Midnight Mage

11

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His smile softened. “No. You can’t sense it because I choose for you not to. Your sensitivity to auras and your ability to see magic are highly unusual qualities. Whether they’re linked to your Ascension or predate it remains to be seen. Regardless, your lack of sufficient defenses makes these abilities problematic in my presence.”

“I didn’t sense auras before Ascension,” I countered, then frowned. “Wait, are you saying your power is so great you’d fry my brain?”

All traces of humor vanished from his face and eyes. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He gestured to the doorway. “Come inside. We’ve kept our guest waiting long enough.”

I bit my tongue and walked past him, straight into a book lover’s dream. Every wall except the one boasting high, paned windows was covered in dark shelving. A combination of recessed and modern pendant lighting illumined hundreds of tightly packed books, richly woven rugs, distressed leather couches, and an eclectic assortment of cushioned chairs.

From a chair near the windows rose a slim, gray-haired woman. She was eighty if she was a day, and garbed in familiar white robes. Her face was heavily lined, but with the kind of wrinkles that bespoke a life well lived rather than too much time in the sun.

“The fifth Opal,” I said, mostly to myself.

Lively dark eyes scanned my face. “Alfea Sullivan,” she said in a clear voice. “You look just like your mother. I’m curious, were your eyes blue like hers before Ascension, or have they always been gray?”

The breath in my lungs stilled. My heartbeat drummed a staccato rhythm in my ears. “What did you say?” I whispered.

The Prime touched my arm, I think maybe to comfort me, but I jerked away, hissing, “Don’t touch me.”

The Opal glanced curiously between us. Whatever she saw on the Prime’s face seemed to amuse her. The slight smile  fell, however, when she looked at me again.

“I can see I’ve shocked you, which was not my intention. Will you sit and allow me to explain why I’m here?”

My muscles remained locked. “If it has anything to do with my mother, I’m not interested.”

She nodded. “I will not speak of Delilah.”

Delilah

Gah, I hated that name.

The Opal settled back into her seat. I took the one opposite hers, while across the room, the Prime dropped onto one of the couches. He swung his legs onto the adjacent cushions and folded his arms behind his head, settling back to watch us with an avid gaze.

I returned the mage’s scrutiny with a glare, as mention of my mother turned me into a raging antagonist.
“You know me, but I don’t know you.”

My companion merely smiled. “My name is Alisande Salvator. Yes, I’m an Opal Mage, though I was one long before Ascension changed the world. Back then, I was called a witch.” She glanced briefly at the Prime. “I’d like to perceive your magic, if you’ll allow it.”

I shifted, the words pinging discordantly. “I don’t have any magic.”

“Ah,” she said, like it was a revelation. My scalp tingled unpleasantly. I blamed the pale corona of power crackling around her. “Perhaps magic isn’t the most accurate term. Your sensitivity to auras and magical resonance, then.”

Instinctively, I looked at the Prime. He was watching me, one eyebrow lifted, lightly mocking and blatantly challenging. His earlier words occupied the space between us: I will keep you safe.

Did I trust him? Not as far as I could throw him. But on the other hand, he hadn’t given me any reason to doubt his word. Yet.

“Okay.”

Alisande’s smile widened as she came to her feet. She was a tiny woman—even with me sitting, she was barely taller than me. Delicate hands lifted and I flinched.

“It won’t hurt,” she murmured.

Soft fingers came to rest on either side of my face. My vision tunneled and went dark.

I OPENED MY EYES, assessed that I was alive and lying supine on a couch in the library, and closed them again.

“I’m getting sick of this.”

The Prime’s low chuckle sounded from across the room. “And I grow tired of carting your unconscious body to the nearest flat surface.”

I sighed and dropped a forearm over my face. “Is she gone?”

“Yes,” he said, much closer now. I peered from beneath my arm to see him standing over me. He frowned, opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it.

“What?” I pressed, lifting my arm.

“Before we discuss what she learned, I thought you should know I heard from Malcolm.”

I sat up so fast my head spun. “Did he find my dad?”

“Not yet, though he has a promising lead.”

“What is it?”

The Prime strode across the room to a small cabinet. “Would you like a brandy?”

I considered tossing a couch cushion at his back, and almost did as he threw his head back and laughed. The warm, infectious sound almost distracted me from his violation.

“Get out of my head!”

He faced me, his eyes still crinkled merrily at the corners. “Mo spréach, you throw your thoughts like you do lightning.”

Mo spréach.

I remembered him calling me that once before. It sounded Gaelic, but although my dad and Malcolm’s parents were Irish transplants to the U.S., the language had passed from the family generations ago.

No way in hell was I going to give the Prime the satisfaction of asking what it meant. From his tone, it was either an endearment or a demeaning moniker. Both options set my teeth on edge.

“Brandy?” he asked again, lifting a glass tumbler in my direction.

I nodded shortly, and moments later was presented with two fingers of liquor. He tossed back his own serving before settling at the far end of the couch. I lifted my glass and took a healthy swallow, the fiery elixir burning my throat and clearing my head.

“Does this mean Mal is coming to Seattle?”

The Prime nodded. “He’ll be here tomorrow afternoon.”

I took another sip of brandy, staring at his profile over the rim of my glass. “What do you think happened to my dad? I’m assuming it has something to do with the case he was working for you.”

“I would agree.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

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