Page 2 of Shaedes of Power (Soul Magic #1)

CHAPTER 2

“ T he quiet of the Corewood,” said Leyanna, dreamily looking at some blue-gray clouds feathering the sunset.

“The taste of river fruit—the blue ones. Oh, and winterberries,” purred Dru. “I cannot believe you have us all doing it now.”

“Your turn, Opal. And don’t say Astor,” Leyanna spat. They had been playing this game for about ten city blocks as we made our way from closing up the coffee shop to the iconic Jefferson Market Public Library to complete an assignment.

“What do I miss most about the Shaede Court?” I asked myself aloud. My two friends had been rambling off a long list of coveted memories from home that ran the gamut from favorite snacks to loved ones. But her question hit me hard. I mean, I loved the Shaede Court and belonged there as much as any faerie did. I much preferred the sights and sounds of nature and magic to the loud, harsh, and ephemeral qualities of this realm. But when I thought of home, I thought of my parents. And when I thought of my parents, I drowned in the disappointment that was to follow once they realized that their daughter was still lacking a shaede.

Faeries were not blessed with offspring very frequently. Mating very rarely ever resulted in a child, but when it did, it was considered such favor by the Balance that the entire realm rejoiced. That should be pressure enough to want to live up to your parents’ expectations—their hopes and dreams. But my parents weren’t ordinary faeries. They each held seats of the High Shaedes, of which there were always only five. Mine were the first set of wedded, mated faeries to both hold seats at the same time, and thus their blessed progeny must be destined for greatness, right? If being a Shaede gave you more access to the Balance and thus a deeper connection and control of magic, being selected as one of the Five was a level of access to power that no one had the capacity to understand. And just in case that wasn’t pressure enough, there was still the fact that I was their second daughter. Amira, my sister, was their first, but she had disappeared during her conversancy in the human realm over fifty years ago. She had also been fair-haired and lacking in shaede before she disappeared. The only image I’d ever seen of her was a painting my mother had once made when I was a little girl. It sat on display on a small table in our sitting room at the Shaede Palace for years, until one day it too disappeared.

I don’t think my father liked being reminded of the daughter he lost. I could not disappoint two of the five High Shaedes when they’d already lost so much.

I refocused on the sidewalk squares in front of me, side stepping garbage. Somewhere nearby, coffee cut through the scent of litter, sweat, and manufactured waste. The sun may have been setting, but it was still ninety degrees, and we weren’t allowed to use magic in the human realm under any circumstances, least of all just to make our own body temperatures more comfortable.

“I suppose I miss swimming in the tide pools at Pellshaeven,” I offered pathetically, but they took it.

“Oh, by the Balance, yes!” cooed Leyanna. “Blue fae might be a bunch of lame yawns, but they have some amazing swim spots. It is so unbearably hot here, and that is coming from a fire faerie.” Dru and Leyanna were happy to exchange several cheery memories of favorite swimming locales, and it was just enough to carry us the rest of the way to the library.

The Jefferson Market Library was a larger-than-life gothic structure that more than mildly referenced a medieval church or castle. Its tallest spire was more of a clock tower, and its bricks were a rich red and creamy color. New York City was interesting in its ability to blend the old with the new, but sometimes it was a little disorienting. You saw a building like that, and you never knew what you were going to get on the inside.

We walked in together and admired the arches of the doorways, some stained-glass windows, and the mixture of dark-carved woods among modern fixtures. Our sandaled feet shuffled into the cool, air-conditioned space that smelled overwhelmingly like every library in any realm, both in the Seam and out. Paper, ink, and wood in all stages of its existence. Knowledge lived here, and our assignment was to simply experience it.

“Shall we split up, or do this one together?” I asked, taking a small journal out of my bag.

“We might as well split up, more likely to find the meaning of life that way,” said Leyanna sardonically as she pushed past us and disappeared up a side stairwell.

“Is it just me, or is she getting worse?” Dru asked as we quietly walked into the open space on the main floor.

It was mostly white walls flanked by oakwood bookshelves and a sea of stark tables and chairs strewn about the middle. Any natural light was fading through some sky lights near the edge of the ceiling, making long fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling come to life.

“Definitely worse,” I agreed. “I think with the conversancy almost up, perhaps looking toward the future is a bit of a pressure point.”

“That’s generous of you. But how are you doing with it?” she asked, her electric green eyes locked on mine. I could see right through her glamour but I must also read very transparently to her. She was my best friend since I took my first steps across the circular dais in the throne room, and we’ve been walking alongside each other ever since.

“You know when we were younger and the kids randomly started making fun of my name? Everyone hates it when parents name them after their shaede. It’s kind of pretentious—kind of ‘look at me,’ in a way. ”

“Yes, you’d think in some millennia that trend would phase itself out,” she added.

“Exactly. But Opaline it was. And at age seven or eight, or whenever the other kids started getting really mean, you let it slip that your full name was Druleen, and it was all the mean faerielings laughed and talked about for months.”

“Leena was my grandmother’s name, and all I heard that year was, need a bib, Drool-een ? Don’t show that lemon cake to Drool-een. No one will ever want to kiss Drool-een . Now that I think about it, it wasn’t exactly silver Shaede material, but boy did they laugh. It was mean and it was stupid, but what does that have to do with the future? It could have been worse; that really annoying purple Shaede named Glory was supposedly named after the morning glory flower. If I recall, she had it pretty hard too.”

