Amelia Atwater-Rhodes - Bloodwitch

“You’re certain he is fourteen?” she asked Taro as she examined my face.

“Yes,” Taro replied. “I know he appears young for his age, but I have been told that is common with the breed.”

“True. Jaguar’s Celeste is almost sixteen now but could pass for twelve,” she remarked. Was she talking about another, female quetzal? If so, where was she? She didn’t live in my home. Were there two places like this?

“They all mature, with time,” he said.

I stumbled when Mistress Jeshickah released me. She turned back to Taro. “I had to speak to Brina,” she said. “She was talking about her model at the market, of all places. Do you still feel this is the best place for him?”

Alarm shot through me. Where else would I go?

“He’s happy here,” Taro said, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. “And even the merchants are used to Brina’s stories. No one pays her much mind. They won’t believe she actually has a quetzal here.”

“I’ve doubled the guards on the door, all the same.”

I bit my tongue to hold back yet more questions. Lady Brina had been talking about me! Why was that a bad thing? A dangerous thing, perhaps, which necessitated additional guards.

“I think it might be worth finding someone who can—” Taro paused, glancing at me. “We should probably continue this conversation later,” he said. “Vance is easily overwhelmed by big ideas. There’s no need to trouble him. Right, Vance?”

He looked at me as he said that, but I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I just said, “Right.”

“Keep me updated,” Mistress Jeshickah said to Taro.

Then she disappeared without another word.

“She didn’t even say hello,” I said plaintively.

Taro’s gaze snapped to mine, the disappointment on his face sharp enough to cut as he barked, “Vance!”

Shame crept over me. I ducked my head, whispering, “I’m sorry.” I knew I shouldn’t criticize any of them, especially her. Mistress Jeshickah ran Midnight, the empire that provided for all my needs. She was a busy woman. I added, “I just wanted to say thank you.” My real mother had abandoned me as a baby. I would have died if Mistress Jeshickah hadn’t taken me in.

Taro patted my shoulder sympathetically. “You say thank you by showing you were raised right and acting with proper respect. She doesn’t need your words.” As I pondered that kernel of wisdom, he added, “You did well, Vance.”

The praise made me smile, but the expression faded as I considered what I had heard. “Is Lady Brina in danger?” I asked.

“No,” Taro answered. After a pause he said, “Not much, anyway, but she could be if the wrong people learned of your presence here. Until you are older and more able to protect yourself—and your lady—it would be best if you kept your head down.”

“Who would want to hurt us?”

“The world out there,” he said, waving in the general direction of the doorway, “is a dangerous place, Vance. Mistress Jeshickah does her best to keep the more violent elements under control, but there are always some who insist on striking out against those of us who try to keep order. They know they cannot harm one of our kind, but some of them might be tempted to hurt someone they see as dear to us. Do you understand?”

I nodded gravely. I had never considered the lengths to which my guardians went to keep me safe, and secret. I resolved to repay them all somehow, someday.

THE DAY, WHICHhad begun so beautifully, turned stormy as evening approached. Sleet cascaded against the roof and walls like hammer blows. Though magic kept the greenhouse warm, the noise outside was enough to keep me awake deep into the night.

I was curled up in bed, trying to sleep, when I heard one of the birds call a staccato greeting. Someone was here.

I stood, crossed the kitchen, and opened the front door of my cabin, peering through the darkness.

“Be careful with that!”

Brina’s cross voice was music to my ears. I wasn’t eager for another two-day modeling session, but even that was better than doing nothing but lying in bed and listening to the pounding weather. I dressed quickly and hurried to greet her.

She hadn’t made it much past the doorway by the time I arrived. I was startled to see a man I didn’t recognize, in addition to the usual bevy of slaves carrying her materials and Calysta carrying the more valuable tools.

This wasn’t the first time Lady Brina had brought a stranger into the greenhouse, but it was a rare occurrence, and I found it unnerving, coming so close on the heels of my ominous conversation with Taro.

He didn’t look like anyone I had ever seen. His hair, which was braided into a long tail, was white as ice. When he glanced up at me, I saw that his eyes were a pale blue-green. He obviously wasn’t a vampire, but I doubted he was human. A shapeshifter, like me? Or he could be a witch; I had never seen one of those, but I had heard about them, both in myth and in Lord Daryl’s complaints about the fees they charged for working in the greenhouse.

All the stranger’s clothing was well fitted, every piece fastened neatly. Except for the brown boots that rose to his knees and a few errant straps and buckles, his entire outfit was made of white or off-white fur and leather, giving him the appearance of something crafted out of the same frosted, colorless glass that surrounded Lady Brina’s studio.

The man had placed his heavy-looking bag on the ground and opened the top as if searching for something.

“I have a good quantity of azul Maya ,” he said, “which, as you know, is far preferable to Alexandria blue. I also have a quantity of silver cochineal.”

“These are Azteka pigments!” Lady Brina exclaimed. “How do you have them?”

“I’m resourceful,” he replied. “It is five days until Kendra’s famous art exhibition. Should I assume you want them?”

“Yes, yes,” Lady Brina said, her gaze already turned impatiently toward her studio area.

“Would the lovely, talented lady mind if I stayed here for a few hours, until the storm passes?” the merchant pressed. “If this weather spoils my other wares, I might not be able to—”

“Fine,” Lady Brina snapped. “I need to get to work. Calysta, write the man a receipt to present to my secretary for payment. Vance, help me with this lamp oil.”

I sprang forward, happy to assist and to get a better look at the stranger. Upon closer inspection it was obvious that every inch of him was soaked to the bone. There were small crystals of ice still melting in the folds of the heavy cloak he had discarded before looking through his pack. No wonder he wanted to get out of the storm.

He paid almost no attention to me. When his gaze drifted idly past mine, I ducked my head to hide my face and picked up one of the heavy crates of lamp oil—enough to burn for a century, it seemed. Calysta stepped forward and drew back the hood of her cloak, shaking water away.

I was turning to leave when I heard the stranger say in a horrified, strangled tone, “You’re Calysta?”

“Sir?” she replied.

The stranger was staring, every muscle tensed, his eyes wide. A moment later Lady Brina glanced back with a huff, obviously frustrated that I had stopped.

“Is there a problem, Obsidian?” Lady Brina asked coolly. “You’re distracting my boy.”

The stranger—Obsidian, she’d called him—shook himself and turned to look away from Calysta. “This woman …?”

“She’s on loan from Taro,” Lady Brina answered. “She is teaching my boy to dance, since that’s something her kind has a talent for. She also has a tolerable knowledge of art.”