Mists of Velvet

I’m pissed now . . .”
    The symbols faded to a blue-black color. They now resembled ordinary tribal tats. But they were far from ordinary, or innocuous.
    “It’s my duty to protect you, Rhys.”
    “I know that.”
    “There is no place in Annwyn for you.”
    “I know that, too. But this mortal gig is pretty damned boring. Especially when I know for a fact you’re involved in something and are deliberately leaving me out.”
    “For your own safety.”
    “You make me sound like a weakling.”
    “No. Just a mortal.”
    Rhys bit back his thoughts. He really hated to be reminded of his mortality. When you spent your life with magical and powerful creatures, being human was a disappointing vocation.
    He knew he wouldn’t win this argument with Keir, so he tried another tack. “So what’s going on in Annwyn that has you going there every day?”
    “I want to see Rowan.”
    That was the truth. Rhys felt Keir’s honesty, and his despair. But there was another reason for going. Rhys sensed it. And he didn’t like that Keir was able to keep something from him—not when Rhys’ life was an open book to the wraith.
    But pummeling Keir wouldn’t work. And neither would pestering him into spilling what the hell was going on in Annwyn.
    “Suriel does not lie about what will happen to you, Rhys.”
    “How do you know?”
    Keir winced, glanced away, and dragged his hands through his black hair. “I have seen it.”
    Tarot cards. Keir’s special kind of magic was divination. He used scrying and detection spells, and sometimes fire. But mostly he used the tarot. And some of the shit Keir saw was downright terrifying.
    “You believe me. I sense that.” Keir stepped into the office, closing the door behind him. “You know I would never lie to you about these things.”
    Rhys watched as the wraith paced the width of the room. The heavy soles of his Doc Martens pounded the floor. It was the only sound in the room, and Rhys suddenly felt unnerved—oppressed—by the quiet.
    “The woman in the alley,” Keir began. “I have seen more like her. The killings will not stop. They will continue on both mortals and immortals. The torture worse than before. The rituals will become more complicated, and through these sacrifices, the mage and his apprentice, the Destroyer, will become stronger in their power.”
    Keir stopped before his desk, his eyes now a muted silver, a sign he was in an altered divination state. “The greater the sacrifice, the stronger the powers. Do you understand?”
    “I understand the bastard needs to be caught before he kills again.”
    “No. You’re not listening. The greater the sacrifice—”
    “Why don’t you explain it—plainly?” Rhys demanded, exasperated. “I’m just a mortal, remember? I don’t get all this magical stuff.”
    “If you forfeit your safety to look for me in Annwyn, you’ll have more than Cailleach to worry about. The mage will see you as a wondrous offering. Your struggles to save yourself will empower him. And what if,” Keir said quietly, “I cannot get to you in time? Do you really want your soul stolen and given up to the Dark Arts?”
    Keir watched Rhys carefully as he continued. “Your courage is admirable. Your worry for me appreciated but not warranted. Your mortality makes you—”
    “Weak?” Rhys snarled. “Inconvenient? A general pain in the ass?”
    “Vulnerable,” Keir finished for him.
    It always came down to this—how ineffectual he was, trapped between two worlds and belonging to neither.
    “I gotta go,” Rhys snapped. “It’s opening time, and I have a full night to put in.”
    “Do not worry, Rhys. Soon the mage will be caught, and this chapter will be over. We’ll be able to return to normal.”
    Rhys stopped and glared at his friend. “What the fuck makes you think anything about you and me is normal?”

CHAPTER THREE

    “You could have been a tad more forceful.”
    Keir watched as Suriel emerged from the shadows. “I’ve already aroused his suspicions. He’s like a damned pit bull with a bone. His jaws are locked, and he’s not going to let go. He won’t give up until he wins.”
    “An admirable quality,” the angel mocked, “if one desires to be bound to an altar and mutilated.”
    The fierce protectiveness that came naturally to him all but swallowed up Keir’s rational thought. “He’s a mortal. He has free will. He will do as he chooses, regardless of warnings.”
    Suriel shrugged. “I think you could