Page 4 of Soulbound
Cleo laughed, and set off along Main Street. "Oh, Mr. Prior. Where's your sense of adventure?"
He staggered past a woman in a hooded cloak, pushing a barrow full of little dolls that gave one an eerie sense. "It is wondering why I ever left the Prime's manor this morning. I mean, my sense of adventure could be studying some of my dusty old grimoires right now. It could be sipping a hot cup of tea in the safety of the Prime's library. It might even extend to some of Cook's ginger biscuits, because I'm fairly certain I feel a little nauseous."
"I didn't ask you to come," she pointed out.
Jeremy stiffened in protest, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "I could hardly leave you to venture here alone!"
"You're a gentleman, Mr. Prior. No doubt about that." She looked along the narrow branches of alleys that spiraled out from Main Street. All she'd seen in her dreams had been the inside of a bookstore, and dozens of musty books, a dark mirror calling to her, almost throbbing inside her dream, as if it demanded she pick it up.
Closing her eyes, she splayed her hands wide, feeling the bite of the three rings she wore beneath her gloves. The chips of marble and diamond in them revealed her to be an acolyte of the Light Arts, which had to be hidden here. Each ring represented a different Order level she'd passed, and three was only two more than what an apprentice wore. Her father had never seen much use in educating her outside her divination. No, he wanted what her Visions could bring him: gold, power, allies. But it was moments like these that made her wish she'd had someone to teach her more than divination, healing, and wards.
This way, itched her sense of premonition. At least it was finely tuned. Cleo opened her eyes, staring down the alley she faced. Not a creature stirred anywhere along the narrow passage, and the second stories leaned toward each other, creating an almost tunnel effect. Shadows loomed.
"Of course." Jeremy swallowed. "It had to be this one."
She walked slowly into the shadows. The shop windows were grimy here. Ripples of movement within one particular window betrayed a presence watching them.
There was no wind in Balthazar's Labyrinth, but the sign above the next shop made a creaking sound. Gentian's Baubles and Books. Premonition shivered through her.
Something was about to happen. She could never quite tell what, as her sense of premonition was vague, at best, but this might be the place she'd been searching for. It could also mean three ruffians were about to leap out and assault her and poor Jeremy, but she didn't think so. The itch wasn't screaming beneath her skin. Nothing dangerous lurked.
Or nothing too dangerous.
Cleo pushed open the door. It swung open with a merry tinkle that seemed vastly out of place.
"Welcome, miss...." The shopkeeper's eyes slid over her, his fleshy mouth widening in a smile when he saw her pretty rose-colored skirts, and the elegant sweep of her hat. A pigeon ripe for plucking, said his expression. "What may I do for you? A book, perhaps? Or maybe some occult item?" He picked up a brass idol of a monkey, gesturing to it with a showman's flair. "This statue came all the way from the Balinese islands. They say it can speak a dozen languages, and predict the future if keyed right."
Cleo brushed the monkey's leering face with her gloved finger. Not a single quiver chilled her skin. "Nonsense. There's not even a hint of sorcerous energy coming off it. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to fleece me." She graced him with her sweetest smile. "But a man like you wouldn't be so foolish, would you?"
Turning on her heel, she swept through the shop, searching for what she wanted—and finding little more than dust and fake relics.
"Ah, of course I'm not trying to fleece you." The shopkeeper scurried after her. "Perhaps I could interest you in an amulet worn by Helen of Troy herself—"
"Very pretty." She stepped around him. "But not what I'm looking for."
"A jade carving of—"
Cleo held her hand up. "No, I'm interested in an Ouroboros Mirror. A colleague of mine told me you might have one on hand." Remington Cross hadn't precisely been speaking to her when he'd mentioned it, but that little fact didn't matter so much.
The shopkeeper's face paled. "I'm afraid I don't have one."
Lie. She couldn't always sense when someone was speaking the truth, but the lie jarred along her nerves like a badly sawed violin. Cleo turned her unsettling gaze upon him. "Do you take me for a fool?"
Tugging her lace gloves off, one fingertip at a time, she sauntered through the shop. "While it could be said I'm here unofficially"—she made sure he saw the rings on her fingers that heralded she was from the Order—"I do have a special dispensation."
To find out whatever she could about the demon who'd taken Drake de Wynter's body as a Vessel, and how to defeat it.
"Three rings," said the shopkeeper, folding his arms over his chest, "mark you as a lower-level member of the Order."
Cleo smiled. "One with the ear of Lady Rathbourne. I'm currently residing at her home."
Wariness entered his eyes. "The new Prime."
"There. See." Her smile grew. "I knew you would understand the importance of my presence here."
It was a good thing he couldn't tell whether she was lying or not, though poor Jeremy's bug eyes, and the way he appeared to be holding his breath in disbelief, nearly gave her away. Lady Rathbourne had said nothing about coming here. Indeed, she'd probably have sent someone else if she'd had any idea what Cleo intended.
"Grave matters are afoot in London. I need an Ouroboros Mirror to confirm the truth of my Visions. And I know you have one, and it is potentially available for... three hundred and seventy-five quid, I believe."
