Cloak of Night (Circle of Shadows #2) - Evelyn Skye Page 0,34
again. It’ll give you a better feel for your magic. Then you’ll be able to reacquaint yourself with your gravitational power without inadvertently damaging anything.”
“Spoilsport,” Daemon grumbled.
The trees eased gratefully back into their normal positions. Sorry, he thought to them.
“How do I turn back into a boy?” he asked.
“The same way you shifted into a wolf,” Liga said.
Daemon nodded. It had really been as simple as knowing he could do it and then thinking about the end state. He began to concentrate on his human form again. Until he remembered that he’d be naked when he shifted. His clothes were jumbled in a pile nearby, but that wasn’t the same as covering him the moment he turned into a boy.
“Uh, do you two mind turning away?”
Fairy let out a fake indignant huff. But then she winked and spun around.
Despite currently being a wolf, Daemon flushed.
Liga pointed at him with an alligator claw. “Focus, brother. Once you have better control of your magic, you’ll be able to conjure clothes to cover yourself simultaneously with your shift.” Then Liga also averted his gaze.
Daemon glanced down at his furry paws. He flicked his tail in the air. And then he imagined those gone, replaced instead by the version of himself he’d known for eighteen years.
The buzzing and blue light came faster this time, as did the transformation.
He’d hardly taken a breath, and he was a boy again.
Chapter Nineteen
Two days after they’d left Jade Forest, Sora and Broomstick arrived in Samara Village at the base of the mountain where her parents lived. It was on the way south toward Naimo Ice Caves, and Sora wanted to look through her mother’s research to see if there was anything in there about the Lake of Nightmares. What Liga said didn’t seem right—that Zomuri wouldn’t bother protecting his vault from mortals. They might not have god magic, but there was still treasure in there, and greed was a well-known human flaw. Retrieving the Dragon Prince’s soul was too important for Sora to skip a quick detour for whatever information she could find.
Sora smiled, though, as she led Broomstick into the village. Shops with colorful wooden doors lined the streets, the smell of morning frost filled the air, and birds chirped from the rooftops. Broomstick had never been here before—he always went home to his own family during school holidays—and Sora could hardly wait to show him around her cheerful little village and take him up to her house on the cliffs.
“Come this way,” she said, leading him toward the main square. “There’s always a rainbow of lanterns strung up this time of year. And musicians take turns playing in the plaza at all hours. Oh, and you have to see the huge fountain where Daemon, Hana, and I used to play during Autumn Festival breaks. . . .”
Sora caught herself at the casual mention of Hana. It poked like a splinter beneath her skin.
But she didn’t want to feel sad or worried right now, not when Samara Village was home to so many good memories. Sora squeezed her eyes shut to wring out the disquieting thoughts and focused back on the heartwarming ones.
“You know what else you’ll love?” she said to Broomstick, slapping a smile back on her face. “There’s a dumpling shop that makes all their wrappers by hand for the perfect texture. They’re usually not open this early, but I know the owner, so we might be able to pop in the back door to see what he’s cooking up today and steal a bite—”
Sora stopped short as they entered the square. Instead of brightly painted shop doors and rainbows of flags and kites flying from the eaves, the plaza was gray with smoke. Sparks from at least two dozen anvils and the steady pounding of metal—swords being forged—filled the air with an ominous rhythm.
“Wh-where’s my fountain?” Sora said.
Broomstick’s mouth set in a grim line. “Replaced by a weapons forge for the Dragon Prince.”
She spun around. The doors to the stores, once painted with lively pictures of what was sold inside, were all covered in soot and ash. Sora ran to the back entrance of the dumpling shop and pounded on it.
“Mr. Zaki! Are you there? It’s Sora Teira. Please open up!”
The door opened a crack. Kind Mr. Zaki peered out, his wrinkles like a shar-pei’s, his hands covered in flour. He must have been in the middle of making dumpling wrappers.
“What do you want?” he spat.
Stunned at his meanness, Sora stuttered as she tried