“So, you have a lot of journals or something?”
A low chuckle burst from him. “Not precisely.”
“Good, because I really don’t want to sort through hundreds of years of your handwritten journals.” Lie. Even though the idea of him sitting down and penning his life story was ridiculous—he was so not that kind of man—I did want the insight. Desperately.
“It’s not quite my style,” he said.
“No. I imagine not.”
“I have a Mind Mage who helps me recover my stored memories. We’ll go to her and find the information that you seek. Unless you want to try?”
“I’m not sure my gift works for that, but I could try.”
He held out his arm, and I rested my fingertips on his sleeve, the warmth of his skin sending a shiver through me.
“Remember that I can’t vow that I ever knew the information you seek,” he said.
I nodded and called upon my magic, trying to see whatever might be lost inside his head.
Nothing happened.
I tried again.
Still nothing. I removed my hand and met his gaze. “I think we need to go see your Mind Mage.”
He nodded. “Come, then. We’ll visit the Mages’ Guild tower.”
I grinned, the faintest bit of excitement pushing through my worry. I’d never been to the mages’ tower. I’d visited the guild towers belonging to the witches, the sorcerers, and the dwarves, but none of the others. “Lead on.”
He nodded and turned, striding back down the narrow alley. I followed, admiring the way that he moved smoothly through the narrow space, twisted slightly to avoid brushing the stone walls with his broad shoulders. He walked on silent feet, the ultimate predator.
We reached the main street a few minutes later, and it was still bustling with people hauling shopping bags and chatting away in groups.
“Where do the mages live?” I asked, wondering if we could swing by Eve’s shop to check on Mac and Seraphia.
“Far side of town, near the witches.”
I did the map in my head—one of my gifts—and frowned. No way we could quickly stop by to check on them, not without a long delay. I sent Eve a text instead, hoping for a reply.
I followed Grey down the street, sticking close to his side on the narrow sidewalk. Passersby parted like the Red Sea for Moses, and we made rapid progress. Soon, we neared one of the larger intersections in town. Though there were no cars in Guild City, it buzzed with motorbike traffic.
A tiny figure caught my eye, and I stopped.
Cordelia darted across the road, her tiny paws swiftly carrying her fluffy body. The raccoon darted around the bikes, narrowly avoiding collision. Shouts and horns announced the drivers’ irritation. She grinned back at them, a gleeful little bandit with fangs.
“Your familiar is a hazard.” There was a hint of affection to Grey’s voice, and I recalled that he could understand Cordelia, the only person other than me who could. That had to mean something, right?
“I don’t see any collisions.” I grinned as the raccoon stopped on the sidewalk in front of me, standing up on her hind legs. “What’s up, Cordelia?”
Eve wants that book.
I looked down at the sack that hung heavily from my shoulder. It seemed to weigh far more than a book should, and I’d be grateful to get rid of it. “Do you think you can carry it?”
She scoffed.
I looked at Grey. “If the mages need it for any reason, Cordelia can bring it back to us.”
“I doubt they will. My contact has the skill to read my memories, but not that book.”
I unlooped the bag from around my neck and passed it down to Cordelia. “How are they doing?”
So-so. Worry glinted in her little black eyes. But this might help, Eve said.
“Be careful with it.”
She scoffed again, as if delivering cursed books was her usual afternoon—which it very well might be—then tightened the bag strap with her little hands, tying a knot in it so that it was incredibly short. She swung it across her body, balancing it on her broad little back, then turned tail and darted across the street. A chorus of shouts and horns followed her, but she ignored them.
“I didn’t think raccoons could do that,” Grey said.
“She’s not just any raccoon.”
“Fair enough.” He started across the narrow street, striding quickly. I followed, and soon, we neared the edge of town.
As usual, there was an open square between the town and the guild tower that adjoined the castle walls. I stared at the Mages’ Guild tower in awe. It was one of the most fantastic examples of Tudor architecture I’d ever seen. Unlike most of the period buildings, this one was enormous. Four stories tall, it was constructed entirely of dark beams and white plaster, like something out of Shakespeare.
Mullioned glass windows gleamed in the sun, and the sharply slanted roof was tiled in the dark stone. In classic Tudor fashion, the upper floors protruded farther out than those below. The structure seemed slightly uneven, as though the ground had shifted over the last five hundred years and the building had followed suit, making it slant to the left.
