Chapter 3

Three

"Locklyn, sweetheart, is that you?" my mom calls from another room as soon as I shut the front door behind me.

My parents and I live in an apartment above the rare books and antique shop they run. It's not a large home like Becks and Ensley's, but it's the only one I've known, and I love it. It's cozy and filled with memorabilia from my childhood. The clay sculpture of a dragon I made in art class when I was eight, framed photographs of my parents and me on family vacations, my favorite signed collection of fairy tales. And since my mother is a fae there are plants everywhere.

I drop my backpack in the foyer, keeping my gym bag hefted on my shoulder as I enter the living room, where my mom stands on a bookcase ladder thumbing through a giant leather-bound tome. Our living room is part-library, part-greenhouse, and is hands down my favorite room in our home.

"Hey, Mom," I say, stopping to say hi before dumping my gym bag in my room and jumping into the shower.

"Sweetie," she says, a smile breaking out on her face as she shuts the book and re-shelves. "We missed you for dinner tonight."

"Oh shoot, I'm sorry. I got caught up at Peet's and then Becks stopped by and asked if I wanted to grab something with him. Ensley met up with us. I should have called to give you a heads-up. I hope you weren't worried."

I have a phone, I just rarely use it. Just another way I'm totally different than every other teen I know. It didn't even cross my mind to pull it out to call my parents.

Gah, I'm an awful daughter.

Turning from me, she climbs the short distance down the ladder to the floor and waves off my concerns. "No, of course that's fine. We figured that's probably what happened. Besides . . ." She leans in and lowers her voice, casting a look toward the kitchen where I can hear my dad cleaning up from their dinner. "Your father cooked tonight, so you dodged a bullet."

My parents are well aware that I have trouble making friends, so they've always been extra supportive of my relationships with Becks and Ensley. They'd never give me a hard time about hanging out with either of them. Any time I'm not with Becks or Ensley, I'm with my parents, so we get a really good amount of family time.

"I heard that!" my father calls from the other room. "You said the vegetable stew was delicious."

"Oh, honey, it was," my mom calls back, but she looks at me with wide eyes and shakes her head, letting me know the truth. For added effect she sticks her tongue out and squeezes her eyes shut, making a gagging face. Unfortunately for her that's the moment Dad walks into the room.

"Zia," my dad says, his face stricken. "But you love root vegetables."

"Oh, babe. I do. It's just the combination of all that cinnamon with the heavy cumin was . . ." Her nose scrunches as she searches for the right word or phrase. "Perhaps just a little too adventurous for me."

Dad's shoulders sag in defeat. My dad is six-foot four and burly with dark brown hair and eyes, and a short beard. It doesn't stretch anyone's imagination to know that he's a bear shifter. My mom, in contrast, is petite like me but an inch shorter at five foot two. She has a mane of glorious red hair that I would have killed to inherit, and bright green eyes. Likewise, her delicate elvish features and slightly pointed ears are a dead giveaway that she's fae. They're a picture-perfect example of opposites attract. My mom, like most fae, is a vegetarian. My dad, like most shifters, is not, and when it's his night to cook he always tries really hard to come up with dishes she'll enjoy—but usually fails.

Mom goes on her tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of Dad's mouth, and his face softens. "Don't worry, babe. I didn't marry you for your culinary skills."

"I know exactly why you married me," my dad says suggestively as he wraps my mom in his arms and pulls her close. She giggles when he buries his face in her neck, and the sounds coming from Dad makes me think he's kissing her.

It's my turn to gag. "Come on, you guys, seriously? There's a child present."

Mom only giggles more, and Dad informs me I should leave if I don't want to be scarred for life. I make a show of covering my eyes as I leave the room and then head toward my small bedroom.

My parents are disgusting, but in the best way possible.

My heart's a little wistful as I drop my gym bag and head to the bathroom to shower. My parents may look like an odd match, but they couldn't be more perfect for each other. Someday I want what they have.

