Dark Secrets - Linsey Hall Page 0,9

in my head—one of my gifts—and frowned. No way we could quickly stop by to check on them, not without a long delay. I sent Eve a text instead, hoping for a reply.

I followed Grey down the street, sticking close to his side on the narrow sidewalk. Passersby parted like the Red Sea for Moses, and we made rapid progress. Soon, we neared one of the larger intersections in town. Though there were no cars in Guild City, it buzzed with motorbike traffic.

A tiny figure caught my eye, and I stopped.

Cordelia darted across the road, her tiny paws swiftly carrying her fluffy body. The raccoon darted around the bikes, narrowly avoiding collision. Shouts and horns announced the drivers’ irritation. She grinned back at them, a gleeful little bandit with fangs.

“Your familiar is a hazard.” There was a hint of affection to Grey’s voice, and I recalled that he could understand Cordelia, the only person other than me who could. That had to mean something, right?

“I don’t see any collisions.” I grinned as the raccoon stopped on the sidewalk in front of me, standing up on her hind legs. “What’s up, Cordelia?”

Eve wants that book.

I looked down at the sack that hung heavily from my shoulder. It seemed to weigh far more than a book should, and I’d be grateful to get rid of it. “Do you think you can carry it?”

She scoffed.

I looked at Grey. “If the mages need it for any reason, Cordelia can bring it back to us.”

“I doubt they will. My contact has the skill to read my memories, but not that book.”

I unlooped the bag from around my neck and passed it down to Cordelia. “How are they doing?”

So-so. Worry glinted in her little black eyes. But this might help, Eve said.

“Be careful with it.”

She scoffed again, as if delivering cursed books was her usual afternoon—which it very well might be—then tightened the bag strap with her little hands, tying a knot in it so that it was incredibly short. She swung it across her body, balancing it on her broad little back, then turned tail and darted across the street. A chorus of shouts and horns followed her, but she ignored them.

“I didn’t think raccoons could do that,” Grey said.

“She’s not just any raccoon.”

“Fair enough.” He started across the narrow street, striding quickly. I followed, and soon, we neared the edge of town.

As usual, there was an open square between the town and the guild tower that adjoined the castle walls. I stared at the Mages’ Guild tower in awe. It was one of the most fantastic examples of Tudor architecture I’d ever seen. Unlike most of the period buildings, this one was enormous. Four stories tall, it was constructed entirely of dark beams and white plaster, like something out of Shakespeare.

Mullioned glass windows gleamed in the sun, and the sharply slanted roof was tiled in the dark stone. In classic Tudor fashion, the upper floors protruded farther out than those below. The structure seemed slightly uneven, as though the ground had shifted over the last five hundred years and the building had followed suit, making it slant to the left.

The square in front of the tower was a beautifully manicured garden filled with carefully trimmed hedges, roses, and pebbled paths.

“It’s the finest example of an Elizabethan garden in the world,” Grey said.

“And human historians have no idea it exists.”

“Not a clue.” He led me through the garden, past delicate benches and little ponds, until we reached the entrance to the tower. He reached for the door.

“We’re just going to walk in?” I thought of the carefully guarded Sorcerers’ Guild tower. “They won’t get angry?”

“We’re going into the public space.” He pulled on the door, and noise rushed out—talking and laughing and the sound of a kettle screeching.

I gasped at the sight inside.

It was a coffee shop—the most fabulous coffee shop I’d ever seen. Grey held the door open for me, and I stepped into the low-ceilinged room. Tiny tables were clustered around the space, but my eyes were drawn to the bar manned by several swift-looking individuals with wild haircuts and pierced ears. It was a look shared by baristas in the trendy cafés and tearooms of London, with one difference. Here, the espresso machines resembled something out of a steampunk fantasist’s dreams, with coiled copper tubing, whirling dials, and colorful steam all operating at top speed.

A shining gold sign glittered over the bar—The Mages’ Coffeehouse.

Hallways and stairs leading off the main room provided