Chapter One
Shannon squinted into the setting sun’s glare in the rearview mirror. No new cars. Stay alert.
A minivan ran a stop sign to pull in front of her, forcing her to slam the brakes hard.
“Jesus.” She gripped the wheel. Heart pounding, she resumed speed on the two-lane.
A quick recheck of the rearview mirror showed nothing had changed. She expected her bodyguard, Eli, to round the corner in his truck at any moment.
You should be relieved. She wasn’t. Deep down, she wished he hadn’t accepted the coffee she’d offered him earlier. Given his ability to quick-heal, his body would power through the sleeping potion’s effects in no time. She had to do this meeting alone, even though she’d never before bargained with a black market dealer to buy a magical relic.
The Port Royal Bar might be a public place, and one she frequented whenever she visited South Carolina, but that didn’t make it a safe zone from those willing to use magic to attack.
The bar’s packed parking lot forced her to settle for a spot at the end of a row far from the entrance. Even though not an official spot, no one cared. They wouldn’t enforce towing on a Friday night.
Before she unlatched her seatbelt, she studied the lot for auras. Her palm caressed the handle of the Glock in the cup holder. The old Shannon, the one who existed prior to her mother’s murder eight weeks ago, would’ve waltzed up to the front door, oblivious of dangers that lurked in the dark. She rubbed her stomach where the reminder of what happened when she let her guard down festered as a peculiar, sometimes painful, scar.
A predator would stand in the trees at the far end of the lot where shadows masked everything. Leaves rustled as a coastal breeze passed through, but nothing moved in the darkness. No black or red auras swirled in the air.
Her cell phone dinged with a message from her best friend.
Jen: Harnish confirmed for 8:15. I barely trust him. Don’t like that he required you go alone.
She put the Glock in the glove box and tucked a knife into her jeans before replying: No choice. Countdown clock’s ticking.
Jen: Be careful.
Shannon: As long as you believe this guy has what he says, then this is a go.
Jen: I’ve only bought potion ingredients off him, but he said he had it.
Shannon: I’ll text after.
Heat, typical of a humid July evening, assaulted her outside the car. Usually, she loved everything about the hot summer nights of South Carolina. Not tonight. The instant sheen of sticky sweat beneath her shirt irritated her. She fanned the shirt to promote air flow and angled her steps in a shortcut to the bar’s entrance.
Something wild and bottomless, a feral tangle of rage and hate, bubbled upward. It pushed beyond the anxiety and fatigue that had plagued her for days. She would fight to the bitter end to live and to save her family. A surge of energy carried her inside the bar. Maybe it wasn’t energy at all, but desperation.
No man of Asian descent sat at the bar. She chose a stool and empty one beside it. Her cell phone indicated three minutes before the designated time. Did protocol dictate she be late to this kind of meeting?
A guy leaned in beside her. “Hey, gorgeous. Here alone? Wanna join us?”
She recognized him as someone who’d been three years ahead of her in high school, but didn’t recall his name. The guy nodded his chin toward a table with two other guys and six empty beer bottles.
“No, thanks. I’m waiting for someone.” She forced herself to smile.
“If he doesn’t show, we’ll be over there.” He left with three beers.
She scanned for auras, picking up nothing evil. However, she did pick up another person with magical abilities.
Her heart rate sped up. Maybe Eli had caught up with her.
No. The preternatural power came from a tall man in a dark long-sleeved shirt with his back to her, leaning against the wall in conversation with another guy. She openly ogled the hard lines of his worship-worthy body from his biceps, which flexed beneath the shirt as he took a swig of his beer, to the tattoos on his neck and hands.
He was hot. And not passingly hot, but more like I can-make-you-come-with-a-look hot.
What’s wrong with you?
She tore her eyes away to look for the reason she was here. No Harnish yet.
Her gaze drifted back to the stranger. Was he druid, warlock, or something else? No menacing aura colors came off him. One more second of gawking wasn’t going to hurt.
His head swiveled in her direction. Caught.
Good Lord. She knew him.
Jason Merck. She’d thought about him a time or two—okay maybe more than a few dozen times—since she’d come down from New York City to her family’s coastal estate two days ago in preparation for this meeting. Ten years since she and Jason had…
You don’t need this distraction. He must’ve concurred since he disappeared into the pool hall in the back without acknowledging her. His dismissal hurt, even though it shouldn’t matter.
“Shannon?” asked a heavily accented male voice.
She jumped. With a turn she faced the Asian standing less than a foot away. On reflex she accepted his outstretched hand for a shake.
She’d expected someone older, someone with graying hair, not a guy barely out of adolescence with short-cut dark hair and small glasses.
He slid onto the open barstool next to her.
“How does this work?” she asked.
“Buy me a drink. I like rum.” He smiled a wide expanse of white teeth but his eyes remained sharp. The smile wasn’t for her. It was for those nearby. In the South everyone watched, keen to witness others’ business. An Asian in the bar would be the talk of the hair salon tomorrow.
As they waited for their drinks, she drummed her fingers. Small talk with him seemed absurd. Besides, he ignored her to scroll through screens on his cell phone. His body tensed and lips thinned as he read a message. Anger and fear aura hues swirled around him, but then went to gray, which was a color she couldn’t interpret. It represented the intersection of many emotions. Only when she knew a person well could she put context and personality together to understand a gray aura’s meaning.
What if this didn’t work and the item was a fake? She dreaded the disappointment of another dead end in a series of failures. Her family depended on her. They may consist of druids and witches who could protect themselves against humans or magical beings of equal ability, but not against her would-be executioner.
Her reflection in the mirror behind the bar startled her. The wide-eyed woman wasn’t her. It couldn’t possibly be Shannon Randolph, the adventure camerawoman who filmed documentaries and journalistic pieces in unstable countries. The Shannon she was familiar with had happy blue eyes and an easy smile. That woman liked making people laugh and encouraging others to try new things.
Everything had changed when her mother was murdered and she’d been framed for theft.
Harnish stopped typing when the bartender slid their drinks in front of them. He took a single sip of the rum. “I emailed you the account. Transfer the bitcoin. Once I have the money, I’ll give it to you.”
A few clicks on her phone and the bitcoin she’d spent an hour last night learning how to purchase had been sent.
His phone dinged.
“Got it. The scrying glass is yours.” He removed a small cloth-wrapped item from his cargo pants and put it in her hand. His face scrunched up as he gave her a cursory once-over. “You don’t look the type to use this sort of thing. You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Any hints?” The item in the soft cloth emitted a foul energy that alarmed her. Instinct urged she give it back to Harnish and find another way. This is the end of the line.
“Not my area of expertise. I sell. You use.”
She shoved the small, wrapped item into her jeans and stood. Dizzy, she grabbed the wooden bar counter. Fatigue played a factor in her stress of the past few weeks, but she hadn’t experienced vertigo before. Maybe this was reaction to the item?
“You sure you’re feeling alright?” He flashed a weird smile before it disappeared.
Crap. She’d been played.