The Night Realm (Spell Weaver Book 1) Page 2

  The combined sight of so much male gorgeousness overloaded her brain and her thoughts fizzled out. Instead of striding right past them like she’d intended, she stumbled. And while stumbling, she stepped right in the puddle on the floor that she hadn’t wanted the two new incubi to notice.

  Her foot slipped and she pitched forward.

  Her face smacked into the original incubus’s chest. She grabbed at him, clutching handfuls of his sweater to stop her fall. His arm swept around her and pulled her tight against him, halting all movement entirely.

  Now her face was mashed against his shoulder, her front pressed to his, and her heart was pounding her rib cage into rubble. An enticing scent—exotic spices with an undertone of cherry—filled her nose.

  “Literally throwing themselves at you,” the angry incubus said, his words dripping with disgust. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He and his pal strode away, leaving her in the grasp of the original incubus.

  “Don’t just stand there,” one of them called back irritably. “Come on!”

  The bells clanged and the door slammed. She just stood there, leaning inappropriately against a total stranger with her thoughts mired in a dreamy haze as though his touch alone was a potent drug. His hood had fallen off, revealing tousled hair of a blond so pale it was almost white, the contrast striking against his warm, honey-tan skin. How did he keep getting more attractive every time she looked at him?

  She needed to get a grip. He was just a man. A really, really, really hot man. And she should get off him before he got the wrong idea about her intentions.

  His arm flexed against her back, then his hand slid down her hip—and over her backside.

  All the sweet, floating feelings in her head popped like a soap bubble and she shoved herself backward, stumbling free of his arm.

  “What the hell?” she snarled.

  His eyebrows rose and his mouth quirked in a teasing smile that was somehow unrepentant and playfully contrite at the same time. Then, before she even knew what he was doing, he had closed the distance between them. His fingers slid lightly across her cheek, intimate and caressing, and his lips touched her opposite ear, his breath warm on her skin.

  “Thanks,” he whispered.

  His touch disappeared and he brushed past her. She stared after him, her head spinning as he strolled to the door and pushed it open. Pulling his hood up before stepping into the rain, he glanced back and met her eyes. His impish grin only lasted a second, but her belly still flipped.

  Then he was gone, and the door swung shut again.

  She blinked several times, then pressed her hands to her face. Beneath her palms, a blush scorched her cheeks. Holy shit. She could still feel his soft lips on her ear, his warm breath. Thanks. What exactly had he been thanking her for?

  Shaking her head, she huffed out a long exhalation and straightened her hat again. Missed her mark, blew her cover, made a fool of herself, and let an incubus feel her up. This had not been her best night. Could it have gone any worse?

  “What the—”

  She whirled around. The hulking shopkeeper stood at the aisle’s other end, veins bulging in his forehead as he looked from the open cabinet to the shimmery silver puddle.

  “Girl!” he roared.

  Yeah, she’d been wrong. Her night could get a lot worse.

  Chapter Two

  “Does Bastian like green beans?” Clio chewed on her lower lip as she squinted at the baskets of thin green vegetables. “I can’t remember if he ate any last time.”

  “I don’t think he ate more than two bites of anything last time.”

  Clio wilted dejectedly and, to the vendor’s disappointment, stepped away from the booth. The early afternoon sun cast golden light and stark shadows across the crowded market. As a pair of grandfatherly men took her place in front of the vegetables, Clio looked at the woman beside her.

  “I don’t know why you bother,” Kassia continued as she pushed her long ponytail of fire-red hair off her shoulder, a cloth shopping bag swinging from her elbow. “He hardly eats any of your cooking.”

  Clio tugged at the hem of her green sweater. The thin fabric wasn’t doing much to block the crisp, early autumn breeze. “I’m not a bad cook, am I? Tell me the truth.”

  “I always tell you the truth,” Kassia replied seriously. “Your cooking is fine. Bastian is a stuck-up aristocrat who doesn’t want to sully his lips with commoner food.”