An image of me wrapped up in Becks' arms like my mom was in my dad's pops in my head, and I don't immediately swat it away. I close my eyes, imagining what it would feel like to be held by him. To be kissed by him. Both take a little stretch of my imagination because I've never even held a guy's hand before, let alone been kissed. My lack of romantic experience isn't a secret. It's obvious to everyone who knows me I come up short in that department. But even so, I know being in Becks' arms, having him look at me like I'm the only girl in the world, would be as close to divine as a creature can reach on this side of heaven.

The bell above the door of my parents' store, Belcourt Books and Antiques, jingles, letting me know a customer has entered. Sighing, I close the textbook in front of me. My parents don't typically ask me to work in the store for them, but Dad is meeting with an antique dealer about a two-thousand-year-old fae artifact that was just discovered at a site in the Dark Forest, and Mom is checking in on my grandma who lives a couple hours away.

I don't mind stepping in to help. It's not like I have anything better happening on a Saturday afternoon. Sadly . But I was just getting into a groove with my Classic Mythology homework, so I'm a little salty to have been interrupted.

Giving myself a mental slap, I plaster on a pleasant smile and look up to greet the customer. The smile freezes on my face when I see the tall, dark-haired male dressed down in a t-shirt and joggers walking toward me, his head bent as he reads a piece of paper in his hand.

Talon .

I can't say I'd given him more than a passing thought over the last two days, but now that he's here, in my parents' shop, my heart starts a weird cadence. I know I don't like him because of the trick he played on me at the diner, but what I'm still uncertain about is just how much.

He reaches the counter and then finally looks up and his eyes flare.

Yeah, buddy. I'm just as surprised to see you .

It's not like Talon looks like any of our usual clientele, older male and female creatures with deep pockets. You won't find our wares pawned at flea markets or secondhand stores. Our antiques are legit and carry a price tag to match them.

Talon recovers from the surprise of seeing me and leans forward against the counter, giving me a lazy smile I've no doubt works on lots of other girls. What he doesn't realize is that I'm not like any of those other girls.

"Freckles," he says, the tone of his voice causing a warm sensation low in my gut that irritates me.

"Can I help you?" I say, but my tone and eyes are actually saying, "Why are you here and what do you want?"

Talon ignores my sassiness, a smile growing on his face. "So you work in an antique shop," he says rather than answer my question.

"Not really."

He lifts his eyebrows and glances around the shop before looking back at me. "Could have fooled me."

"My parents own the store. I only fill in for them occasionally."

I don't know why, but I spot interest in his eyes. "That's cool," he says, and it seems genuine, but I'm so used to being treated poorly that in the back of my mind I assume there's some angle.

I also haven't forgotten the look he gave me when we first locked eyes at Sloan's. I couldn't put my finger on the emotion behind his hard eyes in that moment, but I know the look wasn't friendly.

I shrug. "I guess. So . . . did you need something?"

Our shop isn't the type of store someone would come into to browse, so if Talon found his way here, there must be a specific reason. Either that or he's lost.

"That depends," he says with a lopsided grin. He rests even more of his weight on the counter, bringing himself a few inches closer to me. "Can I trust you?"

Umm . . . what? What a weird question.

"Yes?"

"You don't sound sure."

"I don't really know what you're asking me," I admit.

"Hmm," is all he says, his eyes turning intense as his gaze brushes over me. Well, not exactly over me, but more like the space around me. A small pleat appears between his brows, displaying his frustration. Over what though, I have no idea.

Once again I wonder what kind of creature he is. I'm still leaning toward vampire, because he made me believe something was crawling up my leg at the diner. Vampires are forbidden from using compulsion except under very monitored circumstances, but that doesn't mean some of them don't bend or break the rules from time to time.

It's possible he used air magic to make it feel like there was something slithering up my leg. There are a number of different airborne shifters, like birds and dragons, with that kind of magic. And fae is still an option as well. He's not wearing a knit cap today; his dark hair is shorter on the sides and longer on top, which makes the rounded tops of his ears easy to see, but many years of breeding within species has made it so there are as many fae with rounded ears as pointed. I'm not sure what kind of fae magic he could have used to create that illusion, but fae are notoriously sneaky, so I'm not ready to rule them out yet either.

