As she turned, she caught sight of the man standing next to her at the bar.
In the front pocket of his tweed jacket, peeking out where a normal man might carry a pen, a crystal glittered and winked.
Raya gasped. Witches were so rare back home that it was shocking to just run into one here, as if witches were common.
The man glanced at her. The morning light glinted on his heavy-framed eyeglasses as his dark eyes assessed her. He didn’t smile.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to stare. I’m just not used to running into”—she tilted her head to show him the wand tucked into her hair—“one of us.”
He shifted his standing position to face her. His hands slid into the pockets of his jacket as he leaned one patch-covered elbow on the bar.
Watching his face was like watching the wheels turn in an intricate machine. She could almost hear the clicking whir of his thoughts.
“One of us?” His voice remained carefully neutral.
His cool response froze her friendly smile, but she soldiered on. “Are you here for the convention?”
Amusement flickered in his eyes, but no trace of it touched the rest of his smooth complexion. “What convention?” His words fell like flat stones.
Impulsively, Raya stuck out her hand. “I’m Raya, by the way.”
He waited a beat before taking her hand. “Raya.”
Their auras of power intersected.
His imperturbable mask didn’t slip, but he must have reassessed her. “I’m Nathan.”
The caffeine had finally kicked in enough for her to notice the time. “I better run, Nathan. Don’t want to miss the opening presentation.”
He smirked. “Neither should I.”
Raya looked back just before exiting and saw him sipping his coffee and watching her with an expression that bordered on calculating. She could almost hear the gears turning in his mind. She shook off the strange impression and left, her quickened steps taking her to the station in record time.
The Paris Métro carried her swiftly to the convention center, a sprawling complex fronted with windows mounted at odd angles that flashed the sun’s reflection in myriad directions. Signs for the “Natural Health Expo”—the convention’s cover identity—decorated the entrance hall.
Raya hurried through the corridors to the main presentation room.
She’d never seen so many witches in her life. Hippie witches swept by wearing long skirts and yards of necklaces. City witches tucked sleek wands into structured bags as they clicked through the halls on stylish heels. Tattooed witches wore their designs proudly with skin-baring fashions. Wands, amulets, and charms galore adorned the attendees.
Raya planned to stock up. Just the thought of going shopping in the vendor hall filled her with avaricious delight.
A witch wearing a color-coded lanyard and carrying a palm-sized crystal stopped her just inside the entrance to the hall. “Wand, please,” he said.
Raya’s hand went automatically to her hair. “My wand?”
“Security check. We don’t want to let the general public in, do we? Hold it out and begin a spell.”
Raya pulled out her wand and concentrated, calling up the same spell she’d used on the airline representative at the baggage claim.
The other witch’s crystal flickered. “You’re all set.” He looked to the next witch.
Now to find a place to sit. “Excuse me.” Raya squeezed past a group of witches in jaunty coordinating “Support Your Local Coven” t-shirts and slid into an open seat.
The cavernous hall filled completely as the remaining attendees passed the security check.
Raya shifted in her seat and drummed her fingers on her knees before deciding to nibble on a leftover macaron from her bag while she waited.
The house lights dimmed and a musical fanfare rose in volume as the voice of an unseen announcer rippled over the crowd. “Please welcome to the stage: your master of ceremonies, the author ofWitching Into the Dark, Nathan Lorde!”
