proprietress?
He raised his brows.
Well, then, this customer will be sure to return.
His response was yet more evidence he had no mate. If he’d found his fated female, then he wouldn’t be planning to bed this buxom shopkeeper at his earliest convenience! He asked her, “Where can I find handcuffs, dove?”
She didn’t look up from her book. “Back room. Aisles are marked.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve met a Lorean named Josephine? Brunette about five and a half feet tall.”
Unbelievable body, whiskey voice.
“Fairly blunt.”
Bit of a bitch.
“Wears combat boots and has piercings.”
Even secret ones.
The woman licked her thumb and turned a page.
“She lives in the city and prowls the Quarter. But she’s species closeted.” Josephine wasn’t the only one. When he recognized what Loa was, he hid a grin. He’d bet she wouldn’t want that known.
Without taking her eyes off the book—a tome on neuroscience—Loa said, “Too many beings to keep track of this time of the millennium. Accession calls them close. Ask the low creatures.” Her accent was lyrical and drawling. Josephine’s accent had been drawling as well, but in a different way.
“Among your wares, do you happen to have a lock of Valkyrie hair?” The nymphs had promised to be on the lookout for one, but he didn’t hold out much hope. Information from them in the heat of the moment was one thing . . .
“You’d have better luck orderin’ a Valkyrie head,” Loa said.
He hadn’t thought it would be easy. “Do you sell information?”
She finally glanced up. “By the looks of you, I’m thinkin’ you can’t afford the information I have in my catalog.”
No?
His wealth was so vast it was incalculable. He smiled at her, picturing all the relics he’d amassed over the ages, the ones that filled his private collection. Ah, the secrets he kept.
He found himself wondering how Josephine would react to his treasures. No doubt pure astonishment. How could she not be impressed? “Perhaps you’re right,” he told Loa, turning toward the back. He located the concealed doorway and entered.
Scents overwhelmed him. Every manner of Lore creature must have shopped here recently. Signs papered the walls:
“Accession Savings!” “Fire Sale!” “Mass Death = Estate Sales!”
Affecting every immortal in the Gaia realms, the Accession was a mystical event that occurred roughly every five centuries, bringing Loreans into contact with each other—for better or worse. Some immortals would bond; others would war. Usually most of the factions fought against each other.
Nïx was attempting to change the rules of the game, transforming what should be a drawn-out war of attrition into a great Lorewide battle between immortal alliances.
The Møriør—a brotherhood of killers with very few weaknesses—would prevail. They always did. To their enemies, they were the Bringers of Doom.
He headed farther inside. The aisles were marked CONTRACEPTION , GLAMOURS , CONJURINGS . . . . He raised a brow at APOCALYPSE PREPARATION . They were already planning on it? He turned down the BONDAGE aisle, then selected a pair of cuffs with a tag that read:
Mystically reinforced and trace-proofed by The House of Witches
Est. 937
1st-Class Curses, Hexes, Spells, and Potions
We Won’t Be Undersold!
[email protected]
Member LBBB
Those witches were a proud bunch, considering they’d never received permission from their overlady to start this colony on Gaia—and considering they’d never paid taxes to Akelarre, their source dimension.
Most Loreans would rather face a vengeful deity than a bureaucratic tax collector.
In the year of 937, you lot bollixed up. Allixta arrives forthwith
.
He examined the cuffs, assessing the magick in them. Not bad. He could customize them with his own runes, magnifying and steering the power, just as he did with his arrows.
Yes, if the little leech returned tonight, he’d capture her. Once he had her in his keeping,
He raised his brows.
Well, then, this customer will be sure to return.
His response was yet more evidence he had no mate. If he’d found his fated female, then he wouldn’t be planning to bed this buxom shopkeeper at his earliest convenience! He asked her, “Where can I find handcuffs, dove?”
She didn’t look up from her book. “Back room. Aisles are marked.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve met a Lorean named Josephine? Brunette about five and a half feet tall.”
Unbelievable body, whiskey voice.
“Fairly blunt.”
Bit of a bitch.
“Wears combat boots and has piercings.”
Even secret ones.
The woman licked her thumb and turned a page.
“She lives in the city and prowls the Quarter. But she’s species closeted.” Josephine wasn’t the only one. When he recognized what Loa was, he hid a grin. He’d bet she wouldn’t want that known.
Without taking her eyes off the book—a tome on neuroscience—Loa said, “Too many beings to keep track of this time of the millennium. Accession calls them close. Ask the low creatures.” Her accent was lyrical and drawling. Josephine’s accent had been drawling as well, but in a different way.
“Among your wares, do you happen to have a lock of Valkyrie hair?” The nymphs had promised to be on the lookout for one, but he didn’t hold out much hope. Information from them in the heat of the moment was one thing . . .
“You’d have better luck orderin’ a Valkyrie head,” Loa said.
He hadn’t thought it would be easy. “Do you sell information?”
She finally glanced up. “By the looks of you, I’m thinkin’ you can’t afford the information I have in my catalog.”
No?
His wealth was so vast it was incalculable. He smiled at her, picturing all the relics he’d amassed over the ages, the ones that filled his private collection. Ah, the secrets he kept.
He found himself wondering how Josephine would react to his treasures. No doubt pure astonishment. How could she not be impressed? “Perhaps you’re right,” he told Loa, turning toward the back. He located the concealed doorway and entered.
Scents overwhelmed him. Every manner of Lore creature must have shopped here recently. Signs papered the walls:
“Accession Savings!” “Fire Sale!” “Mass Death = Estate Sales!”
Affecting every immortal in the Gaia realms, the Accession was a mystical event that occurred roughly every five centuries, bringing Loreans into contact with each other—for better or worse. Some immortals would bond; others would war. Usually most of the factions fought against each other.
Nïx was attempting to change the rules of the game, transforming what should be a drawn-out war of attrition into a great Lorewide battle between immortal alliances.
The Møriør—a brotherhood of killers with very few weaknesses—would prevail. They always did. To their enemies, they were the Bringers of Doom.
He headed farther inside. The aisles were marked CONTRACEPTION , GLAMOURS , CONJURINGS . . . . He raised a brow at APOCALYPSE PREPARATION . They were already planning on it? He turned down the BONDAGE aisle, then selected a pair of cuffs with a tag that read:
Mystically reinforced and trace-proofed by The House of Witches
Est. 937
1st-Class Curses, Hexes, Spells, and Potions
We Won’t Be Undersold!
[email protected]
Member LBBB
Those witches were a proud bunch, considering they’d never received permission from their overlady to start this colony on Gaia—and considering they’d never paid taxes to Akelarre, their source dimension.
Most Loreans would rather face a vengeful deity than a bureaucratic tax collector.
In the year of 937, you lot bollixed up. Allixta arrives forthwith
.
He examined the cuffs, assessing the magick in them. Not bad. He could customize them with his own runes, magnifying and steering the power, just as he did with his arrows.
Yes, if the little leech returned tonight, he’d capture her. Once he had her in his keeping,
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