I was the only person on the street, and I drew my sword, my blue eyes flicking left and right, peering into the shadows that had crept up to the edge of the sidewalk, thanks to the busted-out streetlights. The pools and patches of blackness didn’t bother me, though, not with my Talent for sight. I could see everything around me as clear as day, no matter how dark it actually was.
Like everything else, magic mostly fell into three categories—strength, speed, and senses, which included sight, smell, sound, taste, and touch. The majority of Talents were some variation on those three areas, whether it was the ability to lift a car with one hand, move faster than a snake striking, or hear a coin hit the ground from a hundred feet away. And, as if all that wasn’t enough, some folks could even conjure up their magic and hold balls of fire, lightning bolts, or poisonous clouds in the palms of their hands so that everyone could see and feel their power—and potentially be hurt by it.
There were three levels of power—minor, moderate, and major—depending on how strong you were in your magic and how many different things you could do with it. Most folks fell into the minor and moderate categories, but some Talents were automatically considered major because they were so rare, or powerful, or both.
Really, though, all us magicks were circus freaks more than anything else, able to do amazing things with our bodies. Strong women, fast men, people who could twist their limbs into impossible positions, create illusions with a wave of their hands, or change their appearance just by thinking about it. But with monsters in the mix, instead of lions and tigers. Oh my.
Sight was a common Talent, along with all the other enhanced senses, but it was one of the more useful ones. Certainly better than smell. The foul reek of the garbage bags heaped at the corner made my nose crinkle with disgust. I could only imagine how much worse the stench would be if it were magically amplified.
I left the row houses behind and stepped onto a gray cobblestone bridge that arched over the Bloodiron River. Three Xs had been carved into a stone set into the short column that fronted the right side of the bridge. A clear warning. There be a monster here.
I paused in the middle of the bridge, just before I would cross over to the far side, looked over the edge, and listened, but I didn’t see or hear anything except the soft ripple and rush of the river below. No metal clanking on the stones, no claws crabbing over the rocks in my direction, no monster licking its chops in anticipation of sinking its teeth into me. Either the lochness who lived under the bridge was cruising down the river like the black, oversize octopus it resembled or it was already chowing down on its dinner for the night.
I thought about crossing the rest of the bridge without paying the usual toll, but it was better not to chance it. Besides, it was the polite thing to do. My mom had been big on that. On paying the tolls, following the old traditions, and giving every creature—mortal, magick, and monster—the respect it deserved. Especially the ones that could eat you in one gulp.
So I dug through my pockets and retrieved three quarters. I placed the coins on a worn, smooth stone, also marked with three Xs, set in the middle of the right side of the bridge.
Pretty cheap, if you asked me, especially given the insanely high prices the tourists and we locals paid for everything in town. I could have given the monster the crumpled, five-dollar bill in my pocket, but this lochness preferred change for some reason. Maybe because the coins were so shiny, glimmering like perfect silver circles. Although I had no idea what the creature could possibly do with quarters. Maybe the lochness took the change to some hidden lair, made a nest out of the coins, and slept in the middle of them, like dragons with gold, gems, and other treasures in those old fairy tales.
The lochness wasn’t the only monster in town, and each kind required different forms of tribute to let you pass by safely. Small things mostly, like a lock of hair or a drop of blood or even a candy bar. That last one was for the tree trolls. Apparently, they loved their sugary snacks. But if some quarters or a chocolate bar kept something from attacking, killing, and eating me, then it was worth the effort to be nice and play along with the monsters.
My toll paid, I turned and walked down the far side of the bridge—
Clink. Clink. Clink.
My steps faltered, but I tightened my grip on my sword and resisted the urge to look over my shoulder for a glimpse of whatever had snatched my coins off the center stone.
Sometimes, Talent or not, it was better not to see things.
CHAPTER TWO
Ten minutes later, I turned off the street and sidled up to a brick building that took up an entire block. A faded sign planted in the lawn read CLOUDBURST FALLS LIBRARY—WESTERN BRANCH. No fancy castle adorned this sign, just a simple stack of splintered books. Like everything else in the neighborhood, the sign and the library were both a little worse for wear.
I slid my sword back into its scabbard, then reached up and pulled a pair of chopsticks out of my former ponytail. They looked like two thin, black-lacquered sticks, the sort women wear in their hair; however, a quick twist of the wood revealed the lock picks hidden inside.
I used the picks to open one of the side doors and slipped into the building. The interior was dark, but that didn’t bother me. Even if I hadn’t had my sight, I still would have been able to navigate through the stacks. My mom used to bring me here every Saturday in the summer when I was a kid, and I’d long ago memorized every inch of the library? from the miniature chairs and tables in the children’s section to the graffiti carved into the wooden shelves that housed the young adult books to the checkout counter with its out-of-date computers.