Page 1 of Leviathan's Song
Chapter 1
The bell ringingover the door made me grit my teeth in frustration. All I wanted was to focus on the project at my fingertips and ignore the world outside for a little while longer. If I’d been paying attention, it wouldn’t have caught me unaware, because the man entering had just enough magic for me to feel him coming from outside the shop.
I had a habit of blocking that extra perception out when I worked, since Sidney usually dealt with the customers. I preferred to hide away and lose myself in my projects. Today, that was impossible, so with resignation I set down my current piece, a jewel made to look like a wasp.
I couldn’t get it working yet anyway.
“Elara! Just the person I wanted to see!”
I masked a grimace, wishing I could say the same.
Val Harrington stalked across the entrance of my shop and pressed his meaty hands to the glass case in front of me. He was a paunchy, mid-level professor of archeology and fancied himself some kind of Indiana Jones. His magical ability was dowsing—finding things underground like water or minerals or fossils—and gave me the faintest impression of a scavenger following a scent through subterranean caverns.
My magical gift, one of the two, allowed me to suss out the nature of people’s magical abilities. My other magical gift, passed down by my father, allowed me to create magical objects, which was probably why he was here in my shop, Northern Charm.
“How can I help you, Mr. Harrington?” I plastered a smile on my face and braced myself for the inevitable conversation about how he had trapped and killed a dragon in the Bounds… twenty years ago.
Never mind that it had been hibernating and, being over ten thousand years old, so decrepit that the majority of its scales were missing. It hadn’t even had any teeth left, but Harrington was a hero in his own mind. Anyone who disagreed would be talked over with tales of his “trophy hunt of a lifetime,” though it had been so large that Harrington and his men couldn’t get it out of the mountain cave. They had taken only a single horn, and bringing it down the mountain had nearly cost one of the men’s lives when the group fell during descent. The great beast’s body had lain up in the mountain for the last twenty years, fouling up the passageway, while Harrington blathered on about it to anyone with ears.
“I have a fantastic business opportunity for you,” he said. His voice was booming, too loud for the small indoor space. “I just saw Sidney, and I told her to put in an order with you. I killed a dragon, you know.”Here we go.“I bet you could make a golem out of the bones still up in that cave!”
I choked. Technically, Icouldmake a golem—an artificial construct magically animated with a heartstone—out of bones, but the idea turned my stomach. It was too close to necromancy.
“If you can’t do that,” he said, responding to my reaction, “I will take a stone golem instead. Sidney wasn’t inclined to pass along my order, since I don’t have a heartstone. I can’t understand why you have someone like that working for you.”
My expression hardened. I didn’t like anyone disparaging my friends.
“I’m sorry you felt dismissed,” I hedged, “but Sidney knows my policies. I insist clients provide certified heartstones up front because they are prohibitively expensive and difficult to procure.” The only way to get one was to trade something of value to the little fairy-folk, unless you wanted to deal with the kelpies. Andno onedealt with the kelpies.
The fairies themselves were nearly impossible to barter with, not to mention terrifying. The water fairies, or sprites as they were known, had huge, luminous eyes and needle-like teeth. They left vicious bites when angered and rarely came to the surface for trade anyway. The fire fairies were basically born of hot coals and seething rage. Bargaining with them was like trying to bargain with a nest of angry hornets. Sparks were said to have the shortest tempers of all the fae, and anyone known for trading with them was bound to be covered in disfiguring scars. In fact, the only fairies who resembled the cutesy darlings of folklore were the pixies from the woodlands, and even they could leave a nasty bite.
It was risky business to bargain with the fae. After one of them suggested bartering a human child in exchange for a heartstone, I’d cut off trading with them all together. Now I insisted on my clients producing their own heartstone first,witha certified receipt detailing exactly what it was traded for.
“Not to mention,” I continued, “that a golem’s entirebeingis designed around the type of heartstone that drives it. A spark’s stone would need to power a creation of lava rock and fire. If a client wanted a fire golem, and then later was only able to procure a stone from a pixie, my work would be worthless, an empty husk. I’d have to start again. That’s why I require a heartstone and asubstantialdown payment up front, and because of this, I don’t make many golems. It’s not really the type of work I’m interested in pursuing.”
And that was fine with me. The task of building them was fraught with ethical quandaries and stacks of legal documents, and I tended to be suspicious of those requesting one anyway.
Especially Val Harrington.
“What is your purpose for needing a golem?” I asked.
“A down payment?” he sputtered, looking horrified. “This is an opportunity! Imagine how much interest you would get from people wanting to do business with you when I tell them you made it for me! You wouldn’t have to waste your time peddling these little trinkets anymore.”
He gestured to the cases of magical amulets, jewelry, and knives surrounding him that I’d poured hours of my time and energy into. I made a good living and got to work on new projects every day, so to have him dismiss my work as merely “trinkets” was incredibly insulting.
“For your information,” he continued haughtily, “I need a golem to help care for my… father. He’s ailing, you know.”
My expression hardened further, and I chose to dismiss that last bit, as I knew his family. His father had passed away when I was a child.
“I like what I do, Mr. Harrington, and I’m truly not interested in creating golems, stone or otherwise.”
“You elves are all the same, keeping your magic to yourselves and refusing to share it with other people.” He whirled on his heel and stomped from the store, trying and failing to slam the door behind him, since it worked on a self-closing hinge.
I blew out an angry breath and shook my head, making the tiny chains woven into my hair jingle, then turned to sigh at my bejeweled insect. My groan was audible when the bell chimed again, but relief filled me when my best friend swept in.
Today her long blond hair was pulled back in its usual ponytail, with several braids woven in. She was stunning, with her high cheekbones, pointed chin, and darker eyebrows and dark blue eyes that contrasted against pale skin. She was muscular for a woman, and with her height and strong frame, she always reminded me of some kind of warrior princess reincarnated from eons past.
“Was that little weasel coming from here?” Sidney asked, pointing toward the door. “I told him to get lost when he tried to corner me at the warehouse. He must have slipped out while I was still haggling and come here to pester you instead.”
