Chapter 3

CHAPTER3

Myth stared at the magic shop’s door with some misgiving. He was a little outside of town now, close enough for people to still visit the sorcerer for spells but far enough away that nobody had to actually worry about the very heavy air of magic.

Maybe other people couldn’t sense it, but Myth’s skin pebbled up with goosebumps. There was something off about the atmosphere. There was nothing visibly wrong. It was a house with a tower attached to it. It was larger than a single person needed, but maybe the sorcerer had a large family.

The trees in front of the shop shook ominously, despite the lack of breeze.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Myth could feel the amulet, heavy in his pocket. It hummed with power, and sometimes it felt like the amulet was physically constricting him. Something like this was bad news.

But Myth had to get rid of it because it was bad news. He hadn’t stolen it from his damned father’s vaults just to let it rot in his pocket. He’d already heard of patrols looking for it—looking for him.

Myth pulled the amulet out and stared at it. The blood-red stone in the center pulsed, sending a shiver of revulsion through him.

Fuck, he really had to get rid of it. He couldn’t go home until it was gone. He wasn’t going to risk his mother getting caught up in any of this.

As he went to shove the necklace back into his pocket, his eyes locked on the shimmer of the subtle silver ring he wore. He’d sold the other two, but he’d felt surprisingly… sentimental, perhaps? He didn’t know why he’d kept this one, but he could always sell it in an emergency.

Besides, it lent him an air of legitimacy that he wore jewelry. Or something.

Or it just marked him as a target for other thieves, but he could deal with them.

Like you dealt with Callan?

The whisper in the back of his mind taunted him, and Myth scowled. He’d handled the situation well enough, and he didn’t need his brain trying to tell him otherwise.

With the amulet heavy in his pocket, he opened the door, letting himself inside. The aura of magic grew stronger, pulsing at his senses, and he winced. It wasn’t comfortable, but neither was the knowledge that he held this fucking piece of jewelry that he couldn’t do anything with.

If only he could sell it to Lore…

But no. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to sell it to his friend, mage or otherwise.

The first thing he noticed when he entered were the shelves and shelves of magical potions. All of them were locked off—behind glass, not magic. Maybe the sorcerer was very sure that the only people who would attempt to steal from him were those without any magic at all.

On the far end, sitting by a table with a lot of papers strewn about, was a man with long, silver-white hair. Myth assumed he must have been older, until the man turned around and Myth saw his features were still young.

The sorcerer pushed his glasses up on his face and smiled. “Welcome! How can I help you?” He stood up and dusted off his robes, walking over to Myth. “A sleeping draught? Or perhaps something against aching joints?”

The man sounded nice, but Myth couldn’t shake the unease. “You’re the sorcerer Izar?”

“I am indeed!” Izar gave a small bow. “At your service. I’ve been told I have the best cures for common ails in the area.” After a pause, he laughed and added, “Although I am also told I am the only source for cures in the area.”

The words and the laughter should’ve been reassuring, along with the joke. They fell easily from Izar’s lips, and he seemed harmless enough. But no sorcerer was actually harmless, and he was putting off energy that made Myth want to turn around and leave.

The fact that he wasn’t even tempted to try the feat of stealing something from behind the glass was evidence enough that he didn’t want to be there. He always liked a challenge, and what better challenge was there than to steal from a locked case of a sorcerer’s shop?

Stealing the amulet from his father, probably.

“Do you have… ah… magical artifacts?” Myth asked, stalling a bit while he tried to sort out his thoughts.

“I do. What are you looking for?” Izar wandered over to one of the locked display cases, tapping on the glass. “Protection charms are my most popular artifacts, although I must warn you, they can’t prevent everything. If you start a knife fight, you’ll likely still get stabbed, protection charm or no.”

Myth knew all about protection charms, and he usually carried one or two with him. “I’m not the type to start a knife fight,” he said with a laugh that came out sounding as nervous as he felt. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was a thief no one could catch, a thief spoken of with reverence. What did he have to be afraid of?

The shadows.

The darkness.

Because strange things happened at night.

Strange things, like ending up tied to a bed while he submitted to a man he’d never met—a noble mage at that, someone who could cause serious problems, which was another reason he needed to get this amulet sold and get the fuck out of the city.

So why was he waffling?

“No knife fights,” Izar said, nodding. He adjusted his glasses again, and his eyes roved over Myth. “In that case… what do you need?”

