“Is this where all the dark magic lives?” I whisper, only half-joking.
“Magic isn’t really dark or light,” Cain replies, also quiet. “It’s more about how you use it that makes it good or bad. Magic just is. You can use bones to curse someone or to heal someone. It’s more like this is where people come for serious work or for help with a big problem rather than for a lighthearted shopping spree.”
“That makes sense.” I pause. I hate to admit my insecurities. My weaknesses. Partially because I’m used to relying on myself and so I can’t be weak because I have nobody else to lean on. Partially because if I admit to a weakness, that person can then use it against me. “I don’t know much about magic. How it works. I just know magical items because of my work stealing them.” I grin at him. “I could tell you how much just about anything in this market is worth.”
“I bet you could.” Cain sounds amused.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Raven says quietly. “You know more than you think you do.”
I’m startled by him speaking up, but not in a bad way. Raven has such faith in me, I want to demand that he give up on it. That I’m going to let him down if he keeps insisting on viewing me like that.
“Here we are,” North says, his voice a soft growl. He stops in front of a particular stall, and the rest of us follow.
The stall is a little darker than the others. It has tapestries that fall down on the sides so that you can’t quite see inside. I’ve noticed a few other stalls like that scattered here and there, but I didn’t go up to them, and I don’t know what they are. There isn’t a sign indicating what it is, but North walks up to it and raps on the table.
A wizened old man with tattoos all over his face and arms greets us—or rather the guys. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you all back so soon.” He pushes up the massive sleeves of the colorful blue-and-purple robe he’s wearing. “What can I do for you guys?”
I wouldn’t call these three ‘guys’ by any means, but then, I’m not ancient like this guy seems to be. He’s clearly a magic-user of some kind. I’m pretty damn sure those tattoos on his skin have magical properties. You have to be careful around magic users. I’ve never particularly trusted them. They’ve always got their own agenda and they don’t necessarily hold any loyalty toward any group.
At least, in my experience.
Raven must sense my apprehension, because he keeps his arm around me, stroking my skin lightly with his thumb, as if to soothe me. He doesn’t talk as much as the other two, but I’d have to be blind, deaf, and an idiot to miss how ready he is to be my mate. It’s oddly comforting, but also worrying. I’m not sure what to do in the face of such devotion.
“Always a pleasure to see you,” Cain says, smiling in that charming way of his. “Is one of those tattoos new?”
“Now, now, sir, don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” the man responds, wagging his finger at Cain. He seems friendly enough. Or at least he seems comfortable with these three.
Cain laughs. I can’t tell if he’s comfortable with the guy or not, or what he’s thinking. Cain seems to be everyone’s friend. But is it real? Or is it an act?
“We need a concealment charm,” North says. He’s not quite growling now, but his voice is firm.
The old man chuckles. “Now that’s got a story behind it, I’m sure. You three just can’t seem to avoid getting into trouble, can you?”
That makes me curious—what other things have these three gotten into?
Before I can ask, North replies. “It’s none of your business why we need it.”
“All right, all right.” The man puts his hands up, shrugging. “Didn’t mean to hit a sore spot. Who’s it for?”
I raise my hand and the man beckons me closer while North glares at him as if to saydon’t try any funny business.
“Hold out your arm, would you?”
I do as I’m told, while the man waves his hands over my arm, muttering. I can’t see anything, but it feels as though he’s pricked my arm and is draining something out of me. I’m not all that nervous about it—the same thing happened when I got my last concealment charm. If you want them to be really effective, you need them to be specific to you, not just a general charm.
“This is going to be a high price,” the man warns us.
“Money’s not an issue,” North says at once, pulling out his wallet.
“Whoa, whoa—” I reach out to try to stop him, but Raven squeezes me gently.
“We got this,” he tells me. His voice and face are so soft, like it’s not even a question of whether or not I’m going to let them pay, it’s just the way things are.
“I can pay for this.”
“It’s not about whether or not you can,” North growls, handing the man some money. “Let us take care of you.”
What the hell am I supposed to do with this?