“Yes, well, the point is that you protected me from those kids. You didn’t hesitate to insert yourself as a shield and take endless weeks of really bad puns all for your friend, who still, as a full-grown faerie, has no clue who or what she is. Greens always protect. You’re a warrior. Leyanna may be abrasive, but she is a fire faerie, an expert at destructive spells. That purple Shaede, Glory? Annoying as hell but can talk to animals and has dusklight magic. I am no closer to knowing what I am supposed to be doing for the realm or how I fit in than I was two years ago, or ten years ago, for that matter.” We had moved to an empty side of the room and leaned against some of the young adult fiction. Dru took my hand, and I felt her magic awaken mine, and I wondered if she felt it too. It knew her, knew whatever she was going to say was going to be sincere and comforting. It knew that although Dru knew exactly what her role was going to be in the realm, she still felt like there was more she could do than just wave a sword and prevent a fight.

“Opal, none of us can be certain what the Balance had in mind for sure, but you are not your sister, or your parents, or only your shaede—whatever it is. Immortality is a long time; be patient with yourself.” I wrapped her in a hug because, for a moment, I thought she needed one too. “And don’t forget, Astor used to be one of those mean kids yelling ‘here come’s Drool-een,’ like all the rest. He is a green Shaede but still acted like a menace. And he grew out of it. Sort of.” She smiled, and I smiled back, thankful for our friendship. “Now, to business. I am going to go find something non-fiction to read and maybe chat it up with a librarian. I’m so behind in my journals; I need some fresh material.” I nodded and opted to stay among the first-floor shelves, absent mindedly picking up a book with a black cover and settling into an uncomfortable chair at an empty table.

Two hours into my highly unrealistic dystopian fantasy, I paused to look around. There were a couple of college age students doing just about anything but studying in the far corner of the room. There were several people who appeared to be listening to musical devices and reading at the same time, which must make them superhuman because that was a skill I’d never been able to master. And a few tables over, there was an older woman who had snuck some kind of food into the library and was repeatedly reaching in her bag, and then munching something behind a book, not as inconspicuously as she was hoping to be. Not exactly journal worthy observations.

I was about to go back to my book where everything was gray, only the children survived, and although there were robots—there was no electricity? When suddenly, a familiar voice said my name.

“Opal?” A full smile from Farris this time, as if he had made it to the end of a grueling quest and had finally found me. He gestured to one of the open seats at the table, may he? Sure, why not? He set a stack of thick books down along with a Styrofoam cup of coffee with his name written in red on the side.

“Should I feel cheated on?” I said pointing to the cup, not knowing what else to talk to him about other than coffee. This was all so awkward. The city of New York was so large and so filled with people that you should never have to run into the same person twice in one day.

“Although your coffee is amazing, it is not magical,” he said playfully. “Most coffee drinkers need their caffeine in many doses throughout the day, and sadly, I am no different. I already visit your shop too often. I figure twice in one day, and you’d think I was stalking you.” The way he said it was provocative, like there was a question there. Did I want him to?

“And so that is not what this is?” I replied, trying to keep it light. His eyes smiled spiritedly.

“If I said this was fate, I think you’d think that was the worst pick up line in the world. So maybe I should just be honest.” He leaned in closer, as if to tell the world’s greatest truth. “The coffee shop where you work is almost six city blocks away from my apartment. To get there, I pass about seven other places with coffee far superior to yours, just to see your face. Just to hear the daily special from your lips. I don’t even mind the redhead who leers at me, or the long walk sometimes in the rain, sometimes in the snow. But I’ve never been able to come up with a way to tell you before now. Until now, it has been just coffee. But now there is coffee, and you and me, and this table in this library.” He stopped talking. It wasn’t even a question. It was just facts. I was stuck trying to regain some speech myself. This beautiful human was taking his chance on probably the one girl in the entire realm that wouldn’t—and couldn’t—accept his affection.

“I was always under the impression you did your reading at home, for some reason,” I began. Switching subjects was my cowardly attempt to avoid having to flat out reject him. But he was either too good natured or too confident to cower now.

“I am doing some reading on the wonders of the world. Not the typical seven, but the lesser known, and some with darker histories.” He flashed me a cover of a faded textbook with some psychedelic images of Egyptian artifacts overlapping themselves. “This library has some books others don’t.” He pointed to my book. “You never struck me as a zombie apocalypse fan.”

“Ugh, they all turn into zombies? I’m glad you saved me from that. I don’t normally read things like this. I just randomly picked this one out.”

“Well, that’s different. I don’t know anybody who does that—just randomly grab something and jump right in. What do you normally read?” He was probing. And it was working. There was something so easy about talking with him, that I became worried all my secrets were about to come spilling out.

“Nothing really, maybe fantasy,” I lied. This meet-cute or whatever it was needed to be over. I knew it was probably time to go find Leyanna and Dru anyway.

I stood up too quickly and my book fell out of my hands, knocking his hot coffee onto his arm. He flinched as the burn quickly bit into his skin and flashed red, the hot drink creating a small brown pool between us on the floor. Without thinking, I touched the burn and soothed it with my magic. The way any faerie could do without effort. It all happened so quickly, but touching him was a mistake. His forearm may have cooled, but it was as if the heat had traveled up to my cheeks. He was looking at me so ravenously that I was tempted for a moment to deliver myself on a silver plate. But instead, I ripped my hand back.

“I am so sorry,” I said, my throat suddenly dry.

“It’s no problem, really. It hurt for a second but feels fine now. In fact, it actually feels great.” He bent to wipe his damp arm on his jeans. If you looked, you could see his toned muscles contract under his T-shirt, and I was definitely looking. “Listen, I am sorry. I should go,” he said, gingerly gathering up his books. But he didn’t look like he was sorry. He still donned his little half-smile, the one that made him look like he knew me better than he did and was always thinking about his favorite parts. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He grinned, with what sounded more like a promise than a goodbye.