Talon clears his throat, the intensity in his gaze melting away as quickly as it came upon him as his mouth hitches back up in a grin. "I think you're safe enough," he declares, and I don't know what that's supposed to mean either. "I'm looking for Shadow Striker."

"What's that?" I cock my head. Not many of our items have official names like that. I was expecting him to ask about a twelfth century armoire or a handcrafted fae rug from the Dark Forest or something of the like. The name he gave me doesn't sound like an antique, it sounds like an artifact. Or a really cool name for a fantasy villain.

"Well, that's up for interpretation," he says. "And it also depends."

"Depends on what?"

"If you believe the Ancients."

The Ancients are a set of legends, stories if you will, that were passed down from generation to generation until they were written and compiled a couple thousand years ago. A singular story within the compiled Ancients is referred to as an Ancient. The stories that make up the Ancients range from cautionary tales to information on objects said to be imbued with magic beyond what we know today by the great Creator of all. Every so often something will be found, like a scroll or unearthed cave drawing, that somewhat validates one of the Ancients. Or at least validates that some portion of a particular Ancient is based on fact. There are lots of creatures who have faith that the Ancients, and the fabled Creator who weaved them, are true.

I am not one of those creatures.

Talon stares at me, drumming his fingers against the wood counter as he waits for my answer.

"Who's to say if the stories are true or not?" I say, noncommittally.

Talon jerks his head, flipping a clump of hair that fell on his forehead back and drawing my eyes to his thick locks. A spark of attraction ignites in my gut, surprising me. I might prefer blonds, but there's something about Talon I grudgingly find alluring. He's a little taller than Becks, but not as broad. His arms highlighted in his black t-shirt are heavily muscled, and from the way his shirt fits I can tell his stomach is flat as well.

I have a habit of comparing every guy I meet to Becks. It's admittedly a bad habit, but not one I'm working on breaking. But Talon's bronze skin, wavy dark hair, and gray-blue eyes are just so different from Becks' light features that his attractiveness takes me a little off guard.

"If you believe in the old legends, it's an object of unparalleled power that was forged in the lakes of Hell and given by a demon to the first Vampire King to aid him in his bloody campaign to rule over all creatures." Talon's eyes darken and his voice takes on a serious undertone. "You see Shadow Striker wasn't just a fancy-looking weapon. It was a dagger that gave its wielder unimaginable power."

Okay, now he has my attention. A way for someone to gain power. Yeah, I'm here for that. I'm not particularly well-versed in the Ancients, but like most creatures I know some of them. This one, however, is new to me.

"Gave powers?" I prompt.

He nods. "The legend says that once activated, the wielder of Shadow Striker can take another creature's power by drawing their blood with it."

"It steals powers from murdered creatures?"

"I never said that you had to kill to take powers, just draw blood."

"So it steals powers from the living?" That's diabolical. A creature is nothing without their magic—I would know.

Talon shrugs. "It's been debated whether the dagger steals the magic from creatures or just gives the wielder similar powers. But the Ancient about Shadow Striker says it made the first Vampire King the strongest creature that ever lived."

"So he succeeded in ruling over all the creatures?"

"No." Talon shakes his head and I get distracted by his dark strands again but snap out of it quickly.

Blond. You like blonds, Locklyn .

"During the final battle, the one that would have made him conqueror of all, he was betrayed."

"By whom?" I lean forward. I may not believe the Ancients are true, but it's a compelling story.

"His one true love."

I suck in a small breath, conflicted a little because it's obvious the Vampire King is the villain in the story, but to be betrayed by your one true love would be devastating.

"He fell in love with his best friend. They'd grown up together, trained together, and when he started his campaign for domination she was there fighting by his side."

