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“May I ask who you are looking for? I could look at my ledgers to see if they have stopped by and made a purchase.”
“I doubt this individual would’ve come by during the day. Did you notice any disturbances tonight? Any trips to your securities?”
Like I’m going to reveal shit to either of them. The last thing I need is the Magistrate sniffing around my shop in a long-standing investigation. Lucas and I can deal with the dead body. As for the intruder? This wouldn’t be the first or last time someone has tried, and I made sure none of them were found again.
I lie through my teeth. “Nothing comes to mind, unfortunately. If there was, I might not have noticed it. I was deeply asleep until the summoning activated. Sugar?” A sugar bowl hovers between Jagger and me.
He nods. “Yes, please.”
A lump drops in his empty cup. My eyes drift to the magician. “Officer Hobbs?”
Hobbs is scanning my back room, eyes narrowing at the magical window above my desk. If she is a seeker, the window’s potent flavor of Creation magic would mask any hint of a second illusion, keeping the secret of my basement door under wraps. It’s why I had it installed. That and I’m rather fond of how it looks. A win–win.
Jagger clears his throat. “We were tipped off that perhaps the person in question would be waiting for us here.”
My brows draw together. “Corporal, I understand the desire to keep these things vague, but my curiosity is quite piqued. I am a simple bookshop keeper who enjoys their solitude. I’ve unfailingly cooperated with the Magistrate for years. Perhaps if we speak plainly with each other, we can get to the bottom of this issue. It might trigger something in my memory so I can give you some information that could help.”
Jagger’s jaw works, and he taps his index finger on the table. I flick my fingers, and the teapot lifts and pours out three perfectly hot cups. Milk is poured into mine and my spoon stirs itself. I take a slow sip. “Ah, Nora does know how to mix a good blend.”
The Corporal takes up his own cup. He sips, and Nora’s tea works its subtle magic. Nothing nefarious by any means. It’s a friendship brew. One to lower hostilities and encourage conversation. It is her best seller. He sighs appreciatively. “I’ll have to stop by tomorrow to restock.”
“It really does take the edge off this stormy night. What do you think, Officer Hobbs?”
Hobbs doesn’t touch the tea, her gray eyes counting the stones along my bare wall. I smirk into my cup. Good luck trying to find an irregularity there. My Aunt Vi was a brilliant Creation weaver and she taught me all she knew.
A pang of grief clenches my heart, and the image of her dead body hanging above my father’s throne catches my breath. My stomach rolls with sickness and I try to quiet it with another slow sip. Cool air touches my leg, and I bear down on all my control to keep my illusioned outfit from flicking more than just at my ankles beneath the table.
I take a deep breath and hide it with a slow blow over the hot water. Calmness. Control. I am fine. My magic is mine. I control it.
Thankfully, neither officer seems to notice. Jagger adds another lump of sugar to his cup. “You must forgive Hobbs here.”
I blink, nearly forgetting my previous question about tea and cold nights. I tilt my head slightly. “Not much of a conversationalist?”
Jagger stirs his sugar. “Something like that. It’s perfectly alright if you choose not to speak to her. Hobbs doesn’t mind. She prefers to be my silent shadow.”
My gaze snaps to Hobbs’ throat before flicking away. With that one statement, my suspicions of the magician solidify. I would bet my shop and all my riches that under that wool coat hides a dark secret that only a few magicians can survive.
The sickly sweetness in the air is from a curse, one that even I would think twice about facing. Perhaps she offered up her throat in a sacrifice to the dark magic. I imagined a raw, blackened space for an Amulet of Imbibing to be fused. Inflicting constant, endless pain, yet keeping the wand’s Entropy magic from devouring her juicy soul. And like my lived experience with Jinx and the Rosemont Black Flame, I’m sure there’s a limit for how long it works before the Entropy magic overwhelms the protection.
My heart pangs for the thread within Hobbs’ wand. Every thread was once a weaver’s soul. To create this abomination of a weapon exploited by the humans, a weaver from my mother’s family domain had to have been slaughtered. Severed like this, there is no way for the Soul Thread to ever connect back to the Tapestry.
There’s no doubt in my mind that Dimitar sent Hobbs here tonight with the Corporal. Only the Amur could command such a magician, and I’ve never met an officer pairing with such a powerful token.
My tongue glides along my teeth. Could Dimitar be the one behind Vincentius’ murder? Does he have the power to take down a weaver of Vincentius’ caliber? The Amur did stand against both Valen and Lucas within my basement a few days ago. I’m incredibly skilled and even I would think twice about fighting both men together. Perhaps Dimitar lured Vincentius to the Guild with the promise of an alliance against the Archweaver.
Jagger sets his tea down with a sigh. “Maybe you are right. We should be open about the details of our search. I doubt you’re involved in this rather prickly situation, and you might have some unique insight that we haven’t considered, with your ancestry being what it is.”
My brows pinch as I try to understand what he thinks he knows about Aster Rosemont versus the truth of Astoria Androclaria. “Happy to be of any assistance.”
“We’re looking for a missing weaver.”
It takes every last drop of my self-control to not snap “Which one?” and a bubble of hysterical laughter nearly escapes my chest. I can’t tell if it’s from the stress, sleep deprivation, corruption, or all three. “A missing weaver?” My calm tone impresses even myself.
My father basically screamed to the whole world that I’m alive and in Havenport when he put that sizable bounty on my head. The Guild had made quite the scene wrecking the streets trying to grab me.
Yet, there’s something not quite right about that theory. Could Vincentius already have been reported missing?
A familiar, ghostly whisper brushes my ear. I’ve missed you…
