“We can’t keep hiding in the bushes,” he muttered, stowing the timepiece back into the pocket of his hoodie. I’d convinced him to change into a less conspicuous outfit, since our plans were to spend the evening lurking around the Mortal Row, investigating a possibly dangerous cult. It didn’t seem appropriate to do that while in full vestment.
It was odd, being back in the part of the city I used to live in. We were only a few blocks from my old apartment. On the corner sat the bakery I would frequent after work. Across from there, the streetcar station where I would hitch a ride uptown to visit Tobias’ penthouse.
It was all as it was before. So, why did everything feel so out of place?
“Crows fly through dinner, follow the bunny into the ocean.”
“Thank you, Malachi. That was very helpful.” Cirian exhaled a long breath. “See, Bast? Even Malachi is growing bored.”
“If you’d like to break into a Mortal business without confirmation of wrongdoing, have at it. But I’d prefer to wait for proof of this meeting before we go busting through any doors.” I sank further down into a crouch, pushing branches out of the way so I could keep an eye on the door to the café. A shiver shot up my spine, and I clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering. The temperature had dropped significantly since I’d arrived in the Magi City, and I silently chastised myself for not bringing a heavier coat.
Cirian let out a huff, running a hand through his crimson hair. “This would be so much easier if Azrael were here to conceal us.”
“He has enough to deal with at present,” I muttered, my gaze drawn to a couple rounding the corner down from the café. They moved in tandem, neither of them speaking as they approached the café.
“Ow!” Cirian exclaimed, rustling in the brush. “Something just bit me!”
My attention turned to him as he pulled back his sleeve to reveal a red welt rising under his alabaster skin.
“The crow crackles candidly,” Malachi whispered.
“It’s an insect sting,” I chastised him. “Hopefully, you’ll survive.”
My gaze drifted back to the sidewalk across the street, and my pulse spiked. The couple had vanished. I shoved my head through the branches, panning left and right down the long stretch of sidewalk to ensure I hadn’t missed them. Empty in all directions.
“Did they go inside?” I muttered to myself, squinting to peer into the dark windows of the café. They couldn’t have opened the doors, as the set of bells hanging above didn’t sound.
Something wasn’t adding up.
“It really burns,” Cirian complained.
“For the gods’ sake, give me your arm. I can’t focus with you droning on.”
Cirian raised an eyebrow, but did as he was told, extending his exposed arm to me. I placed my hand over the swollen welp, muttering an incantation under my breath. The bracing cold of my magic seared my palm as it flowed from me, and as I finished my recitation, I pulled back, revealing the unmarred flesh.
“You’ve been practicing,” Cirian mused, studying my handiwork with an exacerbating grin.
“Can we talk about this later?” I sniped, returning my gaze once again to the café across the street. There was no sign of movement, the night having grown still around us once more.
“I’m trying to give you a compliment,” Cirian continued, ignoring my request. “That was some passable spell work?—”
“Once again, your compliments are presented as gibes. I’d thank you to keep them to yourself.”
“Does the thought of accepting praise so greatly disturb you that you must always react poorly?” Cirian pressed.
I tore my focus from the café once more to level my gaze at him. “You do realize that we’re here for a purpose, yes? My tolerance of your praise is a subject best saved for another time and place.”
“Well, do excuse me for trying to connect with you, Bastien. I’ll be sure to keep quiet till you believe it to be the opportune time for me to speak. Hear that, Malachi? We have to make sure Bastien approves our—Malachi?” Cirian rustled in the bush beside me, his voice growing suddenly tense. “Malachi? Where are you?”
Movement across the street caught my eye, and I turned to spot Malachi approaching the dark café.
“What is he doing?” I hissed, springing from the cover of the bushes. Cirian was right behind me as we rushed across the empty street in pursuit of the man. Malachi paused in frontof the café entrance, taking a moment to look up at the sign hanging above the door. He then glanced over his shoulder at us, turned back toward the building, and steppedthroughthe closed door, disappearing entirely.
Cirian and I halted in our tracks, staring dumbfounded at the space Malachi had just been occupying.
“It’s a veil,” I concluded after a moment, my mind racing through the implications.
“That’s impossible,” Cirian argued. “For them to weave a veil this large, they’d have to have a powerful Reviled amongst them, right?”
