm genuine smile that stilled some of the butterflies in my stomach. Was I being a fool, falling into his arms?
ELEVEN
We had parted ways not long after Evander had purchased the book. He took my hand in his and rubbed the palm of my hand where the fae disk would sit if I used it with his thumb.
“I hope to hear from you soon.”
I had refused to commit to anything. Who knew when I’d be able to slip away from the sisters again? Did I want to continue whatever this was?
The sun had set, and I
sat upon the rooftops with fish ’n’ chips watching the city change into its evening attire. People had shed their plain, verging on dull office clothes and were instead in brightly coloured evening clothes. Women wore scandalously short dresses and teetered on high heels. Men had changed into well-fitting jeans and t-shirts.
I enjoyed the light crispy batter on the haddock and the salt and grease wrapped around the perfectly cooked chips. I couldn’t have asked for a better end to the day. Once I’d finished eating, my mind turned to Evander. The fae disk was in my pocket; it wouldn’t have taken much to say I wanted to see him. I had a few hours left, but did I want that? A few stolen hours of meaningless passion?
Sighing, I knew that there wouldn’t be anything more with him. The time in the bookstore had been fun, and I would treasure the books I’d bought that day. It couldn’t go any further. I was a sister of the hunt, and he a lord. That didn’t stop me from remembering the feel of his strong arm around me, or the scent of him clinging to my skin.
The gods interfered in our lives. Everyone knew that. They’d made no attempt to hide that fact. Although quite how they did that, no one could discern. There were theories that the gods fought over souls and controlled some but not others. I’d never had much interest in such debates. Sitting on that cool rooftop looking over the glittering lights of the city, I idly wondered if perhaps a Fate or a Norn had interfered in my life. Perhaps they had pushed Evander and I together.
They had done far more absurd things. The question was, why?
TWELVE
Evander.
Once again, I was locked away in my office after dark. The frequency with which that happened was growing, and that grated. I had spent centuries growing my territory and businesses to avoid such constraints. Yet the Hades god touched had dared entered my city, and I needed to know exactly why.