A Den of Tricks Read online

  We passed a local tavern and a couple of stores, and Lemuel’s scent got stronger.

  “Not with that many cleaning products.” I smirked. “It’s a masking tactic that some animals use to throw predators off their tracks. It’s used by species across the worlds we know, and this one is no exception. The scents I caught in his house were strong and permanent, seeping into the structural beams and every other inch of wood in there. He’s definitely hiding something.”

  “That nose of yours is fantastic, I swear.” Heron shook his head slowly, amazed. “I mean, I thought I was a good tracker, but then you came along. I am literally in awe of you.”

  “Thank you.” I gave him a warm smile, feeling my cheeks burn under his intense gaze. “I was always fascinated with chemistry and the olfactory sense… The two just came naturally to me, I guess. When I was given the option to further hone this skill, I took it.”

  “It’s a good thing you did.” He nodded. “Your contributions so far have been extraordinary.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that, but yeah, I guess I can hold my own on this team.” I giggled, trying to maintain some sense of modesty under his barrage of compliments.

  A couple of minutes went by in absolute silence. I stole a glance at Heron, and he looked as though he were trying to say something, but couldn’t find the right words.

  “Avril,” he finally spoke, “have you ever thought about a soulmate?”

  The question made me feel nervous, mainly because I didn’t understand its purpose, but also because I found myself instinctively looking at him as I tried to formulate an answer. My feelings for him were developing at an alarmingly rapid pace, and I knew, deep down, that my answer would be yes.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I mean, have you thought about having someone in your life, someone you’d want to spend an eternity with?” His gaze was clouded as he studied my expression, and I felt vulnerable all of a sudden.

  “No… Yes… Okay, yes, I have thought about it.” I surrendered. What was the point in lying, anyway? We were stuck on this planet, and the future was so murky, so unclear, it felt like a disservice to myself if I denied it. You only get one life, and so on…

  “What would that person be like?” he replied, then stared at the road ahead. The streetlamps cast a yellowish light over the cobblestone, and long shadows crossed the alley from various angles.

  “I haven’t given it that much thought, but… I don’t know, if I were to make up a profile right now, off the top of my head, I guess he’d have to be someone who can accept me exactly the way I am… my curiosity, my strong opinions, and my quirks included.”

  Heron didn’t say anything for a while, and, upon analyzing what I’d just said, I realized my statement felt incomplete.

  “Of course,” I continued, “I would reciprocate. I’d accept him. I’d… love him, both his good and bad sides. I just can’t get more specific because, to be honest, I’m still trying to figure it out. I’ve never been in love with anyone before, Heron. I don’t know what that’s supposed to feel like, exactly. I also know I’ve got a very long life ahead of me, and I just don’t see myself rushing into anything…”

  That was my defense mechanism rearing its not-so-pretty head. Alarm signals went off whenever I looked at Heron, opposing the butterflies squirming in my stomach and the frantic beats of my heart. He nodded slowly. I caught a glimpse of what seemed like disappointment in his eyes as he looked down and scratched the back of his neck.

  “That… That makes sense,” he muttered.

  I stilled and caught his forearm, stopping him in his tracks. Something felt a little off.

  “What’s up?” he whispered.

  “I think we’re being followed,” I replied, then looked over my shoulder.

  The street was getting crowded with dozens of Imen of all ages. There must have been a gathering of sorts nearby. I started walking but didn’t let go of Heron’s arm. We slipped through the stream of people and made a sharp left turn, hiding between the walls of two neighboring houses.

  The space was narrow, forcing Heron to stand extremely close to me. His chest pressed against mine, and I felt the heat from his hard body simmering into me. Our proximity seemed to affect us both, as he lowered his head slowly. I was looking to the right when I felt his breath on my cheek and turned my head, my nose touching his.