My heart tweaks because this part of the story reminds me of Becks and me. How could it not? We practically grew up together, would do anything for each other, and always have each other's backs.

Talon continues, oblivious to my inner turmoil. "If the dagger is only used a handful of times there are no ill effects, but the Vampire King didn't hold himself back and eventually the powers he acquired started to warp him into someone his love didn't recognize. Some of the stories even say his quest started out as noble, that he wanted to free the oppressed, but at some point the dagger's powers started to warp him until he no longer cared about anything but gaining more power, and he turned into something greedy and ugly."

"Well, what did he expect accepting a gift from a demon?" I say with a shrug.

"The Vampire King was deceived by the demon and wasn't told the dangers of wielding Shadow Striker. He knew the dagger came from evil origins, but he believed he could use it for good without falling prey to its lure."

"Typical overconfident dude." I roll my eyes. Males. Am I right?

Talon smiles, but the expression starts to flatline as he continues the story. "So the vampire's one true love knew that the male she fell in love with was gone, even though he wasn't technically dead. The one caveat of Shadow Striker was that if anyone willingly sacrificed themselves for the wielder, the power he or she had gathered would be stripped from them. She knew this loophole because he'd confided in her about it, and so she baited him into a fight. The dagger had so warped his judgment that he became enraged and fought her. She willingly stepped into the path of his blade, sacrificing herself so that he would be restored to his former self, which he was the moment the steel pierced her skin."

"What happened to them?"

"She died in his arms and the Vampire King, realizing what he'd done, was filled with remorse and dread. He vanished into the Harshlands, never to be seen or heard from again. Or that's how the story goes."

I stare at Talon with my mouth hanging open. That is the worst ending to a story I've ever heard.

"But . . . " Talon says, and I hang on his next words, waiting for more of the tale because I don't want to believe it ended that tragically. I was, after all, a closet romantic. Before my eyes his mannerisms change from intense to blasé, and he says with a shrug: "If you don't believe the legends, then it's just a really old and cool dagger worth a good deal of coin. Would make a wicked gift for my father's birthday. He's somewhat of a collector of Ancient artifacts."

Wow, what a letdown .

I deflate, only realizing now that I'm leaned halfway over the counter and into Talon's space. Clearing my throat, I shift back. "Do you have any idea what the dagger is supposed to look like?"

"It's a black flamed-bladed dagger that's said to be made of damasked steel, so the metal will have a wavy pattern on it. It won't be more than a foot in length, with an etched black onyx hilt."

"Damasked steel? Hmm. You don't see that every day," I muse.

"It's truly one of a kind." Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a folded piece of paper and hands it to me. It's a rough sketch of a dagger, exactly how he described it.

"What are the etchings on the hilt?" I squint to see them, but the sketch isn't detailed enough to make out any words.

The side of Talon's mouth kicks up. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

I roll my eyes and hand the paper back to him. "I can tell you we don't have anything like that in the store. But let me check our inventory."

Reaching under the counter, I pull out the store laptop, booting it up quickly and opening the inventory software. We own a small warehouse where we store items if there's not enough space in the shop, or while we're waiting to get pieces appraised or cleaned before sale. My parents catalog every item they bring in, so if we have it, or had it in the past, it will be in the database.

I try looking for "Shadow Striker" first, and unsurprisingly it doesn't come up. I look through our weapons categories next, searching for an item that matches the description Talon gave me. This is a little more tedious because I have to pull up pictures one by one. Talon waits on the other side of the counter while I hunt for the artifact, silent but tapping his finger anxiously against the wood.

While I search through the weapons, my mind starts to wander. What high school senior tracks down Ancient artifacts in his spare time? I've never once had a classmate push through the doors to our shop, excluding Becks and Ensley if they were looking for me.

Talon is shaping up to be an enigma, one that I have the wild suspicion has unfathomable depths. I have this weird compulsion to scratch beneath the surface to see what he's hiding, but that impulse scares and confuses me. I've only just met the guy. And sure, he's the only person around my age besides Becks and Ensley who's made it through a whole conversation without ridiculing me, but my interest in him is still unnerving.