  “He’s not that bad.” Clio headed away from the produce booths toward the butcher shop that bordered the market square. “He always compliments my dinners, doesn’t he?”

  “But he doesn’t eat them.”

  Clio sighed and glanced again at Kassia. Taller than Clio’s petite frame by half a foot, the woman embodied grace. With lean legs, curvy hips, and an elegant bearing, she might have passed for an aristocrat herself were it not for the tattoos that coiled from the backs of her hands up to her shoulders, left bare by her simple tank top. Her fitted jeans were so worn in the knees they’d started to tear.

  Clio’s hair was longer, falling down her back in loose blond waves, but compared to the tattooed redhead, her simple sweater, black leggings, and ankle boots were conservative and forgettable. Of course, not being noticed was among her main goals in life, so she wasn’t complaining.

  “Bastian is …” She trailed off. “He’s used to different things. He is the crown prince, after all.”

  Kassia shrugged, unimpressed. It took a lot to impress her. “Either way, you can’t bribe him with dinner.”

  Walking through the open door into the butcher shop, Clio peered at a glass display and winced at the prices. Chicken was easy to come by, but pork was expensive and only the rich could afford beef. She’d heard that, decades ago, beef was so common people used to eat it every day. Hard to imagine that now.

  She pointed at a package of thick pork ribs. “Not even with—”

  “Nope. You’ll be wasting your money.”

  She pressed her hands to her face and moaned. “Then how will I butter him up before I explain how … you know …”

  “How you failed your assignment last week?” Kassia supplied. “Or that the shopkeeper caught you and you had to run for it and now you can’t go back there for any future jobs?”

  Clio moaned again.

  “Or,” Kassia finished, “that all this happened because you got distracted by a random incubus in the store?”

  “Ugh.” Clio dropped her hands. “I don’t know how I’ll explain that part.”

  “You could explain how you forgot everything else when the incubus felt up your assets.”

  “Why did I even tell you about that?”

  Kassia’s expression remained serious as she checked out the selection of whole chickens. “You should have broken that incubus’s nose.”

  Breaking such a perfect nose would’ve been criminal, but she didn’t tell Kassia that.

  “Let’s make roast chicken and potatoes for dinner. You’re right—Bastian won’t eat it, so we might as well make something we like.”

  Kassia picked out a chicken and paid the butcher, then they returned to the cluster of booths outside. Like the shopkeeper from last week, the vendors watched their customers with a combination of greedy hope and wary suspicion. The patrons moved between the rickety booths with brusque movements, hurrying to finish their shopping at the weekly market and get home. They probably wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t the only way to buy fresh food in a city.

  As Kassia picked out potatoes, carrots, onions, garlic, and a head of lettuce for a salad, Clio followed in silence. She’d been dreading this day all week—Bastian’s monthly visit, where she would have to confess her utter failure. But she also couldn’t help a little flicker of eagerness at seeing him again.

  His visits were brief, but they were her only tie to her homeland. To her family.

  The city square had reached near full-capacity an hour ago and it wouldn’t empty until the sun began to set. On
ce darkness encroached, the humans would make themselves scarce, and only the bravest farmers and artisans would stay to make a few final transactions with the city residents who rarely ventured out before nightfall.

  “Are you tired of being afraid?” a man called over the chatter. “Are you sick of cowering from every shadow and every stranger?”

  Quiet spread through the nearby shoppers. A dozen yards away, a head appeared above the rest as a bearded, middle-aged man stood on top of something to make himself more visible.

  “Do you want to be free again?” he shouted in a practiced orator’s voice. “Do you want to walk the streets at night? You can! We can!”

  “Not this again.” Clio poked Kassia in the back to get her moving. “Let’s go.”

  Kassia pushed into the crowd as the man continued to yell, attracting more and more curious stares.

  “Over six decades ago, the demons came to our world and took over everything. They rule us with fear, but salvation rests in our hands. All we need to do is gather the courage to act! We can send them back to hell, to where they belong!”

