““Here.” “Thanks.” We were up in my living room. Chalice was sitting on the sofa, knees together. I sat in the chair opposite her and put my own cup of tea on the table with a click. The sounds of the Camden night came filtering faintly through the window—shouts and laughter, running footsteps, the thumping of music from over the rooftops—but inside, the room was quiet. I studied Chalice. Her coat was slung over the sofa along with her scarf, and she was leaning back, apparently rela...xed. She wasn’t obviously pretty but she dressed well and held herself with a sort of pleasant confidence. She didn’t look like a Dark mage, or any sort of mage for that matter. She looked like a professional London woman in her late twenties or early thirties. But she was a Dark mage, and the fact that she didn’t look dangerous just meant that I hadn’t yet figured out how she was dangerous. Being Luna’s master has given me a good basic understanding of chance magic.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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