I'm acutely aware of Talon's gaze as my fingers fly over the keyboard. I think he's using the time to study me, but I refuse to glance up and check. After I've spent a good ten minutes searching for Shadow Striker, I finally look up.

"I'm sorry, but we don't have anything like that in our inventory."

Talon's face falls and his shoulders hunch, giving me an idea of how badly he was hoping we'd have the artifact.

He forces a smile. "Okay. Thanks for checking."

I feel compelled to offer him something, even if it's a longshot. "I can ask my parents about it. They might have seen it before or know someone who has." The look on his face has me instantly nervous that I'm giving him false hope. "But keep in mind an artifact like this, assuming it's a real object and not just an allegorical object in an old myth, would be difficult to find," I say, backtracking quickly. "It could be literally anywhere. The chances of you finding it somewhere in Everton are probably pretty low."

His smile is no longer forced, and I'd be lying if I said it didn't make my cheeks warm.

Blast my fair skin.

"I had a tip it was floating around the area. Any information you manage to dig up would be helpful, but can you be discreet about it?"

"Why?"

He runs a hand through his dark locks and then rubs the back of his neck. "There are a few other interested parties looking for it as well. It's important I'm the first person to find it."

Umm, okay. That sounds ominous.

Talon leans forward, his eyes darken and his voice quieting and dropping an octave as if we'd be overheard by someone else when there's no one in the store but the two of us. "But seriously, any information you get, even if it's a weak lead or sounds weird, I'd like to know."

His deliciously spicy scent wraps around me and I have to swallow to wet my suddenly dry throat. This guy really knows how to turn on the charm. Maybe I should tell him to tone it down a bit. He's wasting his efforts on me.

"What's your number?"

"What?" I practically squeak. He wants my number? No one in the history of ever has asked for my digits.

"Your number," he repeats. "I'll message you, so you have my number to get a hold of me if you find anything."

Right. That makes more sense. He doesn't want my number to socialize. He just wants to make sure I know how to track him down if I find the mysterious Shadow Striker.

I pull out my phone, intending just to ask him for his number, but for some unknown reason when he holds out his hand and wiggles his fingers for me to drop my phone into his palm, I hand it right over.

He gets a gleam in his eye as he punches in his number and then saves it to my contacts. And before I realize what he's doing he shoots himself a text, his phone beeping in his pocket when it goes through.

"So I can get in touch with you. You know, in an emergency."

"Right. An artifact emergency," I say as I shake my head, unsure how I feel about him having my number.

He shrugs as if to say, "it could happen," when we both know it won't.

Talon raps his knuckles against the counter and then pushes back away from it. "Thanks for helping me out today," he says as he walks backward a few steps.

"Sure," I say, even though I didn't really help him at all.

He jerks his chin in a quick nod and then spins, taking long strides toward the front door. With his hand wrapped around the handle, he pauses, glancing over his shoulder and giving me another slow once over. His gaze takes on the now-familiar intent look and a hint of frustration pulls his features. I'm convinced more than ever that when he stares at me like this he's looking for something specific but keeps coming up empty. When his eyes connect with mine, my stomach bottoms out.

Oh, girl, you are in trouble .

The problem is that I don't want trouble. I have enough of it on my own, so I don't need to go looking for more. My gut tells me there's something dangerous about Talon. It may be an irrational feeling, but it's there nonetheless, and if there's anything I can trust it's my instincts.

I decide then and there it's best to stay away from him. That probably won't be an issue, because come Monday I'm sure he'll hear of my magicless status and start ignoring me like most everyone else at Nightlark Academy does, so it's a moot point. No need to give him a second thought after he walks out that door.

Talon shakes his head, his crooked smile looking almost self-deprecating, but who the heck knows why.

"See you on Monday, Locklyn," he says, and then pushes through the door, the little bell chiming as he leaves. It isn't until well after the door shuts behind him that I remember I never told him my name.