Page 118 of A Winding Wave of Magic
“Welcome,bean feasa,” murmured the porter, placing my surfboard atop the rest of the bags stacked neatly on the cart before he rolled them into the hotel lobby.
“Why do they keep saying that to me?” I asked Jonathan as we followed him inside.
“It means ‘wise woman’ in Irish,” he said.
“I know what it means,” I said irritably. “I just don’t know why they keep saying it tome.”
“Ireland respects its seers, Cass. It’s known for producing some of the greatest in history—Penny among them. They’ll recognize you for what you are and honor it.”
I frowned, suddenly suspicious of the porter as we followed him into the lobby of the hotel. “Yes, buthowdo they know what I am? They’ve barely spoken to me.”
I was rewarded with an eye roll, to which I responded with a swift jab to Jonathan’s ribs.
“Careful there!” he exclaimed, rubbing the side of his belly. “You’ve got knives for elbows, did you know that?”
“Then just answer my questions without the side of condescension, will you?” I stuck my elbow out at him until he feigned surrender.
“It’s not hard to See,” he admitted. “I knew instantly what you were. I told you, I could See your energy. You need a brief touch, others like you only have to look inside our minds. Sirens can feel it, and shifters, well.” He tapped the end of his nose.
I gasped. “Ismell?”
He chuckled. “It’s not bad. Just very particular.”
I wasn’t sure what I thought about being so readily identifiable until something else occurred to me. “But because there are so many of us here, a few more won’t be noticed?”
“Nothing like hiding in plain sight,” Jonathan agreed.
If the porter and the cabbie had been less than discreet, the hotel was practically a celebration of magic. As far as I couldtell, there wasn’t one plain human in the lobby. A young male sorcerer was speaking in hushed tones into the house telephone, his eyes blazing a fiery orange color as he looked through the wallet in front of him, willing each of the cards and pieces of money to float in front of him, dancing in midair like a child’s toy. Next to a crackling rowan wood fire, a group of shifters who couldn’t have been anything but house cats chatted, feline eyes a peaceful yellow as they occasionally emitted the distinct thrums of purring from inside their chests.
“Do you do that?” I asked Jonathan as we approached the front desk. “Purr?”
I received only a withering expression of disdain as Jonathan handed his passport to a pert young sorceress with dark brown eyes.
“Welcome back, Mr. Lynch. Hair or swab, sir?” she said as she examined the document with eyes now shimmering like graphite.
“Swab.” Jonathan took back his passport and tucked it into his leather satchel.
There was an awkward silence as the receptionist blinked at me expectantly.
“Er, swab, I guess.” I reached for one of the two sterile packets she offered.
“No, that won’t be necessary, Elsie,” Jonathan said, pushing one back across the counter. “We’ll only be here a night, and be together the whole time. The room is under my name only. Thank you, though.”
Elsie paused. “But, Mr. Lynch, hotel policy?—”
“How’s your father, Elsie?” Jonathan interrupted quietly. “His case before the Council was dismissed, was it not?”
The girl’s mouth opened and closed a few times before she shut it and nodded tightly. “Yes, it was. He’s home and well, sir, thanks to you.” She drew back one of the packets, glancingaround to make sure no one was watching, and tucked it away. “Just the one, then.”
Her tone was perfectly civil, but curiosity flashed in her eyes as she glanced at me. I feigned nonchalance and watched as Jonathan tore open the packet and rubbed the swab against the inside of his cheek before handing it back across the counter. The receptionist pressed a button on the desk, and a small square of the wood surface retracted below the rest to reveal a black cup of water.
“Is that a…miniature cauldron?” I wondered, earning a pointed look from Jonathan.
Elsie murmured a short spell, and the water began to boil. “You requested a double suite, is that correct?” she asked, looking at her computer.
Jonathan nodded and handed her a credit card. “Top floor, please. With a balcony.”
“Very good, sir.”
