THIRTY-THREE
Unbeknownst to Layla, Sunday was the busiest shopping day in Maganthia, so the markets were crowded, and her security only made things worse. The locals didn’t seem to mind, as their curiosity overwhelmed inconvenience, and the shopkeepers went out of their way to greet her with a smile, but Quin stayed on edge as he scanned the parted crowds for shifty auras or eyes.
He’d once again donned armor and a cloak, and she stood out in full makeup and another designer dress. The flowy, purple skirt had a thigh-high split that made the material part around her legs and trail behind her, and lace flowers bloomed from the waistline, covering her stomach before climbing over her breasts to the long, airy cape that hung from her outer shoulders.
Quin had spent the morning taking her on a tour of the district wall, which was like a city in and of itself. The massive border housed the public infirmary and dungeons, a historical museum, guardhouses, an ancient temple, souvenir shops, restaurants, coffee stands, and even a couple of pubs. And there was still room for a wing of private residences reserved for healers, guards, priests and council members.
Layla’s tour had ended in the top tier, so they stopped by an art exhibit serving champagne and hors d’oeuvres, which Layla wasn’t allowed to ingest until Drexel interviewed the caterers. Layla’s embarrassment flared every time her presence caused a scene, but the art was gorgeous, and the curator was thrilled to have the talk of the town at the installation. Indeed, every time Layla gushed over one of the pieces, it sold within seconds.
She was thanked profusely as she left. Then they took a fancy wooden boat to the Central Market in the middle tier. Tension spiked among her security when she stepped into the busiest courtyard in the city, but she did her best to ignore it while following the flow to the vendors.
She scanned all the unique and wondrous wares, but she was on the hunt for Benzio’s gift, so she only stopped at tables offering age-appropriate products. Brietta, on the other hand, was Layla’s opposite when it came to shopping. She barely took the time to skim. Her gaze somehow dialed in on everything of interest, and if she focused on it, she almost always bought it. Skyla was slightly more frugal, spending less money on more important items, which she demanded Weylin carry. He’d rolled his eyes while gathering the bags, but as soon as she turned her back on him, a smile lifted his bearded face. Even Aradia had caved to the market’s temptations, toting a bag while playing with a new bracelet, and she’d let Banning pay for it all, proving she no longer felt as if she owed him something. Perhaps because he was already getting everything he wanted.
As Layla came upon one of the biggest canopies in the square, a raised voice caught her attention, and she looked toward the back of the tent just in time to see the merchant catch a fleeing boy by his wrist. The kid was around ten, but his defiant stare aged him, and he didn’t even flinch when his captor stooped to his level and snatched something from his hand.
“Do you plan on paying for that?”
The boy set his jaw. “No.”
“Then run along and don’t come back or I’ll call for the guards.”
The seller let go, and the boy darted away, slipping around a corner that led to a descending flight of stairs.
Layla grabbed the nearest Crusader and pulled him close. “Follow that boy.” Then she released him and approached the vendor, pointing out the object he’d taken from the kid. “May I see that?”
The man beamed while handing over what appeared to be a book, but when she opened it, she found black and white pictures that magically moved across the pages, depicting the story printed along the bottom.
She smiled and flipped to the next page. “Fascinating. It’s an animated coloring book.”
“It talks, too.” He touched a finger to the text, and a speaker in the back cover came to life, reading the words as he traced them.
“How much?” Layla asked.
He answered with the Maganthian price, which was somewhere around twenty to thirty dollars, so she told Quin to pay the man then walked away with her nose in the book.
Quin quickly obeyed then caught up with her at the corner the boy had taken. “Where are you going, love?”
She lowered the book to her side and continued forward. “Where do these stairs go?”
“Low-Tier.”
“Then that’s where we’re going.”
“To find that kid?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Curiosity.”
“About what?”
“Why a Maganthian feels the need to steal.”
Quin sighed. “It’s not a perfect city, angel.”
“Are you telling me there are people living in poverty down here?”
“Poverty? No. Everyone here can afford to feed and dress themselves, and they all have a decent place to call home, but as advanced as the city is, it still falls victim to class warfare.”