  Clio cringed, and she wasn’t the only one. The crowd dispersed, people quickly abandoning the ranting man as his speech grew more impassioned.

  “Villainous magic-users that steal the life from unsuspecting humans! Evil glamour spells that hide what they really are! But we can stop them. We can cast them out …”

  His voice faded as she and Kassia headed for a quieter corner of the market where several stalls sold handmade arts, crafts, woodworking, and other nonessentials. Most people could barely afford to feed themselves, so these tables were usually ignored.

  Clio brushed her fingers over a handwoven green scarf with a diamond pattern. “‘Send them back to hell,’” she muttered. “Is he ignorant, or does he not know we aren’t all from the Underworld?”

  “They think we’re demons,” Kassia replied with a shrug. “And even we can’t always tell the difference between Underworlders and not.”

  Clio picked up the scarf, weighing the soft fabric. Demons. She hated that word. How could humans make her feel so dirty and unwelcome? They didn’t even know she wasn’t one of them.

  Though humans were well aware that their world wasn’t solely theirs anymore, recognizing the “demons” among them was a different matter. Clio and Kassia looked mundane, but they could easily prove they were most definitely not human.

  Many creatures from human mythology—both the terrifying and the harmless—had roots firmly planted in reality, and they were called daemons, not demons.

  Daemons were supernatural entities that hailed from one of two worlds: the Underworld or the Overworld. Like heaven and hell, the daemon worlds were opposites and their inhabitants were natural rivals—enemies, even—but unlike the myths, neither realm was all good or all bad. Just different.

  Mankind spent a lot of time worrying about daemons, but Clio only cared about keeping her interactions with them to a minimum. Unfortunately, her exile in their world didn’t look like it would end anytime soon—unless Bastian brought different news tonight than he had every month for the last two years.

  Sighing, she returned the scarf and continued down the row of booths. If she wanted her exile to end and her family to welcome her home, she shouldn’t have screwed up her assignment last week. And as much as she wanted to blame the incubus for her failure, she knew it would be pointless. No matter where she tried to place the blame, Bastian would lay it right where it belonged—at her feet.

  Clio dug her hands into the wet soil. Heavy rain drummed on her head, running down her hair and clinging to the tip of her nose. The scent of fresh water and wet earth covered the city’s stench, and she could almost pretend she was back home.

  She curled her fingers around a plump bulb and wiggled it free from the earth. Brushing off the largest dirt clods, she set it on the pile beside her.

  Warm yellow light flooded the garden, then the screen door banged as it swung open.

  “Clio,” Kassia said with a sigh. “What are you doing?”

  “Transplanting the crocus bulbs,” she said, poking around in the muck.

  “I thought you were coming out for some fresh air.”

  “I was.” She eased another bulb out. “But then it started to rain. Good time to move the bulbs.”

  Kassia sighed again. “Bastian could be here any minute.”

  “He’s late. He missed dinner.”

  “Something must have come up.” Kassia walked over to her. “He still might make it.”

  “He’s never late.” She pulled up the last plant, then gathered the wet, muddy pile in her arms. Standing, she smiled brightly. “I’m sure whatever delayed him was important. I’ll probably see him next month.”

  Kassia looked at her skeptically. “Where are you planting the … crocus?”

  “Over here.” She trotted to the opposite corner of the garden. “I think they’ll do better in this spot.”

  Clio crouched, barefoot in a puddle, and scooped mud aside.

  Kassia watched her in silence for a minute. “Clio … I think you should stop accepting Bastian’s assignments.”

  “What?” She paused mid-motion and squinted up at Kassia through the rain. “You don’t think I can do them? I’ve messed up a few, but aside from this last one, I was doing well—”

  “No, that’s not what—” Kassia wiped the rain off her face. “All right, I have concerns about these jobs. Some of them are dangerous and this isn’t something you’ve trained for. That last job could have gone badly if you hadn’t escaped the shopkeeper.”

