“Well, yeah. I sensed mages too. A battle.”
“Not mages. Wilder magic, untrained, poured into a single spell.”
“Fighting for your life does that.”
Chynne lifted a brow. “Think of it. You’re in a battle to the death. You know there’s no hope for you, but you might be able to save Saris. What would you do?”
No thought needed for the answer. “I’d pour every bit of my strength into keeping her safe. What are you saying?”
“Even if Lyvianne lacked power, intent goes a long way, as does self-sacrifice. So, there’s a possibility that we could look straight at the lost child and not see him for who he is. And who knows what enchantments Nyanda might have cast?”
“You’re saying a spell could hide him from us?” Wycke had wondered as much.
Chynne nodded. “Such a spell offers lots of protection for little effort. You’re not actually hiding someone or something, merely suggesting to anyone who sees that it’s of no interest.”
Made sense. All the moments recently when something niggled at Wycke, the thought gone a moment later. What had he been thinking at the time? He flopped down on the bed. The phone rang. Making a shushing motion with his finger to his lips, he picked up the phone. “Hello.”
“Wycke? It’s Piers.”
Piers? Fluttering began in Wycke’s stomach. “Hi, Piers. What’s up?” He’d used a human greeting he’d learned at the club.
“I know it’s late, but I didn’t get to talk to you much this evening, and I’m off work a little early, and I… I wanted to know if you’d like to meet for a drink or something.”
Oh, yes. Wycke wanted to “or something” very much. “There’s a bar downstairs at my hotel.” They were open at this hour, weren’t they? If not, apply a little wish magic and instant party.
Maybe.
“Cool. Say, fifteen minutes?”
“I’ll see you there.” Wycke hung up the phone. Why had Piers called when Wycke thought he’d seen the last of the man? No matter.
He searched the room. No cat. Good thing. May Chynne be gone until morning.
Wycke checked himself in the mirror, releasing his hair from its band, then turned in a circle, ensuring a suitable room for his plans. Wish magic required little conjuring, though he’d only managed small things, nothing significant or important.
Condoms and lube on the bedside table because humans expected such. An assortment of drinks. The bed turned down oh-so-invitingly.
He snapped the foldout bed closed.
Minor magic. Deep inside Wycke, a wellspring of power bloomed. Power he dared not unleash. At least not while untrained. The simple tricks he employed wouldn’t arouse suspicion unless one knew what to look for. So he’d been cautious at the palace.
At home, the chambermaid possessed enough skill to start a fire or warm his bath. If anyone questioned the hint of magic in the air, he blamed her. They nodded, said, “Oh,” and never asked again. Or if they did, they answered their own question with, “Ah, yes. The talented chambermaid.”
One more touch. Wycke freshened the air, removing the scent of stale carpet, lingering perfumes, and cleaners.
Now. He couldn’t appear too eager. Why so nervous? He seduced lovers with barely a thought back home—never anyone he might want to know better.
He’d also never met anyone with more than a hint of magic. Something worth exploring.
Time moved differently here. But what if Piers were… No. Piers came from the human realm, and any magic he possessed must be a fluke. Why would a powerful sorcerer spend time serving drinks and living modestly?
Wycke made his way downstairs to the lobby, willing others to ignore him. He didn’t need another,“but you could have anyone”speech. A few magicals acknowledged him with a nod. Simple glamours didn’t fool them.
Only a few people lingered in the lobby when Wycke exited the elevator and made his way down the hallway. Chandeliers glittered overhead, and the soles of his shoes squeaked against the polished marble of the floor. Food smells lingered from a hotel restaurant, though a “Sorry, we’re closed” sign on a stand barred the entrance.
He sensed Piers the moment he entered the bar, sitting at an out-of-the-way booth, telling one person after another, “No, I’m waiting for someone.”
So, Wycke wasn’t the only one who could take his pick. But how could he even look at anyone else with Piers in the room? The man positively glowed. His neutral expression lifted into a smile, and he gave a small wave of recognition.