Page 2 of Sigils & Spells

It’s black, writhing, bristling with what looks like it might be fur. Dark energy crackles through it, snapping and sparking in a way that causes my headache to return.

I’ve never seen anything like it before.

What is this guy?

Something supernatural, certainly. Shifters often have echoes of their inner beast that flare around them under stress. I’m used to seeing those.

But I can always tell what those shifters are—a spotted jungle cat, a gray Timberwolf, a snake shifter. Whatever. Those are all natural—albeit paranormal. Butthis? This is something entirely different. Almost entirely different, anyway. He isn’t a standard shifter, for sure, but that’s the closest thing I can compare his energy to.

“Can—can I get you something?” I manage to stammer out.

He tilts his head and gazes at me consideringly. His eyes are piercing, but his strange aura snaps through them so strongly that I can’t even tell what color they are. “Are you okay?” he asks, and I can hear the weird aura echoing in his voice, too.

“Just a slight headache,” I say. “What would you like?”

He continues staring at me. I can feel whatever is inside him assessing me. It makes my skin crawl.

“I’ll take a black coffee.”

“Is that it?” I’m not used to simple orders.

“For now.” He hands me cash, and I give him his change, careful not to touch his hand.

The creepy guy moves to the end of the counter to wait for his drink.

At the machine, Ruby curses. “This damn machine has stopped working again. Can you do something, Evie?”

“Sure.” I move toward the enormous industrial coffee maker, murmuring a spell as I make my way over to it. I touch the side of the machine, and the zing of magic working shoots through my fingertips. I make a show of fiddling with the levers and dials. Within seconds, it lets out a hiss of steam and begins brewing again.

“I don’t know how you always manage to do that,” Ruby says admiringly. “It’s like magic.”

“Isn’t it just?” Creepy Dude murmurs.

My gaze flickers in his direction, but I ignore his comment. I slide back over to the register and continue taking orders, forcing myself to ignore the pulsing blackness in the room.

Thirty minutes later, the mid-morning rush slows down, and I’m able to move away from the register.

Ruby takes her break, and Josiah—as usual—is nowhere to be seen. I guess that’s one of the perks of being the owner.

I take the opportunity to wipe down the counters, and when I glance up again, the dude with the crazy aura is back in front of the register. This time, I’m prepared for him—or at least as prepared as I can ever be for someone who makes my head hurt simply by existing—and I manage to say, “How else can I help you?” without stumbling over my words.

He shakes his head. “I don’t need anything—but I think maybe I can help you.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I just stare at him blankly. He stretches out his hand with a business card held lightly between two fingers. “I’m Ivan Cambridge. I own a company that I think could use your… skills.”

I don’t like the way he pauses in front of the word.

“My coffee serving skills?” I ask, keeping my tone light.

His voice drops. “I saw what you did with the machine. I have a project that I think you would be perfect for. And I promise you’ll make a lot more money working for me than you ever will someplace like this.” He circles the card in the air to indicate the coffee shop, and then he holds it out to me again.

This time I take it, but I say, “I like my job here.”

That aura of his flares angrily, but he smiles. It’s a strange juxtaposition. “I promise you’ll like working for me better.” He taps the counter twice and stands up straight. “Give me a call,” he says and then turns to leave.

I stare down at the business card.

Ivan Cambridge. WolfsBane Inc.

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