Page 4 of Icy Heart, Empty Chest
I opened it, eyes jumping over the details.
“This is our buyer? He looks like a librarian. There’s no way he’s not a first timer.”
“You’re right, he’s new. He reached my web a few weeks ago. I couldn’t believe it at first but then I checked out his credentials.”
I let out a low whistle.
“I’m not sure if this makes more sense or less sense.”
“Beats me, kid.” A pixie waitress dropped off another round and he reached for his drink. He let out a little laugh and dropped a bound manuscript onto the table next to me. “For some light reading.”
I traced the lettering with my fingers and started to flip through. “What’s this, his doctoral thesis?”
“Full marks, kid.”
I groaned. The homework was starting to pile up. “Never mind, I quit. I’m going to go back to the estate auctions and make my way through the Robertsons’ emeralds again.”
He tapped a gnarled finger on a sticky note in the corner. “That’s the take.”
I frowned. “Well I guess it’s enough.” More than an ordinary fae might make in a year.
“I know you, kid. You’re intrigued.”
“I am,” I noted softly as I combed through. “I think I have a few things to piece together first.”
CHAPTER 2
When I got to Filla’s house, I had to balance the second coffee in my hands to knock on her door. The door knock was old, shaped like a gryphon, looking imposing and out of place. Truth was, everything looked out of place on her street. Most houses didn’t have an extended, sprawling garden, enclosed in a glass greenhouse, practically bursting with rows upon rows of brightly colored flowers and fragrant spices. Most of the houses weren’t brick front, covered from ground to roof in green twisting ivy plants. Filla, that is, Filomena Francesca Freesia Lou Clemente, had been the sole inhabitant for years. She was a tad bit older as witches go, well over a hundred but you’d never know if you looked at her. Witches aged slowest of all beings. She could easily live to be three hundred years of age, imbued with healing and destruction. Witches believed in a balance in life and healing would be their way of righting the chaos.
My father had introduced me to Filla when I was smaller, at one of his art shows. She had shown up with her raven perched on her shoulder. If he was supposed to be a deterrent, no one had told me because I remember as a child asking if I could pet the raven’s head and if she had known that a group of ravens wasknown as an “unkindness.” She had given me a tense, bemused smile, went to move on then stopped, kneeling down my level, looking directly into my eyes. “I did know that, child. Has anyone told you that you have enormous potential as a healer? Your mother was one of my best students.”
I felt my father come up behind me and put his hands on my small shoulders. “Apologies, mistress, if Cora’s bothering you. She is a precocious one.”
“Not at all, Theo.” Filla’s grey curls spilled over her shoulder. She regarded me curiously, like an oddity amongst the frames. “Get this child into a healer’s program as soon as she graduates.” Her voice was quiet but with a definitive air of command. She tolerated no quarter for those who would disobey. Filla, like most witches, had a touch of preternatural arrogance. The amount of power she could command was vast and her tolerance for naysaying was low.
I remember my father patting my shoulder, telling her that it was an option and we’ll see where my interest lies. Her nose had wrinkled slightly, as if annoyed that doing anything else was a waste.
I’d seen her around town, said hi when she came into The Magical Beans. She was also known to freelance. She had a job at the hospital but mainly ran her own shop out of her home for those needing a cure or remedy. Online sales had gone up recently and she had been doing increasing amounts of business there. I had been conscripted to deliver a package or two at times.
The vast majority of fae had come to Filla or a witch at some point in their lives. Gnomes, goblins, pixies, nymphs, kelpies, wizards, etc. Most of us had some sort of magic in our blood. It varied from person to person but certain fae tended to be born with their gifts. It wasn’t guaranteed. Witches were the one species I knew that never skipped a generation. If yourmother had power then you’d have it too. Nymphs and wizards were similar but it wasn’t as strong and could bounce around to generations. Pixies could fly but that was all they had. Others barely had enough juice to power a lightbulb. It was a magical lottery for power. Sometimes the most powerful fae in the room was the little unsuspecting gnome in the corner with enough know-how to bring the building down around your pointy ears. In general, the species in the city get along together. When the ancient fae fought their old gods for control, any species who fought was granted their freedom. Most lived in harmony but within any species, there are always those who pride themselves on being superior to either those of their own race, or other races in general. I prefer to think of them as assholes.
As far as I’ve seen, while magic is usually prized amongst all species, the ability or lack thereof tends not to cause contention.
When technology started to evolve, some older generations were skeptical. Medicine evolved as well and there became a nice crossover between doctor and healer. If you were over a hundred years young, I guarantee you saw a primary care doctor for your long-term stuff but went to a witch or healer when your arthritis acted up. I liked to say my magic was a bit “out of shape.” I hadn’t utilized it in a while so it was pretty weak. I never really needed to. Cuts and bruises I could do, even if it makes me feel a bit dehydrated after.
I knocked again and the gryphon’s mouth transformed from a shriek to a moving metal set of lips. “Who goes there?” I remind myself to roll my eyes at the dramatics later.
“Cora. I brought you coffee.”
I heard a click and the door swung open. The immediate left would bring me into a room for mixing potions and making magic, filled floor to ceiling with shelves filled with books, bottles, stoppers, flasks, and beakers in every color. The ceiling was a giant chandelier, looking to be from the ancient Fae times,an antiqued brass. There were glass windows to see up into the clear day, with natural light streaming in.
“In here.”
She was seated at the giant table with a long slender knife in her hands, taking the green portion off what appeared to be leeks. Corrus, her raven decided to land on my head, digging his talons around my scalp.
I winced but didn’t drop the coffee. I knew what the bird was after. He wanted strands of my hair for his nest. My navy hair stood out, even in the fae world. I grumped silently. He’d ruin my braid.
I put down the coffee on the table and took a seat across from her.
