Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“Let’s see. Bright hair and clothes. Bits and bobs. Big eyes. Mischievous smirk. Yes, I’d venture a guess that she is of the fair folk.”
“Wait, where did she go?”
“Subway.” At her blank look, the bird shook his head. “Remember the bus that passed us a few blocks ago?”
“Yes.”
“Under our feet, there is a giant, very fast bus that runs along the city to take people where they need to go without all the traffic.
“There are also all the tunnels down there for the vampires and wraiths to travel during the day without fear of bursting into flame or becoming completely powerless. Come on, stop gawking. Still lots to see. I’d bet my third flight feather that we could run into some celebrities up at the café on the corner—”
“Actually,” Iris said, spying a sign just a few doors down that had her heart leaping. “Would you mind if I hung out at the bookstore instead? I won’t leave. Or cause a scandal. I promise.”
“Bookstores don’t have shirtless celebrities or reality stars crying into their salads. Priorities, Iris!”
“I’ll tag along tomorrow, I promise.”
After a lifetime of only having a few books to read, she was giddy at the prospect of a whole store full of them.
“Fine. Go sniff binding glue and ink. But just remember, no one in a bookstore has ever been invited to an impromptu yacht party with a billionaire!”
He reached into his bag that he must have packed along with the sunglasses he currently had perched on his beak.
“What’s this for?” she asked, folding the paper in her hands.
“Money, my sweet sea spawn. We had the money talk, remember?”
“Right. Of course.” Though she was reasonably sure she still didn’t quite understand the math involved.
“Keep it hidden in a pocket. The human pickpockets have nothing on some of the paranormals and their quick fingers.”
“I’ll be fine, Monty,” she promised the bird, leaning down to plant a kiss on his giant beak.
“Lucky,” a man passing murmured.
Monty shot the man a hard look. “Stay away from the men.”
“I have no plans on being near any men.” Least of all her fake fiancé.
“I will be back in a few hours to pick you up,” Monty said as they moved in front of the bookstore doors. “Feel that?”
“Feel what?”
“The wards,” he said, doing a full-body shiver. “A witch owns that bookstore. Be careful around her.”
“I’m literally just trying to buy some books,” she reminded him.
“Where did I go wrong with her?” Monty asked the universe, making Iris smile before he waddled off.
Turning, Iris looked at the glass door and the funny charms hanging from it. When she reached forward, she could feel a certain pulsing in the air around them. Perhaps that was what Monty had mentioned. She found the sensation kind of comforting instead of shiver-inducing.
Weird.
She pushed the door inward, hearing a pretty tinkling noise as it moved.
The air smelled like ink and chamomile tea, with a faint trace of nag champa clinging to the rafters. Books were crammed into every possible space—on shelves, stacked in windowsills, even teetering on chairs. Fat candles flickered near a display labeled Curses & Cures, and tiny glowing runes danced across the spine of a book that growled as she walked by.
A few customers milled about. A tall, lithe woman with waist-length locks browsed the table featuring new queer romance reads, her hands shimmering with subtle magic. A stooped older human leaned heavily on his cane as he perused the bookmark sections. Two college-aged fae giggled at something in one of the books, their rapid-fire Spanish drifting over toward Iris.
“Please don’t tell me you came all the way to the surface to look for true love,” a voice called as the door closed behind Iris.
“Not at all,” she said, glancing over to where the voice was coming from behind a tall wooden counter. Was this witch a mind reader of some sort? Or was it a common occurrence for other paranormals to leave their homelands behind in the hopes of finding love?
“Thank the goddess. Well, if you’re here for a romance book, note I have them shelved under: Emotional Propaganda. Right next to the Unverified Folklore shelf.”
The owner of the store popped up then, a huge pile of books in her arms.
The proprietress was a short woman with long, straight, royal purple hair framing a heart-shaped face with sharp cheekbones, pretty honey-brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles in an unnatural shade of purple to match her hair.
Glamour magic.
Iris had read about it before but had never seen it up close.
“How did you know I was a mermaid before you saw me?”
Of all the creatures on the surface, Iris was most fascinated by the witches and warlocks—who practiced nature-based and ‘lower’ magics—and sorcerers and sorceresses—who performed higher ceremonial magics.
“Your smell.”
“My smell?” Iris yelped, leaning down to sniff her arm.