Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“There are several words for what I am. The others who are like me choose which word they prefer to be called. It usually depends on when they were born or how they were raised. Though most of us choose one word over others—a warlock.”
“A warlock.” Her mouth went dry. This was real. This was her life. “And there are others?”
“Yes. Not many. Unlike the other monsters, who have come into the light, we chose not to. We’re rare and very territorial.” He looked strikingly possessive in that moment. “Most cities have no more than one master warlock at any given time. We prefer our privacy.”
“Okay, but what does it actually mean to be a warlock?”
“Traditionally, we were called wizards or sorcerers or warlocks. The word ‘warlock’ actually came first—around 900. It was generally believed to mean ‘oathbreaker’ or ‘devil.’ Most people of the time were superstitious.” He cut his meat into pieces with deliberate precision, not bothering to look up as he continued. “They believed that the magic they perceived was a negative force. That it went against God and nature. It wasn’t until around the fourteenth century that other words developed to discuss magic in a positive light—wizard, mage, even astrologer.”
“Why don’t you call yourself one of those, then?”
His stare was dangerous, and she knew before he answered why he’d chosen “warlock.” Because he was the darkness.
He shrugged. “I choose to claim what I am.”
Kierse gulped down her wine. “I see.”
He finished off his glass and poured another. “As for you, the signs point to you being a warlock as well, but I don’t want to say for certain. It’s surprising that you survived this long with magic in your veins without your knowledge. Though perhaps, since your power is negative, passive, it didn’t try to burn through you.”
“Burn through me?” she asked in alarm.
“When warlocks come into their power without their knowledge, it’s likely to kill the person. Even trained warlocks can use their magic too quickly and burn through it, destroying us from the inside out. I don’t know why yours never manifested in that way. Warlock powers vary widely. Some can do one thing incredibly well. Some have a wide variety of base powers. Perhaps you just got lucky.”
“And you? What can you do?”
He smiled tightly. “We’re not talking about my powers.”
A sidestep if she’d ever seen one. But already her mind was reeling with all this new information. With how reticent Graves had been up to this point, she was surprised that he’d even dished out this much.
Edgar entered then to clear the plates while Isolde set down a tiny, delicate white dessert. It was a small rectangle with layers of pastry and cream with chocolate feathered on top. It looked like she could pick it up and eat it all in one delicious mouthful.
Kierse took one bite of the dessert and decided it was her new favorite.
“A mille-feuille,” Graves answered before she could ask. “It’s a French delicacy.”
“I approve.”
Graves offered her his portion, and she didn’t even feel guilty taking it off of him. His grin as she bit into it said that maybe he was enjoying her enjoyment as well.
“Shall we discuss the job? As that’s why you’re here,” Graves asked while she ate.
“Yes. Tell me everything I need to know.” She polished off the last bite of mille-feuille and leaned forward against the table. The dinner had been nice and all, but she wasn’t here for fancy dinners or cute banter. It was time to get down to business.
“As I told you before, you’re stealing a spear.”
“Got that much already.”
“How did training go?”
She grimaced. “Like bleeding blisters all over my hands.”
“That’s normal when you start a new weapon. You’ll get there. We don’t have much time. So you’ll have to train daily to get accustomed to it.”
“That’s fine. But tell me more about this spear. Where is it? What do I have to do to steal it?”
“Have you heard of Third Floor?”
Her blood turned to ice. “I’ve heard of it,” she said. Torra had disappeared down there and never resurfaced. It was basically a black hole. A place where people like Torra went to die.
“The spear is locked away in the heart of Third Floor, in the residence of the leader of the Men of Valor.”
Kierse’s smile tipped up. Finally, a chance for some revenge.
“You’ve heard of them as well, I presume?”
“A group of all different kinds of monsters working together against the Treaty? Yeah. That’s something I think most people have heard of. Even if they haven’t come across them.”
“And have you?” Graves asked.
Kierse had no interest in telling him about how they’d taken Torra. So she just smiled deviously.
“I work with billionaire clientele. I’ve seen the gold wings-and-arrow pendants before.”
“Indeed. Third Floor itself is warded, and the spear is in a warded residence.”