“Let me guess, the lowest classes hang out in Low-Tier.”
“Most of their businesses are down here.”
“Along with a few shady establishments,” Drexel added. Then he spoke to his soldiers. “Stay alert.”
Layla’s head swarmed with visions of a grungy lane filled with poor people and the stench of oppression, but the walkway at the bottom of the stairs didn’t confirm any of her fears. The ground and canal were as clean here as they were everywhere else, and though the buildings were taller and closer together, creating dark alleys and shadowed corners, the people traversing the cobblestones appeared happy, peaceful, nourished and clean. Their clothes weren’t as fancy as some of the outfits she’d seen on the upper tiers, but most of the gowns would have looked at home in Layla’s community, and the men didn’t dress much differently than the wizards in her family. Upbeat music floated from nearby street performers, and the closest bridge led to a bazaar that was smaller and less flashy than the Central Market, which drew the bulk of the tourists, leaving this one less crowded and more relaxed.
“Told you,” Quin teased, tickling her nose with a lock of her hair. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s an equal society, but the gap is nothing like you see in some hexless civilizations. Thanks to Willa, there hasn’t been a slave in this city since the LucDre War.”
“Really?” Layla asked.
“Yep,” Quin confirmed. “She started a campaign to free them, and her kids saw it through after her death. That was just one of their many contributions to our world.”
Layla spotted the Crusader she’d sent after the would-be thief, who’d been caught and drained of defiance. Now, he just looked scared as he hung his head, his collar stuck in the Crusader’s grasp. They stood to the left of the market, so Layla crossed the bridge and approached.
The boy looked up when her lights swallowed him. Then his mouth fell open when his gaze hit her face. She smiled and motioned for the guard to release him, hoping to ease his tension, but he was too stunned to realize he’d been set free.
Layla held up the coloring book. “Why did you try to steal this?”
He swallowed as his eyes shifted toward the evidence. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. It won’t happen again.”
“That’s good, but I still want to know why you tried to take it.”
He pointed toward the stairs. “Because he stole it from my grandpa.”
Confusion creased her brow as she glanced over her shoulder. “He took this book from your family?”
“Not that one.” He took Layla’s hand and led her through the bazaar toward a table piled with similar books. “He took the idea.”
The woman tending the booth shot to her feet, her eyes widening on the boy’s grip on Layla’s hand. “Bastion Erik Castor, let go of that lady right now.”
He obeyed, but he didn’t back down. “Look what she bought in the Central Market, Ma. I told you that mean ol’ geezer copied Grandpa.”
“Hush now,” his mother chided, but she followed his advice and reached out. “May I?”
“Sure.” Layla passed over the book then gathered one from the table, flipping through it like she had the first. “Yours are better. How much are they?”
The shopkeeper mumbled an answer as she flipped through the knockoff.
“That’s cheaper than the ol’ geezer is selling them,” Layla observed.
Bastion snickered while moving to his mom’s side. “Told you I saw him selling them.”
Her lips thinned, and Layla could tell she was holding back tears. “You sure did.” She snapped the pages together then tried to give it back.
“Keep it,” Layla insisted. “So you think he stole your dad’s design?”
“I know he did, but there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Why?”
“It’s his word against ours. I told Dad not to trust him. Why would they sell our goods up there when they refuse to let us get permits to set up shop beside them?”
Layla threw a disapproving glance at Quin, who helplessly shrugged. “There are some things you can’t change, love.”
She glanced around the market, taking note of the upper-class citizens who’d followed her downstairs. “Watch me.” Then she bolstered her voice while shuffling through the various coloring books. “Wow! These are much better than the ones upstairs. Cheaper, too. Look at these,” she added, handing two of them to Quin. “The illustrations are way better, and they’re not as flimsy. We should get some for the covens back home.” She’d gotten everyone’s attention, so she simmered down and turned toward the table. “Seriously, though, help me pick out some for Benzio. Alana and Shaylee, too. Their birthdays are coming up. And we should get some for Diamond. We’ll leave them in the guestrooms.”
By the time she finished going through the choices, she’d picked out more than a dozen books, lighting up the seller’s face and aura. Then she paid with a wink and a whisper. “Here they come.”