  I found myself drowning in his jade eyes. His hands rested on my hips. The world gradually dissolved around us, and I found comfort in the shield of his body for a few moments. We stayed like that for what seemed like eons, until his lips inched closer and almost touched mine. My heart jumped in my throat as I struggled to breathe. I wanted him to kiss me—so badly that I nearly missed Lemuel’s scent getting stronger.

  “He’s here,” I croaked, my lips parting beneath his.

  Heron was losing control, but he tried to make sense of what I’d just said, while his eyes were fixed on mine.

  “Wha… What?” he managed.

  “Lemuel is here. He’s coming this way,” I whispered.

  He lifted his head and looked out into the street. His arm shot out just as an old Iman passed by us. Heron grabbed him by his lapel and pulled him into the tight space with us. Lemuel whimpered as Heron immobilized him, pushing him against the wall.

  Our little hiding spot was suddenly even more crowded, and I was too close to Heron for my mind to stay clear—and that was a challenge, because we’d just found Lemuel, as he’d followed us around. I shook my head and forced myself back into focus.

  “We’re not going to hurt you,” I said softly.

  Lemuel squirmed and tried to free himself, but he didn’t stand a chance against Heron. The old Iman froze when he realized he was dealing with a Mara. The horror on his face was almost heartbreaking—this creature was terrified of Heron’s kind, and I knew it had something to do with the Exiled Maras.

  “Don’t… Please… I wasn’t looking to do any harm…” Lemuel breathed, his eyes wide and glassy. He was in his late sixties, tufts of white hair poking out from beneath his dark brown hat, wrinkles drawing shadows across his features. His body trembled with fear, and I put my hand on his shoulder to try to calm him down.

  “We’re not going to hurt you, I promise.” I felt the need to repeat myself. “Why were you following us?”

  “I saw you coming out of my house,” Lemuel replied, his voice barely audible. The crowd in the street was quite loud—a mixture of laughter and friendly words as the Imen praised the quality of a play they’d just watched, based on the fragments of theater-related conversation that trickled into our nook. “I just wanted to know what you were looking for…”

  “We were looking for you, Lemuel,” I said, keeping my tone as gentle as possible. “Cynara and Hera told us where to find you. We need your help.”

  “I… How could I possibly help you?”

  “We need to see the Imen archives you’ve been keeping away from the Maras,” Heron replied. “The girls told us you’re quite the collector.”

  “How… How did you know? Did they tell you? How did you know to ask them about…” Lemuel’s voice trailed off, and his jaw dropped. “Hera and Cynara willingly told you? How is that possible?”

  “Because they wanted to help us help them… help you, and every other innocent creature in this city,” I said. “We need to read those archives; we need to understand what the Imen know about the daemons, in particular. The Maras don’t know anything, and they’re getting killed off one by one by these monsters. We’re going to end this, once and for all, but we need all the information you can give us about them.”

  “But… But it’s just old wives’ tales… folklore, legends, and myths… I don’t know how it could help.” The old Iman shook his head slowly.

  “It doesn’t matter. We need to read everything you have,” I replied. “Please, you have to help us. We have a shot at bringing this to an end, but we need your help.”

  Lemuel looked
away, avoiding Heron’s persistent gaze. I had a feeling he was afraid of getting mind-bent.

  “I… I can’t… If I reveal the archives, my people will be in trouble.” He sighed, his bony shoulders dropping.

  “How? Why?” I asked, and Lemuel looked at us with confusion, his brow furrowed.

  “I… I don’t know. I just know I have to keep it a secret. No one can know.”

  “I can mind-bend it out of you right now if I want to,” Heron warned him. “But I won’t. I am asking you nicely. We are asking you nicely because we trust you. Trust us, too. We have no intention of telling anyone anything about your archives. We don’t work for the Maras, and we don’t work for you. All we want to do is stop the daemons from attacking your city.”

  The old Iman gave it some thought, his worried gaze darting between Heron and me. He eventually gave us both a brief nod, and Heron moved back, releasing him.

  “We simply need to know more about the written history of your people,” I added, “daemons and all. Please, help us.”