The square in front of the tower was a beautifully manicured garden filled with carefully trimmed hedges, roses, and pebbled paths.
“It’s the finest example of an Elizabethan garden in the world,” Grey said.
“And human historians have no idea it exists.”
“Not a clue.” He led me through the garden, past delicate benches and little ponds, until we reached the entrance to the tower. He reached for the door.
“We’re just going to walk in?” I thought of the carefully guarded Sorcerers’ Guild tower. “They won’t get angry?”
“We’re going into the public space.” He pulled on the door, and noise rushed out—talking and laughing and the sound of a kettle screeching.
I gasped at the sight inside.
It was a coffee shop—the most fabulous coffee shop I’d ever seen. Grey held the door open for me, and I stepped into the low-ceilinged room. Tiny tables were clustered around the space, but my eyes were drawn to the bar manned by several swift-looking individuals with wild haircuts and pierced ears. It was a look shared by baristas in the trendy cafés and tearooms of London, with one difference. Here, the espresso machines resembled something out of a steampunk fantasist’s dreams, with coiled copper tubing, whirling dials, and colorful steam all operating at top speed.
A shining gold sign glittered over the bar—The Mages’ Coffeehouse.
Hallways and stairs leading off the main room provided glimpses of the other areas of the coffee house. It appeared huge, with booths and cozy nooks to suit the most exacting coffee enthusiast.
To my right was a sleek, modern room with a separate entrance filled with harried businesspeople buzzing in for a quick bite or takeaway coffee.
“It looks just like central London,” I mused.
“We have our fair share of office drones in Guild City,” Grey said, “though they tend to be sequestered behind ancient glass and creaky beams. Not like the high-rises of London.”
He didn’t sound bitter about the changes in London, as I might have imagined another ancient supernatural would be. People tended to cling to their past and the way things were, but not Grey. Instead, he sounded impressed.
In the room next to the takeaway café, a jazz band played for the enjoyment of patrons drinking tiny cups of espresso. On the other side of the main room, students bent over tables, their noses stuck in books as they drank tall, frothy glasses of iced beverages. Another room was full of books and records. There, I spotted three witches I’d met when I’d first arrived in town.
Mary, Beth, and Coraline were all dressed in brightly colored, mismatched outfits, and they laughed over something in the book in front of them. Beth spotted me and waved. I waved back, then turned to Grey. “Why do the mages have a coffee shop? It’s not what I might have expected from magic users who can control the elements.”
“I’m not entirely sure why they’ve kept it up, but the guild opened the first coffeehouse in the seventeenth century, when they became popular in London. The leader of the guild at that time was enamored with them and wanted to have one here.”
“He seems to have nailed it.”
“Yes. He did.”
“Who are we meeting, then?”
“A Mind Mage named Genara. She’s a bit of unusual for a mage. They tend to control the elements, as you noted, but she’s one of the rare ones who can read minds.”
“Read minds?” Yikes.
He nodded. “Come. We’ll head up to the room she prefers.”
“There’s more?”
“A lot more.” He led the way toward one of the rickety, dark wooden staircases at the back.
I eyed the espresso machines whirling away behind the bar, vowing to return for a drink, then followed him up the creaking stairs.
We passed a room that appeared to be an ice cream parlor. The barista poured a shot of espresso over a scoop of ice cream, then topped it with a dash of liqueur from a sparkling crystal glass.
Yes, I would be returning. Definitely.
Grey led me to a room on the third level. The floor sloped downward toward the street, the ancient wooden beams shifting silently underfoot. The walls and ceiling were as dark as the floor, and I had a hunch my flat would look like this if it had never been modernized.
Tiny tables filled the room, half of them full of chatting patrons. The place was dead silent, however, and the air sparkled around each table.
“This is the privacy room,” Grey said. “Each table is protected by a charm that ensures silence.”
My mind went immediately to my police training. “They could be doing all kinds of illegal dealings.”
“Yep.”
“Have you had meetings here?”
“No need. I can have them in my office.”
Of course. I eyed a woman sitting by the fire. Her dark hair was threaded with silver, and her face was lightly lined. She could have been anywhere from fifty to a hundred and fifty, and she was beautiful. She watched us with bright green eyes as we approached. She had to be Genara.