Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
The page I had opened to was heavily underscored with neon highlighters, and the margins on both pages filled with my scribbles. “Be honest, please – does this say passionate about work or desperate to pass Level 1 exams so I won’t be the only neophyte witch in the agency?”
Mr. Handsome grinned. “It’s that bad?”
“Well...considering how my instructor asked me to start saving money so I could afford an expensive offering to Athena, what do you think?”
“Extremely bad,” he answered right away with a grin. I grinned back of course, all the while thinking that I couldn’t remember feeling any happier. Oh, be still, my bewitched heart.
It suddenly occurred to me that we had been talking for some time without having even exchanged names, and I took a deep breath, wondering if I could find the courage to ask for his first. I opened my mouth, but before I could say another word, lightning flashed outside the diner, followed by the power going out. Another second passed, and my phone started playing the theme song of Mission Impossible.
Oh, dear.
This was not good.
Chapter Two
ALTHOUGH CSI IN THE non-human world functioned as a crime scene investigation unit as well, the letters actually stood for Circe Security Initiative. While history mostly remembered Circe for her failed attempt in seducing Odysseus to become her lover, there was little mention of the kind of life the world’s first self-taught witch led afterwards. This was unfortunate since Circe’s accomplishments following her doomed romance were as great as any other Greek hero.
Sick and tired of being painted as the villainous almost-adulteress, Circe had devoted herself to aiding Thebe in her quest for justice, and her subsequent acts of valor were such that the Titan goddess later on granted Circe immense fortune and a taste of ambrosia. Circe could have been a happily retired immortal after that, but instead she had chosen to spend her extended lease on life training special humans to become self-taught witches like her. Through it Circe had eventually found her renewed purpose, and thus CSI was born.
The agency’s recruitment process varied from case to case, and with mine it had started with an email and a hologram of Circe popping up in my living room. It had taken a while, but the self-made goddess had patiently waited for me to finish freaking out before launching into her be-a-crime-solving-witch pitch.
‘Only one percent of the human population has the ability to be a self-taught witch,’ Circe had explained among other things, and this mainly boils down to how much faith the person has in magic rather than mere skills. She had beamed at me then, saying, ‘It’s how you’ve made the cut.’
Naturally, she had also included a caveat, warning me that if I were to accept her job offer at CSI I would have to leave my life in California and move to Silver Mist. In return, however, I would have my own home, above-average wages with the possibility of earning performance bonuses, and – best of all – I would have magic in my life.
When Circe had finished with her spiel, I had looked at her while thinking about the choice she was asking me to make: my present life, which was the definition of purpose-less mediocrity, and the other life she offered, which was full of the most exciting and magical possibilities.
What do you say then, Blair?
I had only one answer to that. Can I start packing now?
DIVISION OFFICES OF all supernatural crime agencies in the area were housed in one of Silver Mist’s historic buildings, a three-story all-white structure with elegant Palladian windows, quoins, and a quietly impressive portico.
Prior to the Civil War, it had served as the town’s post office. Today, it was listed as headquarters of the privately funded Silver Mist Heritage Society, and as far as humans were concerned, SMHS was the company paying for my wages. That much was true, I suppose, but as for my official job position as ‘field researcher’?
Yes, well, I suppose that could be true, too, as long as no one asked too many questions about the nature of my, err, research.
The downpour of rain lashing the streets of Silver Mist had erupted into a full-blown thunderstorm when I finally made it past SMHS’ double doors. By this time, I also looked like I had gone into the shower fully clothed, with my umbrella having given up on me halfway.
“Good morning, Blair.” Mary Lou, the pretty, dark-haired tree nymph working behind the reception counter, gave me a sympathetic smile as I struggled to shove my umbrella into the garbage bin, its canopy turned inside out thanks to all of the huffing and puffing the wind gods had done under Zeus’ command.
“It’s crazy out there,” I said between chattering teeth as I turned to face her, having finally emerged the victor in my fight against my retired umbrella. I was about to ask Mary Lou if the electricity was back on or CSI was running on back-up power when the doors behind me opened again—-