“I have an item I think might be worth something to you,” Myth said slowly, watching the sorcerer warily. His own magic was still warning him that something was off, and he had to look away from Izar for a moment.

“Oh?” Izar brushed his long hair back. “What sort of thing? I do have an interest in magical artifacts, but I must apologize in advance that I’ll have to scrutinize it first. I’ve had a few too many people attempt to sell me worthless trinkets.”

“It’s real,” Myth said defensively. He reached into his pocket and curled his hand around the amulet.

Izar smiled gently. “Then it shouldn’t be a problem. Please, follow me.”

Myth followed Izar to the small room behind the beaded curtain. As soon as he crossed the threshold, Myth had to stop and cover his nose.

The stench—

No, not a real stench. The magic was a lot thicker here. He hadn’t even noticed while out in the main shop front. It must have been magically shielded. In order to hide this much magic without even a physical door between the two spaces…

“Here we go.” Izar pulled a stool closer to a counter that had a set of scrying glasses on it. “Place the item here, and I’ll assess its true value.”

Myth didn’t want to.

He stared at the etched glass with the spell lines on it. He had no idea what they did, and he’d never be able to work them on his own. But the amulet didn’t belong there.

“Are you all right?” Izar asked. He fiddled with his glasses again. “Is it a sentimental item? I know those can be hard to part with.”

Myth looked away again, and something caught his eyes in a shimmer. He paused to stare at it. Scales? Those were too shiny to be from a lizard. “I, ah—” He faltered, his hand squeezing the amulet in his pocket. “It’s a family heirloom,” he said. “It holds great… significance.”

In ways he didn’t even know, he was sure. Maybe he should let the sorcerer take a look and at least tell him what he had.

But the idea of Izar even seeing the amulet…

Myth hadn’t even gotten inside the last three magic shops. If he kept putting it off, he’d be stuck with the amulet forever. He had to do this.

His pocket might as well have been filled with tar, with how difficult it was to get the amulet out. But he managed, and he set the amulet down on Izar’s scrying glass.

There.

Maybe Izar would tell him it was worthless, and he could laugh about how dumb he’d been, and that his father was so obsessed with something that was completely unmagical.

Izar’s breath caught, and he leaned closer to the amulet. “This is…”

Fuck. Myth turned away, his hands itching to take the amulet back.

This was for the best. This was what he wanted.

The magical light illuminating the space dimmed, and a shadow in the corner of the room flickered. Myth’s gaze caught on the shelf there.

A pair of eyes stared back at him, glowing.

Myth startled and backed up a few steps before he realized the eyes weren’t attached to anything. They were laid out on a display case, staring out into nothing.

He looked around the rest of the room with growing horror. Scales, and eyes. Large bones, wings, pelts—

And all of them teemed with magic.

It was a collection of dead magical beings.

“I’ll give you one hundred gold for this,” Izar said, unaware of Myth’s dismay. “Potent, in the right hands. I’d have to do more research into how to use it for it to be of true value. How did your family come by this?”

Myth couldn’t take it anymore. He snatched up the amulet and tightened his grasp around it, and while he couldn’t settle in a graveyard of magical beings, he felt better for having it. “I… Ah… I’m not…”

“One hundred and fifty,” Izar said, reaching for the amulet. “It’s worthless to you, without any magic of your own.”

“I changed my mind. Because of… my family sentiments.” Myth didn’t care what Izar was willing to pay. He evaded Izar’s hand and ran through the beaded curtain again.

He felt a shock of magic along his back as he passed through the doorway. Izar shouted something, but Myth dashed forward and grabbed the front door handle.

For a few seconds it was stuck. Myth wondered if he’d end up taken apart too, his bones laid out on display in that back room.

A good kick had it opening, and Myth ran, and ran, far past the shop’s beautiful trees and inviting fence and in the direction of the town he’d come from.

Fuck.

He wished now more than ever that he had real magic of his own. If the sorcerer came after him… No, Myth didn’t want to think about that possibility.

He kept running until his chest was heaving as he tried to pull in breath after breath. He finally paused when he was in the town proper, leaning against a building as he stood in an alley to keep him up. This wasn’t ideal. This wasn’t a good place to rest, but at least it was back in the outskirts of town. Izar wouldn’t follow him here.

Would he?