  “I don’t keep them at the bookstore,” Lemuel conceded. “Come with me.”

  He left the narrow space between houses, and we followed him back down the alley from which we’d come. Heron moved to his left side, and I kept to his right, keeping him between us, both to protect him and to quickly restrain him if he decided to run off.

  “Where do you keep them, then?” I asked.

  “I have a studio on the first level,” Lemuel replied. I frowned slightly, wondering why he’d gone to such efforts to conceal any clandestine scents in his bookstore, if the archive wasn’t even there. “I couldn’t risk a raid, so I purchased a floor in a small townhouse below, under my niece’s name. I keep everything there.”

  “Then what are you hiding in the bookstore?” I muttered, making sure no passersby overheard us. Lemuel gave me a surprised look, and I raised my eyebrow at him. “Come on, you’ve doused the place in cleaning solutions repeatedly, and, judging by the mess in your house upstairs, you’re not exactly a germaphobe.”

  “A germ-what?” He blinked several times in confusion.

  “Answer the question, Lemuel,” Heron interjected, his voice firm as he scowled at the old Iman.

  “I… I can’t tell you.”

  “I can make you tell me,” Heron shot back.

  “Okay, just don’t make me tell you here. Have some patience, and I will explain!” Lemuel was getting frustrated and grouchy. I stifled a grin and gave Heron a sideways glance. He, too, was slightly amused.

  Lemuel was the typical grumpy old dude who didn’t like being questioned and whose survival instincts had probably kept him alive up until now. From what I remembered, based on the interviews we’d had with House Roho’s servants, few Imen lived past the age of forty or fifty. I had a feeling Lemuel knew a lot more than what he was telling us, but he was right. We were in the middle of an alley filled with people. It wasn’t the right time to discuss such details.

  As night fell, the sky got darker and stars twinkled overhead, trailing the first moon. We escorted Lemuel down to the first level, deep in the bowels of the so-called slums of the city.

  The streets got narrower, with fewer light sources. Heron and I ended up walking next to each other, Lemuel in front of us.

  “It’s just two hundred feet away,” the old Iman said.

  My arms brushed against Heron’s occasionally, sparking tingling sensations that rushed through my whole body, then gathered in the back of my throat.

  We’d almost kissed, and I didn’t know what to do with that anymore. Was it just a moment’s impulse? Or was Heron orbiting toward me for some reason? Either way, the more I thought about it, the more anxious I got. The more I wanted a kiss to actually happen.

  I’d felt his lips against mine back at Jovi and Anjani’s wedding.

  And that’s something impossible to forget…

  Fiona

  (Daughter of Benedict & Yelena)

  I lost track of time while sifting through Lemuel’s bookshelves, and came up empty. There wasn’t a single book in there discussing the asteroid belt from a more scientific perspective—just lots of useless lore. It seemed as though the Maras had actually brought some impressive development to the planet. The Imen seemed quite primitive and gullible, holding their legends and ritualistic beliefs in high regard, while the Maras opted for scientific and technological advancement. Swamp witch magic seemed like one of the few things both species agreed on as very much real.

  I moved to another shelf, and looked at the titles. Mostly folklore about water spirits and deities that influenced the weather. The Imen had gathered an impressive culture throughout their millennia on this planet.

  Hot air brushed against the back of my neck, and I instantly jolted to the side, pulling my sword out on instinct. I wasn’t alone in here. My heart thudded violently against my ribs as I briefly scanned my surroundings and noticed the air rippling in the reading corner.

  “Don’t come any closer!” I called out, my voice firm and filled with the promise of death, while I looked for a water source to use against the daemon.

  “Would it make you more comfortable if I revealed myself?”

  That voice… It sounded awfully familiar. My spine tingled, and the air seemed to thicken around me as I watched a vase get lifted off a corner table. The daemon took the flowers out, tossing them onto the floor, and poured the water over his tall and broad frame, revealing himself.

