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There were few things Max was willing to call cute, especially when it wasn’t pertaining to women, but Arthur’s house in Lambsquarters was pretty damn cute.
He was seated across from the old man at the table in his tiny kitchen, Blue, Dominic, Dallas, and Lace occupying the other chairs. Jack was here too, but instead of joining them at the table, he stood near the fireplace, studying the collection of antiques and unique trinkets on the mantle. The ornaments had belonged to Arthur’s wife Irene—and all of them were breakable, a fact that should keep someone like Jack the hell away from them. But sometimes Jack had the curiosity of a two-year-old—and the self-control of one too.
Blue was demonstrating her water magic for the group. At least, she was trying to. She sat in her chair, hands between her knees, a look of concentration on her face. Cobalt blush dusted her cheeks.
After another moment, her eyes turned electric. Slowly, she brought up her right hand and rotated her index finger in a cyclonic pattern.
Water appeared out of thin air. A ribbon of it wrapped around her finger, spiraling up several feet. A briny breeze coated the room—
A commotion came from the living room. Jack had nearly dropped a small porcelain house, catching it right before it could smash.
“Jack,” Arthur called in a tired voice.
Jack placed the house back on the mantle. Gave Arthur a sheepish grin that showed all his straight white teeth. “It’s fine,” Jack said, waving his hand dismissively.
“That’s the second time you’ve said that this afternoon,” Arthur replied flatly, “and I fear the third won’t be fine.”
Dominic snickered. “Want me to put up a baby gate?”
Max muttered, “He needs one.”
“I don’t believe that will be necessary,” Arthur said. He raised his voice and added, “As long as Mister Steele sits down.”
Jack, who had been reaching for another ornament, froze.
“Jack!” Lace hissed.
“Now I remember why we leave him at home unless Ivy’s here,” Max said, returning his attention to Blue, who was still focusing on keeping the water spiraling through the air, finger continuously rotating.
Jack came to the table just as she slumped in her chair with exhaustion, her magic disappearing into tiny droplets of rain that splattered her knees.
Dominic leaned across the table in concern, a hand that was tattooed in white ink reaching for Blue. “That’s the second time she’s done that in two days.”
“I’m fine,” Blue insisted. But she was panting.
Arthur gestured to the notebook spread before him, his recent research scrawled across the pages in loopy handwriting. “According to what I’ve found in the many books in Witchlight, Blue’s magic comes from the Mist.” He jabbed a finger into the torn Master Scroll—the half they possessed. “I also decided to return to our old friend here,” he said, poking the scroll again, “after Darien filled me in on where he’s going tonight.”
Parchment crinkled as Arthur smoothed it down and read aloud from the riddle.
“I am heaven and earth,
Body and spirit.
The rainbow,
the blood of the soul.
The fiery and burning water.”
Arthur cleared his throat. “Now, I could be wrong. But something tells me the aura magic Darien found in Gaven’s warehouse is connected to the Arcanum Well. This Master Scroll mentions the rainbow. And we all know the Well can only be used by the blood of Erasmus Sophronia.”
When Dallas glanced at Max, there was fear in her eyes. “Loren,” she whispered.
Max nodded.
“Right,” Arthur said. “And what color is Loren’s aura?” he prompted.
“White,” Max answered. “Or rainbow.”
