Braving Fate (The Mythean Arcana 1)

s that?” Her voice was unnaturally high, frightened even. She hated hearing it. How was she supposed to be tough if she sounded like a scared little girl? Shameful.

The Chairman didn’t respond. What could he say, after all? Meow? The familiar earthy scent of the plants she kept throughout the room didn’t soothe her as it usually did, and though the moonlight that shone through the windows on every wall banished some of the gloom, her terror lingered, crawling over her skin with sharp little claws.

Hell. Oh, hell. She’d never seen shadows that big. Shadows always accompanied a soul or a body or a ghost. But there had been nothing but the writhing, snaking, endless black of evil.

She stalked to the southeast window and yanked it open so that she could lean out and squint toward Edinburgh. The city was barely visible from her tower, perched high above the university to the northwest of the bustling metropolis. Sparkling lights in the distance revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

She imagined the many people going about their business, blissfully unaware of what lay under their feet. Stupid, happy, smiling people opened their doors to friends invited over for dinner parties, welcoming them into the light and brightness of their homes. Children sprinted through the streets, desperate to make it in before curfew, while others loitered with friends around parks and shops without a care. Stupid, happy people with no idea what was going on beneath them.

But nothing looked out of the ordinary, at least from what she could see. It wasn’t like there was a great cloud of evil shadows billowing up from the sewers, power flickering out and the screams of the damned echoing as hell reached its greedy talons up to drag them down. She huffed out a breath, then whirled away from the window. Damn it.

She glared at the cat, who lounged in the center of the room, deeply unconcerned as always. “Couldn’t you be a little worried?”

Not that it would make a difference. She didn’t know what was going on in the underground and the Chairman didn’t know or care, which left only one option.

She’d have to tell somebody, and she knew just the person. Somebody she didn’t particularly want to talk to because she always put her foot in her mouth around him, but whom she’d be quite happy to stare at for a while.

Decided, she headed out the door in pursuit of her prey. It took her less than five minutes to run down the narrow, spiral staircase that led from her tower and across the rolling, oak-studded lawn that surrounded the university buildings to reach the main section of the campus.

Esha drew her jacket closer; the night had grown colder and the heavy rainclouds that had hovered over Edinburgh threatening to unleash their burden had finally started to spit minuscule drops of rain. She passed a lone figure in the distance, hunched and draped in flowing robes and digging a large hole beneath an oak. Weirdos.

Soon, she arrived at Warren’s office door. She gripped the knob, took a deep breath, and silently called the Chairman to her. He appeared as shadow, and since he seemed inclined to stay that way, she swung open the door without knocking.

And there, jerked out of a nap on the couch, was the man she’d wanted since the first time she’d set foot on the university’s campus ten years ago. She saw him around campus rarely and spoke to him less. He avoided her like everyone else did, but she wondered if it was for a different reason.

From what she could tell, he kept to himself and focused almost all of his energy on work. Whereas her isolation was forced on her by others—their loss—his was self-imposed. He was the only person she knew who was more isolated than herself, and it intrigued her.

“What the hell?” Warren’s voice was rough from sleep, his shirt only partially buttoned and disheveled. He rose to his feet and his startled gaze met hers. “Do you no’ know how to knock?”

His sandy hair was mussed, there were dark circles under his eyes, and the hand that he dragged through his hair only made the problem worse.

“Hello, vampire.” She knew she poked at him, but he made her feel awkward, and feeling awkward always led to her mouth running away from her.

“I’m no’ a damn vampire, and you know it.” He eyed the cat circling her ankles; the Chairman ignored him.

“I figure if I keep guessing, I’ll hit the nail on the head eventually.” Actually, she was almost sure even he didn’t know what species he was. Mythean, for sure. But exactly which kind...

“What do you want, witch?” His tone was acid on her skin and she ignored the jab. She didn’t flinch, but it was close. Practice made perfect.

Anyway, she’d started flinging barbs first, even if she did regret it now. The instinct to push people away before they could do it to her—which they inevitably did because of her species—was deeply ingrained. Sometimes she even observed herself doing it, as if she were standing outside of her body and watching herself do the porcupine routine, all while screaming No, stop! Act normal!

Warren crossed the room to his desk, its vast surface covered with books, papers, small weapons, and various odds and ends that she couldn’t identify. He quickly buttoned the rest of his shirt as he walked and she mourned the lost view of the muscles that played subtly beneath his skin.

Only his strong throat and the delta-shaped hollow beneath remained uncovered. She dragged her eyes from it, meeting his slate-blue ones—eyes the color of the stones she’d collected as a girl on long, solo beach walks. The look in them was about as soft as the stones had been.

“There’s a problem. In the underground.” Her voice was harsh, like that of an angry outcast high school girl who had a crush on a jock but didn’t know how to talk to him. Gods, who was she kidding? She was that girl. She felt a scowl scrunch her face.

The black mist that snaked around his ankles drew her eye. They were the shadows of evil deeds, visible only to a soulceress. Normally, she’d only see them on rogues or other evil beings. On them, the shadows hovered like a black mist. But on Warren, they hovered around his ankles, like they couldn’t stick to him.

Why? Was it because she couldn’t see his soul? She’d heard of some Mytheans who used magic to hide theirs. Because a Mythean’s power originated from his soul, it was closely guarded, even hidden at times. The whys of his shadows intrigued her.

“What kind?” He rested a hip on the side of his desk, crossing his arms. His eyes had grown alert at the mention of a threat.

“Well...” She tried to think of a way to describe what she’d seen, what it had made her feel, but came up short. “Honestly, I don’t know what it was. Neither did the Chairman.”

“Your cat dinna know what it was?” He arched a brow.

“I’d suggest that you not underestimate him.” She left it at that, knowing that the Chairman would handle the slight to his honor if he were so inclined. It was doubtful that he cared anyway, what with being a cat. “I was in the underground beneath New Town. Around Princess Park, specifically.”