  I held my breath. I recognized Zane, standing in the freaking bookstore, just a few feet away from me. He was as tall as I remembered him, his muscles heavy and toned, and his chest and arms covered in tribal tattoos. What was he doing in the city?

  What is he doing here? Oh no, is he here to take me away again? Not happening!

  I kept my sword out, my grip tightening around the handle to the point where my hand trembled a little. There was no way in hell I was letting him drag me back to those wretched gorges again.

  Zane cocked his head to one side, a flicker of amusement lighting up his fiery red eyes.

  “Relax, Fiona, I’m not here to take you away,” he said, his voice gruff and sending some very mixed signals to my brain. “Although I could, since the dragon’s out of town.”

  “No longer surprised that you know so much about our movements,” I muttered, taking a couple of steps back to increase the distance between us. My throat closed up in his presence, the intensity weighing heavily on my shoulders. There was something about him that demanded my full attention and… not fear, but rather… respect. “What are you doing here, Zane? What do you want?”

  A couple of seconds went by. He took his time to formulate an answer as he measured me from head to toe with renewed interest.

  “I’m just… visiting.” He shrugged, his gaze settled on my face, while I had trouble keeping my eyes on his. The sinuous curves of his shoulders, the deep lines of his hips as they sank beneath the massive leather belt, the ropes of muscle threaded down his abdomen—they all required attention. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, and, by the looks of you, I bet you missed me.”

  His smirk set me off. My cheeks burned, and I snapped out of my split second daze, shifting my focus back to his red eyes. He’d caught me staring, and I hated it.

  “It’s been a while since we saw each other?” I mockingly repeated his statement with a raised eyebrow. “You saw me just yesterday.”

  “And today couldn’t come soon enough.” He grinned, leaning on one of the wooden support beams. He crossed his arms over his chest, and that somehow made him look even bigger. “You look beautiful, by the way. Your stay in the gorge did wonders for your skin.”

  “What in the world is wrong with you?” I groaned, rolling my eyes. I could not, for the life of me, figure out what his end game was.

  “What? I’m just giving you a compliment. Is that a crime?” He raised a patronizing eyebrow at me, further fueling the fire burning in my core. I really wasn’t used to such
high body temperatures.

  “You abducted me. Your species is killing innocent Maras and Imen. You’re using magic that you shouldn’t even know about, and you are literally stalking me. I’m pretty sure a compliment is kind of useless at this point!”

  “I’d dare to disagree.” Zane seemed unfazed. “I think it’s good to tell the truth, even if it makes people uncomfortable. And the truth is that you look beautiful, and the black leather does you justice.”

  I blinked several times, trying to wrap my head around what was going on. Why was I just standing here? Why wasn’t I looking for the optimum attack angle? And why was I blushing?

  “I think you’ve lost your mind somewhere in those gorges.” I shook my head slowly.

  “Okay, fine, don’t take the compliment.” Zane scoffed, feigning exasperation. “But either come at me or put that fire poker away before you hurt yourself with it.”

  “Did you just make fun of my sword?” I narrowed my eyes at him.

  Why am I letting him get to me? Snap out of it, Fiona!

  He chuckled, then resumed a standing position, putting his hands behind his back.

  “You call that a sword?” He pursed his lips.

  “Okay, that’s it!” I hissed and lunged at him, the blade pointing at his chest.

  He expertly dodged it but didn’t retaliate. Instead, he stilled and waited for me to come at him again. I wasn’t going for the kill, anyway. Something told me that would be nearly impossible. But I needed to assess his fighting skills and, most importantly, his speed.

  “That was a bit… weak.” He gave me a playful smile.

  Oh, really?

  I slashed at him again, this time bringing my sword down from the left, and he effortlessly moved back. The blade missed him by inches. He growled with excitement as I launched a flurry of hits, gripping the sword with both hands and swinging it with ample movements that were quite demanding on my shoulder muscles.

  Nevertheless, I still couldn’t hit him, as he flashed left and right with impressive speed.