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Got it. She sent the message to Jack as she made her way to her workbench. The sword, at least she hoped that’s what it was, lay wrapped in sheets of leather. “Okay, baby, let’s see what you’ve got for me,” she said to the sword, unable to contain her excitement.
She glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time. Only six-thirty. Lots of time to decide how to tackle the sword. The only other item on her agenda for the day was lunch with her mom at twelve-thirty at The Magic Plate.
Using one of her blades, she cut through the rope holding the leather together. She laid the blade on her bench and unwrapped the sword with both hands. A gasp escaped her as she got her first look.
In the almost ten years she’d been working with metals, she’d seen a lot of swords, even designed some. But nothing had prepared her for this.
It was a broadsword, as Jack had said, and the blade was just over three feet in length with a width of about two and a half-inches. Its grip added another four-and-half or five inches. It appeared to be a firework pattern, but more intricate than that. The pattern was a mosaic Damacus, and since it was magic, she had no idea what type of metal the blade was made from.
She shook her hands at the wrists, as if preparing to do something great, and laughed when she caught herself. But it was great. Touching an ancient magic sword wasn’t something she did every day.
Because her magic allowed her to feel emotions in objects, mostly metal, she was hesitant to grasp the sword with both hands at once in case the emotions it emitted were overwhelming. She’d never been so excited yet so nervous to touch a sword before. Should she start with the blade or the handle?
Deciding on the blade as the handle might be ordinary steel, she touched it with the tips of all eight fingers at once, gently.
A pulse of energy shot up her arms, jerking her shoulders, but her fingers stayed on the blade. The feelings in the blade settled down, sending a soothing current through her fingers.
She closed her eyes and relaxed her fingers to see if she could better sense what the blade was telling her.
“Kate! Kate, can you hear me? Kate, open your eyes!”
The sound of her mom’s voice penetrated her mind as if it came from far away. She opened her eyes and pulled her hands off the blade, turning toward her mom. “What are you doing here? Not that I don’t want to see you, Mom, but isn’t six-thirty in the morning a bit early for you?”
Kate’s mom grasped her upper arms and tugged her forward, closing her arms around her in a hug. “I didn’t know if I could touch you,” her mom whispered in her ear before pulling back.
“Mom, what are you talking about? What did you mean about not touching me?”
“Kate, it’s not early. It’s twelve-forty-five. We were supposed to meet for lunch at twelve-thirty, remember?”
Kate whipped her head around to look at the clock on the wall. The digital display clicked over to twelve-forty-six p.m. How was that even possible? She’d just touched the blade. Hadn’t she? How had she lost over six hours?
She turned back to her mom and felt like the ocean had suddenly poured into her head because the roaring was so loud. She feared she wouldn’t hear anything else. Sending some magic through her body, she calmed her heartbeat, drowning out the sound of its frantic pounding. “I heard you yelling at me,” she whispered while she tried to figure out what had happened.
“I flashed here and saw you touching the blade and didn’t know what would happen if I touched you.” Her mom’s voice sounded shaky, and she took in a large breath. Maybe her heartbeat was as out of control as Kate’s had been.
“All I wanted to do was pull you away from it,” her mom continued, sounding a bit steadier. “But I didn’t know what would happen. It was like you were in a trance.”
“I thought I’d only touched it for a few minutes.”
Her mom frowned, a look Kate was far too familiar with. “But you thought it was still six-thirty in the morning.”
Kate didn’t respond as it wasn’t a question and she’d already admitted she thought it was early.
Her mom pulled her phone from her pocket and put it to her ear.
“Wait, who are you calling?”
“Damon, I need you to come to Kate’s forge,” her mom said, speaking right over her.
“Fuck,” she whispered, hoping her mom didn’t hear. “You didn’t have to call Damon, you know,” she said in a louder voice. “I don’t need my brother—or any man—to protect me.” Since she knew who her brother was spending the day with, it was likely that he wouldn’t show up alone.
* * *
Isaac opened the photo app on his tablet as he sat on a stool next to Damon who was perched on the edge of the tattoo chair.
Damon had booked the appointment almost two months ago—right after he and Morgana came back from Mexico. Working with a friend and having a challenging design was just what Isaac needed. More thankful than he’d cared to admit that he had something to keep his mind off Kate after she continued to ignore him, he looked at Damon. “Thanks for sending the pictures of Morgana’s tattoo. I’m still a bit in awe every time I think about how some of the pieces changed.”
“It shocked us too.”
