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“And not everyone can do that, right?” Gwen asked, trying to remember some of what Levian had already told her.
“That’s right,” Levian confirmed, rising from her seat. “We magickal creatures all have our expertise. Mages tend to have innate abilities toward certain schools of magicks, but we’re all adept with conjuration on some level.”
“Schools of magick?” Gwen repeated, glancing at Niah out of the corner of her eye. The vampire was watching her again.
The mage sauntered over to a small bar cart and poured herself a glass of water from a pitcher. “Evocation, illusion, transmutation, divination, enchantment, et cetera. I’ve dabbled in them all.”
Gwen didn’t know what most of those words meant, but she decided not to open that can of worms just yet. “And you’re a mage, and mages are different than witches?”
Levian turned to face her and swiped her hand through the air—the room transformed into a tropical oasis. The chair where Gwen sat was now a fallen log in the middle of a jungle full of green plants and vibrant flowers. Niah was perched on a mossy boulder that mimicked the couch.
Gwen went slack-jawed as she felt the humid mist settle over her skin.
“Mages,” Levian explained, lifting her glass so that a large blue butterfly could perch on its lip, “are rarer than witches. There’s no guarantee of a bloodline. We’re simply born blessed with an ability to weave magick from chaos into order.” With a wave of her arm, the room returned to normal. “Witches can be gifted and powerful, to be sure, but they’re more human by blood. I am immortal. Witches are not. At least, not by birth. They practice the craft, but most don’t go beyond what aids them in their everyday lives. Some can conjure, but they’re a rare few. Their magicks are mostly rooted in the natural flow of energy and elements to create spell craft. Mages can pull the very essence of chaotic force and weave new magick into being.”
“Is that how you fixed this place?” Gwen asked, looking around the room again. “I asked Barith how you did it, and he didn’t seem to understand either.”
Levian rolled her eyes. “That’s because he’s as dense as a pile of bricks.”
“Is it real though?” Gwen ran her hands over her chair. It felt soft and textured, like real velvet.
“A fair question,” Niah added.
“It’s real enough,” Levian replied. Gwen looked up at her with confusion. “The bones were here,” the mage explained. “I simply spruced everything up with a touch of magick. If I conjure something from nothing, it would only be illusion. It would be real to your senses, but without my enchantment it wouldn’t exist; therefore, it would not wholly be real. I can make a rock look and feel like a diamond, but it is only a trick of magick. I cannot change its true form.”
Gwen struggled to understand it. How something could feel real and not be real. Her head ached. Maybe she should just follow Barith’s lead and enjoy the benefits of magick without asking too many questions.
“I’m surprised,” Levian commented, “that you’ve never had any experiences with magick before.”
“I haven’t,” Gwen replied, just as she had when Levian said the same thing over tea. “My life was basic and boring until yesterday, and now, thanks to magick, it’s all gone to hell.”
“Is that such a terrible thing?” Niah posed. Gwen glanced at her, unsure. “Basic and boring,” the vampire elaborated. “You make your life before sound rather dull.”
Gwen felt the sting of truth, and her scowl deepened. Her life was dull, she had to admit. But it had been hers, for better or worse. Until she lost her job, things had been steady. Predictable. She liked predictable. In this world of magick, everything was the complete opposite of predictable.
Her day in London had distracted her, but that knot had never left the pit of Gwen’s stomach. The knot that told her this was all just a big mistake. That she didn’t belong here. That she was just floating through a dream and needed to wake the hell up and focus on reality. She’d told Sirus she didn’t have powers. Her heart pounded at the memory. If you didn’t, neither of us would be here.
He was wrong.
“I just want to figure this out,” Gwen declared, letting out a deep sigh of frustration and exhaustion, “so I can go home.”
“Of course you do, darling,” Levian cooed with sympathy, sliding closer to her. “It’s a wonder you were even able to get out of bed today or string two words together. It’s only natural you’d miss your home. Your life.”
Gwen let out a stuttered breath of relief. She’d hoped someone would understand. Would see the truth. That this was all just one big mistake. Maybe Levian could help her get this whole disaster sorted out?
Gwen was about to ask exactly that when a sharp sound caught her ear, and she turned toward the panel of windows behind the piles on Levian’s reading table. “What was that?”
“Sparring,” Niah replied.
“What?”
The mage stood and fluttered over to one of the windows. A sly grin teased one corner of her mouth as she peered down. “They never change,” she said low.
Confused and curious, Gwen stood and went to stand next to her. There was a flash of something shiny and another loud clang. “Who—” It took her a second to make sense of what she was seeing, but when she realized her stomach fell to her toes. It was Sirus and Barith, fighting full-on in the back garden, swords in hand and—shirtless.
Her breath caught. Barith’s beautiful wings were out, and he nearly dwarfed Sirus, but Gwen barely noticed him. Her attention was locked on the vampire. His entire torso, back, and arms were covered in elaborate, dark, swirling tattoos—and countless scars. Even from the window she could see his muscles strain as they fought, confirming what she’d already assumed. He was cut like a Greek god.
A weird squeaking noise fell out of her mouth as she gawked, somewhere between awe and horror and excitement.
