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“Could the high priestess be a demon? I was recently introduced to a succubus by the name of Samara.”
She reshuffled the deck and set out a row of three cards. The High Priestess, the Devil, and the Queen of Swords.
“Well, shit. No Cups, huh?”
“Oh no,chérie. You must fight for this one.”
I pull up the map of the trade district on my phone and focus on seeking. “I think I know where to look. Anyone I should be wary of in the black market or is this the easy part?” I grinned at her.
She doesn’t laugh. Nor did she return my smile.
“Moira,” she said with deadly seriousness.“Si waka ka!”
My smile faded. Chas was right because this situation was nothing to joke about. To find this demonic artifact in the black market, I need to deal with Moira. Compared to Chas’ Good Witch of the North, she’s the Wicked Witch of the East. Besides having her fingers in nearly every black magic black market deal, she hated the packandthe Syndicate. And she extracted a high price for her cooperation.
I’m in deepkaka.
20
Chastity knew better than to warn me not to go, and I wouldn’t ask my best friend to walk into danger. Heading toward the market district, I had every kind of protection trinket Chasity could provide stowed in my pockets, but I took neither the eye nor the heart. I wrapped these in extra layers of silk and stuffed the stones under the loose floorboard beneath my bed, a secret vault where I stuffed any valuables.
“Moira will have sussed what you carry by the time you walk through her door. Don’t even think about the artifact you’re searching for.”
“With as powerful as her reputation is, she will figure out the object of my search.”
“Don’t go to Moira from a place of weakness.”
“I’m carrying a damned demon mark, Chas. She should be thrilled to see me.”
So, with Chastity’s best spells and protective crystals, I dressed for an audience with Moira—black jeans, a low-cut tank under a button-down shirt, and my favorite boots, complete with a butterfly knife nestled against my calf.
“Don’t go in like you are looking for a fight, Len. Show respect, but don’t appear weak.”
“Chas, I was raised by a wolf pack. I know about social hierarchy.”
“And how did that work out for you?”
I stared at her with a million rebuttals running through my head. But she’s right. I hated politics and refused to play the game. “Good point, but I survived, and that’s the point.”
“Maybe I should go, too?”
I shook my head and clasped one of her hands between mine. “No, that would be overly aggressive. If you were there, Moira would escalate.”
“Goddess. Please stay safe.”
I jumped the bus heading to the market district, winding through tourists to get to the quietest shop on the strip.
La Sorcière.
A silly, overblown name meant to entice the tourists and hide the fact that the proprietor is one of the most powerful practitioners in the country, if not the continent. Moira has cultivated a reputation that drives visitors to the overpriced knickknacks up front while the customers who know the craft head around back to the simple wooden door in the alley.
I knocked and waited. Moira has to know I’m here. The witch will answer when she’s ready.
But I don’t appreciate the waiting. I breathed and focused on seeking, reaching out for the artifact metaphysically, like pushing invisible fingers through the walls. I assumed the door would be too well protected for even my energy to get through, but people seldom think to shore up concrete walls’ protection, and Moira is no exception.
The final rune thrummed and pulled at me from somewhere inside the building.
At least I’m in the right place.