  “I got away.” Clio scrunched her nose. “Besides, you were waiting outside. You could’ve bailed me out.”

  Kassia crouched beside her. “Don’t you see any problem with these things he asks you to do?”

  “You mean morally?” Clio nestled a plant in the dirt. The hole was already filling with rainwater. “The daemons we’re spying on are our enemies. They’re a threat.”

  “What I mean is … Bastian has people to do this kind of work—people who are trained. Why is he asking you?”

  Clio arched an eyebrow at her friend. Few daemons possessed her unique talents—maybe a dozen in the entire Overworld—so it wasn’t like Bastian could easily replace her.

  Kassia passed her a bulb. “Do you think these jobs will change anything for you?”

  “Of course they will,” Clio answered, ignoring the flutter of doubt in her gut. She would not doubt. “Things at home are too unstable right now, but once the threats against Irida settle down, I can return. I’m helping Bastian make our home safe again.”

  Kassia rubbed her temples. “But what if Bastian never decides it’s safe enough?”

  “He will. It’ll be soon.”

  “Clio … what if he doesn’t want you to return?”

  The flutter of doubt twisted into sickening dread. She shoved the feeling down. “Bastian wants me to come home.”

  Of course he did. He’d only sent her away from the Overworld for her safety. As soon as possible, he would bring her home. She knew he would. And she would do whatever he asked to help protect Irida, their homeland, not just so she could go back, but so he would know she cared about their home as much as he did.

  She planted the last bulb and stood. Water dripped from her clothes and mud stained the fluttery skirt she’d worn for Bastian’s visit. She halfheartedly brushed at the clinging dirt.

  “Come on, Clio.” Kassia gently pulled her back to the door. Leaving Clio standing in the dingy kitchen that still smelled of roast chicken and seasoned potatoes, Kassia kicked off her shoes and went to fetch a towel.

  Clio pushed a few wet strands of hair off her face, accidentally smearing her cheek with mud. She spread her fingers. Crescent moons of black dirt edged her blunt nails. She’d filed them earlier so they would be neat and tidy. She’d done her hair too. She really had intended to calm her anxiety in the garden, but when Bastian still hadn’t arrived and it had started to rain
…

  She hadn’t thought about the mess. She’d just needed to do something.

  Now Kassia’s words were circling in her head, and she couldn’t stop them. The mere suggestion that Bastian didn’t want her to return home … the thought of being stuck in exile forever …

  Swallowing hard, she looked around the shabby kitchen, with its peeling yellow wallpaper, cracked cupboards, and discolored counter. A stargazer lily with huge, dramatic pink blossoms sat in the center of the tiny table with mismatched chairs. Everything was clean, the dishes already done, the leftover food stored in the dented fridge that leaked water on the floor. Bastian wouldn’t eat her cooking straight from the oven, so there was no point in offering him leftovers.

  He had bought this house for her when he asked her to leave their homeland. Kassia, too, was provided by Bastian. Or her salary was, but that didn’t make Kassia any less of a friend. After two years together, just the two of them, how could they not care about each other as more than client and professional bodyguard?

  As though summoned by the thought, Kassia reappeared with a brown towel. She tossed it to Clio, then planted her hands on her hips and tsked. “I should have brought a washbasin for your feet. Maybe I’ll just carry you up to the bath.”

  Clio flipped the towel over her head and scrubbed the water from her hair. “Fireman carry, or bridal style?”

  “Fireman, of course.”

  She snorted in amusement. “Why don’t you—”

  A loud rap on the door interrupted her.

  Kassia’s humor vanished and she turned on her heel, heading for the living room and front entrance. Clio darted after her, only remembering her muddy feet after she’d already left footprints across the length of the kitchen. Well, too late to worry about it now.

  Kassia prowled through the cramped living room, passing the drooping sofa, tattered armchair, and rickety coffee table stacked with books. The air crackled as the woman drew on her magic, preparing to defend them. She pressed a hand to the front door, disengaging the protective ward, then flung it open, ready to attack.