“Oh, is it finally my turn to host?” The mayor’s question bit with sarcasm.
“Yes,” Erasmus said, oblivious. “Entertain us with a story.”
“I have no stories.”
“Oh, sure you do. We’re living right in the heart of it!” The proprietor gestured around him before steepling his fingers. “Not even my best sources have been able to dig up much on this place, which only increased my curiosity. If I’m going to save a city from ruin, it’d be nice to know more than its name.”
Murmurs rippled across the room, a shift that swept the previous uneasiness away. All her life, the only thing Kallia had known about Glorian was that it was forbidden. Like a whole other world rather than the next city over. Hushing it all up, pretending it wasn’t there, only gave it more life.
All eyes focused on the mayor. Even Demarco looked rapt, barely touching his dessert.
“This is ludicrous,” Janette huffed, resting a hand on her father’s arm. “We are not fodder for your gossip vine.”
“Fear the pesky journalists, then,” Erasmus advised. “I’m not looking for gossip. Just answers. Anything, really.”
“The world does seem to have a sick fascination with us, don’t they?” The mayor gently pushed his daughter’s hand away. After taking a generous sip of his wine, he reached into his coat pocket, holding out a card that, when fanned out, became four. “Upon entering Glorian, you must’ve noticed our gates. We were once a city built around four suits of cards. Four suits for four families, each with their own corner of Glorian,” he said. “The Ranzas, the Vierras, the Fravardis, and the Alastors.”
At each name, he dropped a card. One with the symbol of a triangle at its corner, then a star, a square, and a circle. The black-rusted gates flashed in Kallia’s mind, their shapes cast from the cards on the table.
“Allegedly, my family’s blood has some Fravardi in it. They were the noble guards of Glorian. No natural magic in their blood, but they did possess the magician’s touch. A duty to the community.” Pride shone in his eyes. “They became one of the first teachers of acquired magic.”
“So you practice magic, Mayor Eilin?” Demarco asked.
“Oh goodness, no. I don’t have the skill, or the desire.” The mayor shrugged. “Magic doesn’t exist in everyone. The born, on the other hand, have it right in their blood.” He glanced at Demarco, briefly toward Kallia. “In Glorian, the families of born magic were the Vierras, whose gift was terrifying and rare—clairvoyance, mostly. And the Ranzas, who believed magic was a skill to be shared with the common people. Performers to the public, the lot of them.”
“And the Alastors?” asked another magician.
“Those devils believed magic could be stolen.” The mayor grimaced in distaste. “They acquired magic, but in all manner of vices: gambling, betting, bartering. They were more powerful in numbers. Conmen and showmen alike. Their gangs became the rot of this town.”
“Gangs? In quiet, little Glorian?” Erasmus’s face lit up in delight. “Fascinating.”
Janette shot him a glare. Mayor Eilin’s brow furrowed deeply, his mask of confusion so exaggerated it had to be fake. “I don’t know more than that. This was a time long, long before. Most of our records no longer exist.”
“On purpose?”
“Not everything needs to scandalized, Mister Rayne.” Janette dragged her fork over the remains on her plate, the sound of claws over glass. “We don’t need you spreading tall tales about us to fill your seats.”
“Pardon my curiosity.” Not even his charm could soften her. “But I can assure you, the rumors I’ve heard about Glorian are far more sensationalized than anything I could ever dream up.”
“What rumors?”
Demarco asked the very question Kallia had been thinking. The question everyone seemed keen to know.
Erasmus smiled knowingly. “That this place is cursed.”
* * *
Daron’s breath almost shuddered out in satisfaction. He’d been prepared to leave after the contract nonsense, and now he was glad he hadn’t.
With each casual, waiting sip from his glass, his pulse raced. This was what he’d come for.
“Don’t act so surprised—you’re quite literally surrounded by a cursed wood. It’s natural deduction. I’ve heard stories of this place ranging from being a dead city of haunting ghosts to a lurid den of glitz and sin,” Erasmus went on, chuckling. “You keep your mysterious, little town under such a lid, it’s inevitable that people’s imaginations run wild.”
“Do people really have nothing better to do than speculate over small towns?” the mayor grumbled.
“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Erasmus said. “Fascination