Sure enough, the moment Layla and her security strolled away, nearby onlookers swarmed the table, anxious to walk in the footsteps of an angel.
“You did a nice thing back there,” Drexel commended, “but it’s unwise to make enemies with rich ol’ geezers.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Clearly.”
Layla left the market and glanced around. “What else is down here?”
“Ooh!” Brietta hopped closer. “You could come watch Keg and I get tattoos.”
“On your shoulder?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s do it,” Layla approved, motioning for her cousin to lead the way.
They stopped by a street vendor selling liquor-spiked slushies. Then they walked another block to a tattoo parlor located on the main floor of a tri-level, stone structure.
“Wait,” Drexel ordered, gesturing toward his soldiers, who filed inside to secure the building.
Once they had troops posted on every floor, door and stairwell, Drexel opened the curtained entrance, and the baffled patrons silently watched the newcomers file into a parlor bathed in tufted, charcoal velvet.
A woman boasting skin art from head to toe shook away her shock. Then she smiled and punched the shoulder of the tattooed man beside her, but her silver gaze stayed on Layla. “What can we do for you?”
“Not me,” Layla corrected, pointing out Brietta and Kegan. “Them.”
They moved to the desk between the lobby and workspace, and Brietta showed the woman her scar as Kegan dug two sketches from his satchel. Following a short discussion and a few final decisions, the artists led them to the back of the shop. Then Brietta sat with her shoulder blade toward the witch while Kegan stripped off his shirt and faced the wizard. Drinks were poured, joints were lit, and Layla and Quin were offered seats near the action, so they witnessed every twitch as needles pierced flesh.
“How did you get the scar?” the female asked.
Brietta kept her cool, but those who knew her well noticed a shift in her aura. “I prefer not to talk about it.”
“Right,” the artist mumbled. “That makes sense given you’re here to cover it.”
Brietta’s good humor returned. “Well, I wasn’t going to point that out, but since you did, I’ll just agree.”
The woman lightly laughed while returning her focus to her craft, and Layla leaned closer to Quin as she whispered. “Why don’t they use magic?”
“They are,” he answered. “It’s a combination. They use the needle for the ink and accuracy. Kind of like how we point when we cast a spell. But they can spread the ink beyond the puncture, so they stab you less than hexless tattoo guns, and the needle stays in longer. That’s why it’s manual.”
Layla paid closer attention, watching as the female carefully tapped the needle into Brietta’s scarred flesh then held it there as she used a forefinger to direct the ink.
“Do they numb them?” Layla asked.
“We can,” the woman answered. “It’s up to the client. Does that change your mind about getting one?”
Layla smiled and shook her head. “No.” Then she looked at Quin. “Why haven’t you ever gotten one?”
He shrugged. “What would I get? Your name?”
“No.”
“I will.”
She giggled while hooking her arm with his. “No.”
He laughed through a drink. “Would you?”
“Get a tattoo of your name?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure,” she agreed, watching him out of the corner of her eye. “As long as you’re the one who gives it to me.”
He scowled. “You know that won’t happen.”
“Bummer.”
“Yeah, I bet.”
The two of them finished their drinks. Then they gave away their seats and wandered up to the other levels, the second of which held a gambling den, where patrons could bet on hexless and magical sports across the world, while the top floor was occupied by a tavern that spilled onto the roof.
Layla had strange eyes on her everywhere she went, so she clung to Quin and kept her voice low. “Where is the blood exchange that Artrenity guy mentioned?”
Quin’s brow furrowed as he led her back downstairs. “Why?”
“Just wondering.”
He stayed uptight as he answered. “About a block east.”
“Let’s go check it out.”
She’d barely finished the suggestion before he objected. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Why would we?”
She shrugged and resisted the urge to chew a fingernail. “Just to see what it’s like.”
He pulled her to a halt in a stairwell and looked around, making sure Crusaders were the only magicians in sight, yet he still lowered his voice to a whisper. “Are you saying you want to try blood magic?”
“Have you ever done it?”
“No.”
“And you’re not curious?”
“No.”
