Slaying Monsters for the Feeble - Annette Marie Page 0,9
other three—Aaron and … uh …”
“Aaron, Kai, and Ezra,” she supplied. “Pyromage, electramage, and aeromage. A power team for sure. By the way, they’re all single.”
My mouth dropped open. “Huh?”
“Isn’t that where you were headed with your questions?”
Actually, no. They were certainly good looking, but also big and muscly and probably loud. I’d bet they hadn’t read a single book between them this year. No thanks.
Refocusing, I considered where the demon scent Zylas had picked up would have come from if all three men were Elementaria mythics. “What class is Tori?”
“Uh … Spiritalis.”
Her uncertain pause caught my attention, but at that moment, the noise level in the pub rose. Darius had given the floor over to a blond man with spectacles. He was tinkering with a projector and laptop that didn’t seem to be cooperating, and idle chatter was spreading through the group as they waited for the meeting to resume.
The chair across from me slid out. A plump, elderly woman lowered herself with a sweep of her daisy-patterned, floor-length skirt. Glasses with turquoise frames perched on her nose and a knitted cap topped her wispy white hair.
“Good evening, Zora,” she murmured before fixing an intent stare on me. “Child, your aura is troubled.”
My what was what now?
She leaned forward. “Your energy called me to you. You are in dire need of guidance, aren’t you?”
I was? I glanced confusedly at Zora. The petite woman seemed to be suppressing a reaction, but I wasn’t sure what sort.
“My name is Rose,” the elderly lady added. “I’m the guild’s senior diviner.”
She shot a haughty look at the bar, where a young woman with a blond bob was talking animatedly to Aaron as she showed him something on her phone.
Rose reached into the floppy bag hanging from her shoulder and produced a black velvet cloth. She threw it across the table, then added a small wooden stand. Onto the stand, she placed a pale crystal ball. I watched her set everything up with a bemused frown.
“May I scry for you?” Rose asked.
Right now? Seriously? “Um … I think the meeting is going to start again soon.”
“It won’t take long. This isn’t an ideal setup—the energies in the room may interfere—but we can begin with an exploratory séance.”
I glanced between her and Zora again. “This doesn’t seem like the best time.”
“No sense in waiting, my dear,” Rose insisted. “Your conflicted energy needs an outlet, and if you wait, you may find a lesser psychic attempting to assist you.”
Her oddly accusatory gaze swung to the young woman as though the girl were about to swoop in and steal Rose’s crystal ball off the table. Zora coughed in a way that sounded suspiciously like a stifled laugh.
“I have the skill and experience you need,” Rose declared confidently. “Let’s begin. First, clear your mind.”
Unsure how to refuse, I gave in with a nod. Though I’d read about the predictive powers of psychics, I’d never seen a real diviner at work before.
“Put your hands on the ball,” she said. “Just like that, yes.”
I laid my palms on the cool crystal and she placed her hands over mine.
“Relax,” Rose crooned. “Let your energy flow into the crystal.”
I inhaled slowly, concentrating on the cold, hard quartz under my skin.
“Look into the ball. Stare deep as you empty your mind and spirit of conscious thought.”
That was easier said than done. I gazed into the white crystal, wondering what I would see—then realized that was a thought and I wasn’t supposed to be thinking.
The crystal ball reflected the dim lights of the pub, and the rumbling conversations around us faded into a smear of sound. The crystal seemed to draw in the light. Its depths swirled ever so faintly. The sphere filled my vision until the pub had disappeared, until all I could see was spiraling white smoke. It drifted sedately, insubstantial, empty.
As it moved, a shadow appeared in its depths. The distant shape … a sitting figure. Dark, featureless. Male.
He drew closer as though I were sweeping into the mist’s depths to join him. He sat on the fog-covered ground, legs drawn up, arms slung around them. Chin resting on one knee, black hair tangled and wild.
Zylas sat in the mist, staring into the distance.
Shadows clung to him, and in them, I tasted dark emotions. Uncertainty. Unease. A restless longing, a quiet desolation. He gazed at nothing, as still as though he were impersonating an enslaved demon, but no demon would sit like that—like a lost child waiting to be found.