Page 22 of Awakened Ash and Alchemy

This behavior wasn’t normal.

But the thought of Zarek, who’d called in a favor to have her privacy invaded, made her stand straighter. Whatever Zarek was after, it was the last thing she needed complicating her life right now.

TEN

“What do you mean,” Zarek snapped, “she told you I have to ask her myself?”

Zarek paced the length of Pete Macrombie’s library, his boots heavy over the polished wood, while irritation rolled off him in heatwaves that he refused to acknowledge. The room smelled of old paper and the faint tang of warding chalk from the professor’s simple attempts at protection that wouldn’t stop a genuine threat but might slow one down.

But Zarek wasn’t here to teach those skills, and certainly not to mortals. He was here for answers, while Martar lounged in a chair near the hearth, far too entertained for Zarek’s liking.

Pete sat opposite with hands on his cane, looking older than he should, and full of nerves, as one of the few mortals who knew of their existence.

“Miss Duboise said so,” Pete murmured. “Word for word.”

Zarek cut back and forth again across the floor. “She is not supposed to know I exist.”

“Well, she also said she could smell you on me.”

Zarek stopped so hard that the floorboards creaked.

Martar’s head lifted. “She could do what?”

Pete cleared his throat, his eyes flicking between them. “Your scent. Like… residue. A brand. A thumbprint. Yes, that was her word.”

Zarek had been called many things across the centuries. Monster. Killer. Executioner. Captain. Never had he been recognized by scent. He’d taught his soldiers to mask their scent, to never let the enemy smell them first. It was impossible.

“Explain,” Zarek demanded.

Pete swallowed as he looked away, like most people did, from Zarek’s glare.

“I-I went in to ask some questions, and I barely got my name out before she showed up. Miss Duboise just looked at me and said, You know Zarek. And then she asked if you’d sent me. And I said yes.”

Zarek’s eyes narrowed. “You volunteered that.”

“No.” Pete squirmed in his seat as the words spilled like panic. “That’s the point. I didn’t mean to. My mouth—” The professor pressed his lips together, as if visibly remembering the moment. “My tongue tried to move of its own volition. I had to bite down hard to stop myself from telling her everything.”

Martar let out a low whistle. “That’s impressive.”

“It is not,” Zarek growled, forcing himself back to the table. He sat heavily, with his forearms braced on the wood.

Martar asked, “Is she a witch?”

Pete hesitated. “No.”

Martar barked a laugh. “Of course she’s a witch.”

“No, she’s not. I would have sensed it.” Just as Zarek could sense the magick of others in this realm.

“Also, Miss Duboise doesn’t believe in magic.” Pete tugged at his bow tie. “She said it as if she were offended by the idea.”

Zarek arched an eyebrow at the professor. “She doesn’t believe?” Now, that was ridiculous.

“And yet she remembered you.” Martar’s annoying grin widened. “And she smelled you. And she made the professor here almost choke on his own oath.”

Pete winced. “I did not choke.”

“I bet you begged her to stop,” Martar said cheerfully.