Witchmarked (World's First Wizard Book 1) by Aaron Schneider (my reading book .txt) 📕

coil of night slid along his outstretched hand to slither across his shoulders and down the opposite arm. The single shade, driven by his unspoken command, wrapped around the vial, and for a moment, Milo seemed to be holding a tube of raw darkness. Then, like water soaking into the earth, the darkness shrank, and he was holding a vial full of black sand.

Milo lifted the tube in front of his face and smiled as he saw grains flutter within. For an instant, he saw a face press against the glass composed of lightless grit.

“I think that does it,” Milo said, holding the vial out to Imrah. “What do you say, maestro?”

Imrah, eyes narrowed, took the vial.

“Well, Magus,” she murmured, her voice refusing to express the surprise on her face, “I do believe you have done it.”

Milo laughed, then twisted his face into an exaggerated scowl.

“You act like you didn’t think I could!” Milo cried in mock indignation.

Imrah chuckled, the sound far more appealing in her human guise.

“After the third time you failed, I was honestly beginning to wonder.”

20

A Suspicion

When they finally emerged from the basement, Milo had bound two more shades into vials and worked up an incredible appetite. With little convincing, he’d cajoled Imrah into having them go upstairs and either find something to eat or, he’d chuckled, bully Ambrose until he made something. Though he’d never admit it out loud, Milo was growing quite fond of Ambrose’s simple yet adaptable culinary style.

The sun had risen while they’d been below, and slanted beams of light were shining through the shuttered windows.

But that wasn’t the first light he noticed in the room.

Countess Rihyani sat cross-legged in the den, the unmasked light of her alabaster skin filling the room with soft brilliance. Her heavy robes lay on the ground next to her. She was wearing a pair of silken gray trousers and a blouse of ivory white, though it was hard to tell if it was just the light radiating from her skin. Her long silver hair was wavy and swept to one side to perfectly compliment her graceful neck.

“Magus,” the contessa said, an ethereal smile flickering across her dark lips. “I’m glad to see you.”

Milo gaped at her, then realized with a single sniff that something else unexpected greeted him.

On the air was the sharp intrusion of tobacco smoke, and sure enough, a dainty cigarillo, its tip cherry-red and trailing smoke, was in her long fingers. With elegant confidence, she raised it to her lips to take a long drag. Her eyes still locked on his, she drove the smoke out through her nostrils so that, for just an instant, her dark-golden-pupiled eyes seemed like those of a dragon watching him through blue-gray vapors.

Milo cleared his throat, wondering why he felt so warm and out of breath.

“Contessa,” he said so quickly it forced him to pause and consider the next thing he was going to say. “I’m, uh, glad to see you too.”

Imrah clucked her tongue and gave a sniff.

“Of all the human affectations you could become attached to,” Imrah chided the fey over Milo’s shoulder. “Really, what do you see in those vile things?”

The tension suddenly crackling through the room was immense.

Rihyani acted as though the question was sincere, turning concerned eyes toward the fuming ghul.

“I’m not sure I can explain it besides saying I enjoy them,” Rihyani replied with gentle thoughtfulness. “If it bothers you, I’d be happy to put it out.”

“Don’t bother,” Imrah said quickly. “I won't be around for a while. I’m sure by the time I get back, the smell will be out of the building, as long as my student opens the shutters.”

“Where are you going?” Milo asked, tearing his eyes away from Rihyani. “I thought we were going to have breakfast?”

Imrah, who was turning to leave, paused, her shoulders hunching as she turned around. The muscles of her masked face bunched and twitched, and the rest of her seemed to be coiling for a spring.

“I’ve lost my appetite for human fodder,” she said tightly. “And last I knew, masters did not have to explain their comings and goings to apprentices.”

“No, they don’t,” Milo said slowly, confusion stamped on his face. “But it helps their students if they do.”

“It seems to me you have all the help you need.”

With a final venomous glare at Rihyani and her cigarillo, Imrah turned sharply on her heel and stormed out the front door. A few seconds later, Ambrose came shuffling in, looking bemused and glancing over his shoulder.

“Where’s she going?” he asked, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

Milo threw his hands up with a shrug and turned to Rihyani with a pleading glance.

“I think Lady Marid doesn’t like me smoking in the house,” the contessa observed mildly, vanishing the tobacco with a flutter of her fingers. “It seems to offend her sensibilities as being an odiously human thing to do.”

“I s’pose so,” Ambrose said, rocking on his heels a little as he looked around. “Would it offend anyone’s sensibilities if I undertook the human ritual of breakfast?”

Rihyani gave Milo a conspiratorial wink before turning a grave face toward the bodyguard.

“Only if you don’t make enough to share.”

Ambrose threw a hand to his chest in horrified indignity.

“Mademoiselle!” he said with a rolling French accent. “I will only excuse such an insult on the grounds that you have not sampled my fine cooking in our brief acquaintance. Simon Dieudonné Ambrose would never let a guest go hungry!”

“What about his ward?” Milo asked pointedly, crossing his arms as his stomach gave an audible rumble.

“You were busy,” Ambrose replied, shooing the remark toward the basement steps with one paw. “Doing, uh, witchy things.”

“That was not half bad,” Rihyani remarked, pushing her bowl away. “And considering I grew up dining in Arcadian gardens, that is saying something.”

Ambrose was just finishing his bacon hash, which had been seasoned with the reserves of herbs and salts he always seemed to have. He took the compliment with a bowed head