“Why? If it’s a willing exchange, how is it any different than what Brietta’s doing right now? For all we know, that woman could be using Bri’s blood to give her a better tattoo. Isn’t that how it works?”
“I don’t know, because I don’t get off on seeing skin sliced open.”
Layla’s jaw dropped as she pointed to her chest. “Are you suggesting I do?”
He sighed and attempted to relax. “No. That’s why I’m blown away you’d want to go near the blood exchange.”
She dialed back her temper and continued down the stairs. “I just want to see it. I didn’t say I was eager to take part in the bloodshed.”
“But you’re curious.”
“Are you lecturing me?”
“No, love. That’s not my intent.”
“Then stop being so judgmental.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yes,” she confessed, “I’m curious.”
He blinked a few times. Then he swallowed and looked down, probably trying to tame his response. “Please don’t do it without me.”
“Are you saying you’d try it with me?”
“No. I’m saying you let me know before your curiosity reaches a point where you’d go do it without me.”
She smirked. “Why? So you can lock me in a tower?”
Her humor reached him, giving his aura room to breathe. “Maybe.”
“Or maybe you’ll try it with me.”
“I don’t like it, Layla.”
“You still haven’t told me why.”
They’d almost reached the main level, so he halted once more. “I find it morally objectionable for someone to seek an influx of power at the expense of someone else.”
“Even if the donor is willing?”
“Yes, because that power isn’t the recipient’s to take. It doesn’t belong to them, so what right do they have to wield it? And why are they trying? People don’t seek that kind of power just so they can grow a prettier garden or give a better tattoo. They take it for all the wrong reasons. And even if they are cutting people open for the sake of something as inconsequential as a garden, I have to question their priorities as well as their morals.”
“But it’s not about what can be done with the power. It’s about how it feels to have it running through you. Like post-power euphoria. And I wouldn’t accept just anyone’s blood. If I do it, I’d want to do it with you, and you can’t morally object to accepting my power, because you already did.”
“I didn’t have to make you bleed to do it. The power we share was delivered through an act far more beautiful than bodily mutilation.”
“Well, I can’t argue with that.”
His mouth fell open with feigned shock. “That’s a first.”
She laughed and slapped his chest. “Whatever.”
He caught her hand then held it to his heart. “I hear you, angel. And it’s okay to be curious. Maybe you’re right. Maybe there are gray areas in blood magic that aren’t morally compromising. I can’t say they don’t exist, because I really don’t know that much about it, so how about this? Let’s research it together. Once we know more about it, we can revisit this conversation. Deal?”
She grinned and stood on her toes for a kiss. “Deal.” Then she hugged his arm and continued toward the tattoo parlor. “Might as well start our research at the exchange.”
He slowly inhaled. “Why are you so intent on going there? If there are Dark Guild members in the city, the exchange is likely one of their hangouts, and Artrenity would probably sell his soul to get his hands on your blood.”
She flashed a conspiratorial smile. “Exactly.”
Quin paled as his fingers curled. “You’re supposed to be taking today off.”
She sobered and gave him her undivided attention. “I am. I promise. I just want to see the place and let Mr. Percineous know I haven’t forgotten about him. That’s it. We don’t even have to go inside if you’re uncomfortable with it.”
He considered the situation as they rejoined their family. Then he pulled Layla close and kissed her forehead. “I’ll tell Drexel to go scout the exchange.”
“Thank you.”
He offered her a tense smile before watching her move to a chair near Brietta. Then he ignored the dread weighing on his heart as he headed for the commander.
Layla’s rapt attention stayed on Brietta’s shoulder blade until the scar was completely covered by a beautiful tattoo, which would touch the branding on the left side of Kegan’s chest when he hugged her from behind. Both tattoos were circular with watercolor backgrounds positioned near their hearts, and they shared elemental themes, with Kegan’s composed of earth tones while Brietta’s boasted oceanic colors.
Once the artists were satisfied with their work, they healed the punctures. Then they passed hand mirrors to their human canvases.
Brietta had to move to a second mirror to see her back, and her aura brightened as she squealed and celebrated. “I love it!”
She disregarded the mirrors while finding Kegan, and her fingers stretched toward his heart, gently caressing the tattoo on it. “It’s perfect. Do you like it?”
