Page 75 of As Above, So Below

Considered the innate and magic hub of the city, the TwilightMire is home to occult shops, bookshops, alchemists, and herbalists. If I want to open and potentially sell the item in the smaller of the two obsidian boxes, my best chance of finding the kind of shop I need lies here.

The obsidian box is tucked inside my boot, and it doesn’t fail to remind me of its presence. Even through the fabric of my pants, the siphoning feel of the spelled obsidian pulls at my essence, my innate.

The money from the sale of the item could fund my inevitable departure from Ollora. I can’t rely on the protection of Celesta indefinitely. No, if I want protection, I have to find and offer a contract to a mortal. Preferably a fae, and a strong one at that.

The fae in black comes to mind.

Considering Lilith is a member of the royal family, it make sense for her to be accompanied by guards. The male in black must be one. I wonder how she would respond if I were to steal him from her?

If he’s strong enough to protect a member of the royal family, he may serve me just fine. I’d need to learn more about the fae before making a final decision. Fae can be capricious tricksters, and I’d rather not find myself in contract with one who proves to be more trouble than they’re worth.

Sighing as I round a corner, I continue to head north along the river. My eyes fall onto a street lined with shops. The street is slightly busier than the rest with people walking at a leisurely pace, umbrellas propped over them.

The umbrellas remind me to adjust my hood, wanting to ensure that my silver hair remains hidden. Despite the rain, nearby vendors stand under roofed stalls of wares, calling out their goods and services to passersby. Walking past tables filled with various foods, leather goods, weapons, jewels, I marvel at the craftsmanship and designs.

No such markets exist in the hells. Or at least, none that I’ve ever seen.

Moving to the opposite side of the street, the view of the river catches my attention. Leaning against the stone parapet that separates me from a tumble into the water below, the vivid blue ofthe river takes me by surprise. Shifting again, I watch the mortals wandering through the market.

Dragging my eyes along the scene before me, a silver-haired fae female steps onto the street. She raises the hood of her red cloak, tucking her hair away. Lifting my gaze, a weathered wooden sign hangs over the door behind the female.

Embers and Ashes.

Pulling myself from the stone embankment, I cross the length to reach the storefront. It’s a smaller store in the line of buildings that hug the street—narrower and only one floor. The neighboring buildings stands two or three floors and at least twice as wide. It’s not out of place, but it draws attention all the same.

The large pane glass window in the front of the shop leaves just enough room for the door beside it. Stacked books, several polished and sharpened daggers, pieces of worn armor, and other shining trinkets sit on display. A few pieces thrum with old magic, their surfaces shimmering with blue-silver runes.

This is the exact kind of shop I need.

Naturally, my eyes are drawn back to the books. It takes me longer than usual to read the titles inked down the spines as they’re all in common tongue, with some partially hidden behind other items.

The Raven in the Night.

Cloaked Heart.

A House of Obsidian and Silver.

Fictional works, I realize.

The library in the hells had precious few fictional works and the ones that were there, granted no sense of escapism or hope to readers.

Pushing open the heavy red door, I enter the shop.

A heavily perfumed cloud smacks me in the face.

The scent makes it difficult to breathe. A musky, floral mixture that will cling to my skin for the rest of the day. It takes me a second to realize the structure of the scent is intentional, it masks everything. I laugh to myself. It’s a means to provide anonymity to their patrons. A means to disorient fae as they use scent to identify one another. A name may not be unique, but a scent is.

“Welcome to Embers and Ashes,” a kind female voice greets.

Raising my eyes, a petite blond female stands behind a counter. It’s laden with a plethora of trinkets, oddities, and books. Her sandy brown eyes meet mine as she smiles.

Returning the smile, I notice her features aren’t as sharp as a fae’s, but reminiscent of the species all the same. Not fae, not human, but both. Demi-fae. My brows raise.

“If there’s anything I can do to assist you as you browse, please let me know. I’m Embala,” she adds before returning her attention to the blue glass goblet in her hands. The surface of the glass glistens like lantern oil.

Taking a few slow steps into the shop, I study the line of glass bottled potions on the wall on my left before returning my eyes to her.

“Do you source these items yourself or purchase them from travelers?” I stare at a small ivory soapstone carving of a raven small enough to fit in my palm.