“You have answers for me, huh?” That was highly doubtful, but Darcy’s longing glances toward the exit were enough of a reason to stay.
The smoke cleared to reveal an old man sitting on a pile of cushions on the ground. A shimmering robe spilled around him, shifting colors like the wings of a dragonfly. His eyes matched the deep purple of the tent. He gestured to the cushions in front of him with a hand covered in rings.
My mouth fell open. What was a gnome doing here? Sure, we had one who sometimes DJ’d at the club, but this one must have had the Sight for him to be working a job like this. They rarely shared what they saw with the other races. Maybe he did have the answers I needed and could tell me what happened to Easton.
I dropped onto a cushion, but Darcy stayed standing.
“Don’t be rude,” I said, mirroring Charles’s earlier warning. “We’re already here, so let’s do this, then we can go back to Charles and Jane.”
Darcy still didn’t move.
“Are you scared of someone discovering your secrets?” I taunted, though Darcy had good reason to be afraid. Gnomes were rarely wrong.
The tent’s shadows hid Darcy’s expression, but he dropped into a cushion a foot away from me.
The gnome held out his hands in a silent demand.
I offered my right hand, and after a long moment, Darcy his left.
The gnome’s bony fingers wrapped around our wrists and pulled us forward. He bent his wizened head over our palms and studied them, muttering things like, “interesting” and “fascinating.” After a moment, he chuckled, the sound as dry as the rustle of leaves in the wind.
“Now I shall give you the answers you seek.”
“Don’t you need to hear our questions first?” I asked.
“We both know why you’re here.” The gnome frowned, multiplying the wrinkles on his face.
I bit my lip and glanced at Darcy, who shrugged.
“I can tell the two of you have magic,” the gnome continued. “Is there anything I should know before casting the spell?”
If he was going to help us find Easton’s killer, I’d tell him anything he wanted to know.
“I’m half-witch and half-fae with a specialty in Portents.” I looked at Darcy expectantly. “Anything you’d like to add?”
“My specialty is healing,” he ground out, his back straight and the muscle on his forearm tensed.
“Witch magic and fae magic? Very interesting.” The gnome looked at us for a long moment, then added, “Now don’t interrupt. It’s a delicate spell.”
He muttered something under his breath, his grip surprisingly steady on my wrist. Magic pulsed beneath his skin, making his hand glow red like when I pressed a flashlight against the bottom of my palm as a kid. A tingle spread from his skin to mine, and I resisted the urge to yank my hand free. My nose itched at the use of powerful magic, and I sneezed.
As the gnome’s voice grew in power, his magic turned into a violet string, binding my wrist to Darcy’s. It flickered and flared where it touched our skin, but it didn’t burn.
The gnome opened his eyes and looked at us. “You two are star-crossed—” His attention fell on a shining string connecting Darcy and me, and his eyebrows slammed into a hard, fuzzy line. “Which one of you lied about your magic?”
A heartbeat passed.
Then another.
Finally, Darcy raised his hand.
The gnome’s eyes darkened to a violent purple. “Your magic has ruined the spell.”
My stomach dropped. “So you can’t tell us who the killer is?”
“What killer?” The gnome studied the binding with narrowed eyes.
“You said you had answers for our questions.”
