“You can translate it?”
“I can get close,” she said.
Close wasn’t good enough when it came to spells. It couldn’t just be winged, especially spells that involved life and death. If the spell called for the petal of a tiger lily, you couldn’t just use an orange daylily because they looked similar.
My anxiety and dread were slowly reforming. But maybe some usable information would come from the translation, and Belham’s connection could supply the rest.
I nodded because my words would betray how bleak I felt.
Moments later, the contract was on my phone. Slowly reading the terms, I told her, “I can’t allow you to keep a copy.”
“Even for educational purposes?” asked Dr. Bailey, entering the room. Around six four, his tall, slender, muscular build seemed a result of dedication to fitness. There was more gray around his temple and in his beard than in his photo. His studious attire included square black glasses. Dazzling hazel eyes met mine as he extended his hand in introduction. His voice had the whiskey-smooth cadence of a man who believed he could charm people into anything.
“Dr. Bailey,” he provided with a wide smile.
Taking hold of his extended hand, I gave it a firm shake and took an immediate dislike to him when it covered mine. The wistful look laced with comfortable arrogance didn’t have his intended effect on me. I suspected I was one of the few people it didn’t work on. Maybe that was another one of my magical abilities: charm resistance.
“It’s a loan. I would if I could,” I provided.
He didn’t look convinced, so I tacked on, “A loan from the House of Hollows.”
Releasing my hand, he gave a quick nod of understanding. When it came to the magical community, humans were decisively in one of three camps.
Camp One was staunchly committed to the denial of the existence of supernatural creatures despite the abundance of evidence that proved otherwise.
Camp Two, accepting supernatural existence, had rudimentary knowledge of the magical entities that was riddled with misinformation. Their casual curiosity overrode any survival instincts, making them the type to frequent places like Cloak and Dagger and other venues popular with supernaturals. Members of this group would often plead with witches for a display of magic. Depending on the witch’s mood, they might oblige with a harmless trick. Something flashy and shallow that never revealed the true scope of their magic. This group’s disregard for self-preservation was evident when I overheard a few asking werewolves to transform. True to their nature, the shifters would bluntly reply that they only shifted to hunt and then question if the person was volunteering to be prey. Vampires were more tolerant of humans because they relied on them for sustenance. Both shifters and vampires preferred to satisfy their primal urges with humans.
Camp Three was totally immersed in the supernatural world. They were well informed and understood the intricacies of witch designations, vampire houses, and shifter dynamics. They appeared to recognize the delicate balance that maintained civility between the magical community and ensured that humans were not exploited.
I suspected Dr. Sung straddled the lines between Camps Two and Three. Knowledgeable enough not to ask a werewolf to shift but would go hang out in places they visited. Based on Dr. Bailey’s expression change at the mention of the House of Hollows, he was firmly in Camp Three.
He nodded, taking a look at the words. “You’ll have the translation in a few days.”
“I don’t have a few days. If you can do it today, I’d really appreciate it.”
His features fell into a scowl. I suspected my face showed the importance and urgency. There were seven lines to translate. I wasn’t under any impression it would be an easy task and wished I had longer.
Perusing the page, he made a sound of discontent, then grumbled something about doing his best before leaving the room. When he returned, another contract had been sent to me. After confirming the changes, I signed it and paid the attached invoice that made my breath hitch. But I wasn’t in a position to decline or haggle.
“It might take a while,” Dr. Bailey disclosed in what I assumed was a kind suggestion for me to leave. If it took four hours, I could take a nap. Despite stipulations in the contract, I wasn’t certain he’d comply and would take liberties with the agreement “not to be copied for professional use” in lieu of stating it was for personal use. Working with Corrine had sharpened my skill at recognizing deceptive circumvention, and Cirrian was honing it. I was becoming more cynical than I used to be. I didn’t like that change in me.
“That’s fine. I’ll wait.”
Dr. Sung was unable to hide her frustration as she struggled to decipher the text. She ran her fingers over the unfamiliar symbols, her brow furrowed in concentration. Occasionally she’d offer me an explanation of it being more difficult despite the similarities in the closely related languages. The seven lines of translation took five hours. They seemed unsure and reticent when they handed me the physical copy. They’d emailed me a digital file as well.
“I know you did what you could,” I said, fervently hoping it was more than their best and was an accurate translation.
“This is a spell done by a witch?” Dr. Sung asked.
I made a sound that I hoped insinuated confirmation.
“Not a witch,” Dr. Bailey said, curiosity ablaze in his eyes. “Something or someone else?”
“For your safety, it’s best that I limit the information. Plausible deniability will be to your advantage.”
I’d taken some liberties in disclosing the situation but needed to discourage him from asking more questions or exploring the situation further.
Helplessness settled in as I looked the translation over. It read like a riddle rather than a spell.