“Yes,” he assured, taking her hand. Then he turned her around and examined her back.
She held her breath while awaiting his response, which came in the form of a tender kiss to the permanently veiled scar. She sighed and closed her eyes, her aura softening with relief, even as it sped with arousal. Then she rotated into a tight hug. “Thank you for this.”
“Thank you for letting me make it better.”
“It’s so much better.”
While Kegan thanked the artists and paid the bill, Brietta had Layla take several pictures of the tattoos with her cell. Then she picked out a few to send to their family the next time Bryce took a trip to Avasummus.
After leaving the parlor, they headed east, passing another pub, a hotel courtyard featuring a buffet of food and a stage for live music, and an apothecary swelling with cannabis smoke.
Looking ahead, Layla noticed a cluster of Crusaders in front of one of the storefronts. Then she spotted Artrenity, who must have been told about her visit, as he wore an excited smile while straightening his collar and smoothing back his blond hair.
Quin’s colors grew darker the closer they drew to the exchange, so Layla wrapped his arm around her shoulders and slipped her hand in the leather belt around his waist, easing a portion of his tension.
“Welcome,” Artrenity loudly greeted, stretching his arms to the sides before reaching for Layla, who cordially smiled while offering her free hand.
He kissed her knuckles, and she was pretty sure he smelled her at the same time, or maybe he was just breathing, and Quin’s paranoia was rubbing off on her. He remained stoic as Artrenity welcomed him by grasping his wrist, but his attitude had no effect on the cheery shopkeeper.
“I’m delighted you stopped by,” he said, still speaking louder than necessary, probably as a means to brag. “Would you like a tour of the place?”
“That’s kind of you,” Layla returned. “But not today. Perhaps another time.”
A brief look of disappointment flashed across his face, but he was quick to recover. “Of course, whenever it pleases the lady. I live upstairs, so I’m always open.”
“Perfect. In the meantime, I’d like to know more about what you do here. Is there a book you’d recommend?”
He beamed and held up a finger, gesturing for her to wait. Then he rushed inside before returning with a stack of books. “Take them,” he insisted, pushing them into Quin’s hand. “You can return them when you come for your tour.”
Layla skimmed the titles – A Condensed History of Blood Magic; Blood Magic for Beginners; and A Beginner’s Guide to Blood Magic in the Bedroom.
She raised an eyebrow at that last one. Then she smiled at Artrenity. “Thank you. We’ll be sure to return them.”
“Take your time. An educated customer makes my job easier. Do you still have my card?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. Call any time if you have questions or want to schedule a visit.”
“Thank you, Artrenity. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
He flashed a bright smile and gave a dramatic bow. “You, too, my lady.”
Layla slowly walked away, giving Quin time to stow the literature, and once his arm was free, she hugged his stomach, wishing there wasn’t stiff armor in the way. “Back to our day off. Where do you want to go?”
Brietta pulled Kegan closer and jumped into the conversation. “The Bijou Market is hosting a rare gem exhibit today. The featured display has been kept secret for security purposes, so rumors are flying that it’s from Ava’s personal collection. Can you imagine being in the same space as one of Ava’s most valuable possessions? It’s on High-Tier, so we could hit the fashion museum on the way. The Equinox Gala is next month, and all the elite designers are showing their latest trends at the museum.”
Layla had seen flyers and signs for the rare gem exhibit, but this was the first she’d heard about a ball. “Equinox Gala?”
“Yeah,” Brietta confirmed. “Autumn and spring parties for the elite. We’re south of the equator, so next month is the fall ball. Anyone who’s someone will be invited, and all the witches wear custom, designer gowns and masks or crazy makeup. Dad subscribed to a Maganthian quarterly, and they always do a huge spread on the galas, so my mom and I would steal them and gush over the gowns. The dresses you’ve been wearing are plain compared to those worn to the galas.”
Layla smiled at the excitement bubbling from her cousin. Then she squeezed Quin’s waist and found his face. “Want to take me to the fashion museum and a rare gem exhibit? I’ll let you buy me something pretty.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yep.”
He smiled as he rubbed her arm and kissed her head. “Let’s go.”