BLOODY SPADE [NOVEL PREVIEW]

CHAPTER ONE [PREVIEW PART 1/3]

MAY 21 | MARKET SQUARE

Magic was once a thing people yearned for. Dreamed of. People would pay large sums, even travel great distances, to be enthralled by a magician's sleight of hand. Not true magic, of course, just a skillful form of deception that tricked them into believing. Gave them a taste of what could be. But when real magic erupted into the mundane world, their outlook changed.

Now people long for the card tricks and vanishing acts and never-ending handkerchiefs, the simplicity of nimble fingers misleading the eye. And who could blame them? Because these past few years have made one thing abundantly clear . . .

Magic isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Iori Ryone surveyed Hildegrand's market square from the roof of one of the three multistory structures that framed it, pondering which of the colorful stalls below offered the best pickings. Food stalls, abundant and fragrant, filled the air with scents of curry, barbecue sauce, and deep fryer fat. Some vendors carried hand-crafted jewelry or quirky trinkets; others, printed leggings and shirts. Nothing of significant value. A pawnbroker might be interested in some of the finer jewelry pieces, though, and the crowd gathered for today's event would provide ample distraction.

Iori crossed the rooftop, weather-worn shingles crackling under equally worn boots, and peered over the lip to check that the rear alley was clear. It was. With a click of his heels, he jumped, landing weightlessly at the bottom of the four-story drop—a subtle vibration and a flare of violet under his feet.

A few months ago, such a drop would've left him quaking from the adrenaline rush, and he would have hesitated before taking the plunge. Now it felt almost natural, no more a challenge than walking.

Hood hiked up to conceal the cat-like ears protruding from his tousled black hair, the matching tail tucked inside his jacket, Iori followed the stream of eventgoers into the bustling market square. From the roof, the buskers' whimsical tunes had drowned out the crowd's chatter. Down here, however, their voices dominated. Bubbly and tired, annoyed and content—all melding together in a dissonant racket.

The square hosted a number of events throughout the year. For the winter solstice in December, a giant pine would stand in its center, adorned in tinsel and twinkling lights, and people would flock to it by the thousands. The Starlight Festival in January attracted similar attendance. And at the height of spring, when the cherry blossoms were in full bloom, it played host to a rather more poignant affair.

Reemergence Day.

Today marked the seventh anniversary of the day magic returned to the mundane world. The day a centuries-old myth became reality. It came as shadow and light and fire and frost, and in a hundred other forms that manifested in the hands of children and adults alike. Empowered, they called them. Nobody could decide yet whether they were the heroes or the villains of this brave new world. Saints or sinners, a gift or a curse.

The way Iori saw it, they could be both and neither. Magic didn't automatically make good people bad, and it didn't make bad people good. And then there were those who walked the line somewhere in between—people like Iori, who weren't quite sure where they belonged. But in a society obsessed with black and white, gray didn't fly.

Gray was unpredictable.

Gray was unreliable.

Gray was enigmatic.

Well, this gray just wanted to fetch a few bucks and a meal. He hadn't eaten since yesterday morning—or was it the morning before?—and his stomach ached with hunger. There were soup kitchens and shelters available, but those places had eyes. Cameras in every corner, guards at every door. Iori couldn't chance being caught, so instead, he stole. However, in order to keep his already dark shade from darkening further, he stuck by two simple rules: