Wait, it's Tuesday? How did that happen?
Sorry about the delay. I had some technical issues on Monday and spend the entire day trying to fix them. Turns out it was an easy fix once I had some help, but since I'm still re-learning Windows, I was lost and thought I'd completely screwed things up.
But, as promised, here is the second preview installment for the
KnotMagick Post Club. Below is the prologue for the novel (which kind of still needs a title...):
Prolgue: Theo
Picadilly was busy, filled with people on their way here
or there. Street vendors pushed carts through the crowd, calling out their
wares of meat of questionable origin on a stick or baked into a bun. The smoke
of London and general stink of city streets made my nose itch. I held back a
sneeze, but kept my eye on the target: an unassuming looking man in a jacket
and top hat, a deceptively decorative walking stick at his side.
I
glanced across the street at Thomas and nodded once. He nodded back, moving in
the direction of the man. Further up the road, three others from our unit
mobilized. He might not have looked like anything special, but it was a well
known fact that the unassuming man in the top hat was running half of the
illegal trade in dragon eggs in the city, and who knew what else.
Wes,
my partner, had suspicions that he was tied to the Rhinoceros Brigade, which
had once been the largest crime organization in London. I’d known Wes most of
my life, and when he had a suspicion, you could almost bet it was fact.
As I
passed a ratty looking man with a wheelbarrow full of fish, the sneeze won. It
bent me double and left me searching for my handkerchief, even as Thomas and
our quarry moved further north. I blew my nose and tried to catch up even
though my eyes were still watering a little.
That
was when it hit me.
Like
a punch in the stomach, or trying to walk away from a coach only to realize
your sleeve is caught in the door as the horses take off at a gallop, the scent
made me stop. My knees went wobbly with disbelief.
It can’t be, I thought. It was
impossible. I hadn’t smelled that scent in seven years; I never thought I would
again.
I
turned.
And
there she was.
She
wasn’t at all like I remembered. Seven years ago she’d been a playful eleven-year-old
with pigtails, freckles, and a singing voice that would make angels cry, who
hugged everyone and frequently fell asleep with her head on my shoulder or in
my lap.
Now
though, her own mother wouldn’t have recognized her if they’d met on the
street. Or if she did, she’d faint from shock.
She
was pretty in the way a burlesque dancer might be; the kind of beauty that made
respectable women give her wide birth as they passed, whispering behind their
hands at how scandalously short her skirt was, baring her ankles in broad
daylight. It was the kind of beauty that made good men blush and turn away, and
not so good med follow, come what may.
Lace
gloves covered her from fingertip to above the elbow, and the low, plunging
neck of her dress wasn’t disguised by the matching lace shawl, which didn’t do
much to cover the bareness of her white shoulders, either.
Her
hair was darker than when she was a
child; auburn now instead of ginger, and twisted and curled over her shoulder
in something almost ladylike. Her face was too sweet for the expression she
gave me, which turned her red lips up coyly.
Her
eyes were the same gray I remembered, but were so heavily lined that I could
hardly tell she’d gotten them from her mother. The look they held didn’t help.
She
opened her mouth once, then closed it. She raised her finger to point at me. “I
know you,” She said at last, tapping me on the chest. I was so flabbergasted at
seeing her again, I couldn’t speak.
She
turned a slow circle around me, trailing her hand across my shoulders, looking
me up and down.
I
shouldn’t have, but I allowed my appearance to return to it’s natural state.
Instead of hiding my eyes—wolf’s eyes, with a light blue center and dark blue
ring—I allowed them to show. People found it unnerving, so I usually used my
talent as a shapeshifter to turn them brown. I could change the color, but not
the pattern. Brown made them less noticeable. I always tried to be less
noticeable. It helped, in my line of work.
She
seemed to be considering something. Then she slid one gloved hand to the back
of my neck, pulled me down and kissed me, right there on the street.
I
took a deep breath of her, tasted her. And there was no doubt in my mind.
Despite changed appearance, she was one and the same.
“Felicia…”
She
pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. She looked confused. Not the reaction
I normally get after kissing a woman.
A
shout from behind me. I turned to see
Thomas chasing after our suspect. When I glanced back, Felicia was gone.
