Maps, Artifacts, and Other Arcane Magic (Dowser Series Book 5) (3 page)

I tried out a chagrined smile.

Pulou’s frown deepened.

The pen twitched, and I grabbed it before it started writing runes all over the map and Rochelle’s charcoal drawing.

“It was a prank,” I said, lamely attempting to explain why I’d given the treasure keeper a pen that wrote — magically and continuously — on any surface. A pen he’d had me collect from its beleaguered owners. “I wasn’t even sure it would act up in your … hands …”

Pulou really wasn’t pleased with me.

“Honestly,” I babbled, “maybe I couldn’t even fix it.”

“The pen is now under your guardianship, alchemist.” Despite the English accent, Pulou currently sounded a lot like the grizzly bear he resembled. “May it help you on your quest.”

That sounded more like a curse than a blessing. But I suddenly remembered my manners and slowly rose to offer the treasure keeper a shallow bow. I was usually forgiven my informal behavior — what with being raised in the human world by witches — but even I could hear the reprimand in Pulou’s normally jovial tone.

And it wasn’t the pen’s naughty behavior that had upset him.

He was pissed that I still hadn’t unlocked the map and collected the next instrument of assassination.

Well, I’d been trying, damn it.

Pulou’s gaze dropped to the journal currently resting on top of the map, pages spread open. He raised an eyebrow at it, then held out his hand toward me.

Obligingly, I picked up the book and dropped it in his hand. As I did so, the charmed pen leaped from my grip and landed on the desk. I slapped my hand down on it before it managed to start writing.

Pulou looked at me pointedly.

“Won’t happen again,” I muttered, avoiding his gaze.

“I doubt that,” he said. Then he began to flip through the journal.

Normally, things weren’t so tense in the nexus and among the guardians. True, they were usually saving the world somehow — vanquishing demon incursions or foiling evil plans I wanted to know nothing about. But ever since I’d retrieved the braids, the atmosphere had changed.

I didn’t understand what exactly was going on, but three months ago, I was certain that Pulou would have found the pen’s antics hilarious.

“I’ve never seen this,” Pulou said as he peered at the book. “Where did you find it?”

“It found me.”

“Interesting.”

“Sure.” Dragons like to read things into every action and call it fate. But I would place money on the journal simply not liking the taste of my half-blood magic.

“May I borrow it for the evening?”

I didn’t know what time zone the treasure keeper was referring to, but I really hoped it wasn’t evening in Vancouver yet. I had a date. For which I had purposefully worn the sweater dress just in case I was running late.

“It belongs to you more than me, treasure keeper,” I said. “Though it might refer to the map, and that would be seriously helpful.”

Pulou nodded. “The items in the library are for all dragons, warrior’s daughter.” His voice was now gentle. “Do not let anyone convince you otherwise.”

Yeah, I was working on not being quite so transparent. But ever since I’d collected the braids — and had been capable of touching them with no ill effect — a few guardians who’d previously been friendly now seemed to avoid me.

Namely, Qiuniu and Haoxin, who were the two youngest guardians. Though it wasn’t like we’d all gone for coffee and a chat before either. And guardians had crazy schedules, so I might just be reading too much into their extended absence from the nexus.

Conversely, Suanmi seemed a little less frosty toward me. Which, honestly, I didn’t know how to take. We usually only crossed paths during training sessions. Maybe the fire breather just enjoyed watching Drake acquaint me with the hard floor … over and over again.

I nodded and Pulou patted me on the shoulder. I attempted to not stumble under this assault of kindness.

“I see you have discovered the centipede,” Pulou said.

For a moment, I had no idea what he was talking about. Then I turned to look at Rochelle’s charcoal sketch lying next to the dragonskin map. “Centipede. Right.”

Actually, from this vantage point, the mechanical-looking blocks that decorated the edge of the map looked similar to the body of Rochelle’s centipede. Except they were jumbled around and not connected.

“The centipede appears in many myths and tales in both human and Adept cultures …” But as he spoke, Pulou lifted his head as if sensing something only he could hear. “I must go. Your father calls. I will return the journal tomorrow and answer any questions you have. The library will yield any book you desire. You just have to … ask nicely.”

I snorted. “Yeah, according to you and the sword master.” I’d tried ‘asking nicely’ already. The library was deaf to my requests.

Pulou chuckled, as if the library might be a cute kid I could win over with a couple of oatmeal cookies. Then he turned away.

“Wait,” I said, my mind and gaze still mostly on the map and the charcoal sketch. “Who is Shailaja?”

The treasure keeper stopped with his back to me. He slowly turned his head without turning his body, as if he was thinking about not answering — which would be out of character.

“That name’s in the journal,” I said. “At the very end. Am I pronouncing it correctly?”

Pulou nodded curtly. “My predecessor’s daughter.”

“It says she broke with the guardians. What does that mean?”

“She is gone. It’s terrible to lose a child that way.” Pulou gazed down at the leather-bound journal in his hand but didn’t continue.

“Okay,” I said. And because I really didn’t like the tension that was building up between us, I let the subject drop. “I’ll focus on centipede myths now. And leave questions about the journal for tomorrow.”

Pulou shook off whatever memory was playing in his head. “Yes.”

Then he left.

Okay. Obviously this Shailaja chick was bad news … or a bad memory.

I sat back down at the table and pulled Rochelle’s sketch closer. The edge of the thick paper was ragged, as if it had been torn from the oracle’s sketchbook. Rochelle had many different tattoos, including a sleeve of barbed wire with a bunch of items snagged in the barbs and a sleeve of ivy winding up her arms. I wondered if she’d drawn the centipede with the intention of adding it to the barbed wire or if she had planned to have it tattooed elsewhere, only to have Chi Wen tell her to tear it out of her sketchbook so Drake could deliver it to me.

‘To match yours,’ Drake had said. But the only tattoo I had was the one on dragonskin … oh, okay.

I folded the blank edge of the slightly nubby paper and tried to line it up alongside the blocks on the map.

Except they didn’t line up.

Or did they?

I touched the square at the bottom right corner of the map. The combination of dragon and alchemist magic danced underneath my fingertips, as if trying to be helpful. The square looked similar to — though not exactly like — the one near the middle of Rochelle’s charcoal sketch.

Now that I practically had my nose pressed to the tattooed map, the square in the middle didn’t look so square. It looked a little like the head of Rochelle’s centipede without the antenna.

I removed my fingers from the tattoo. The taste of its magic abated to its normal ever-present levels. I knew the map was capable of changing — morphing into other views, as it had done the closer we were to the fortress in the Bahamas. But I’d had a key then. A key we’d lost in the Atlantic Ocean when the fortress collapsed.

I’d panicked over that loss. But then when the map changed after we’d collected the braids, I assumed I needed to source a second key to unlock it further.

So what if the key was already embedded in the tattoo? Just waiting to be aligned?

I traced my finger around the edges of the square closest to me. Once again, the magic tingled against my skin. If the square was three dimensional — say like a checker piece, except not round — then I could just apply a tiny bit of pressure and slide it …

The square shifted underneath my fingertips.

I held my breath, glanced at Rochelle’s sketch, and pushed the square until it was as aligned to the same-sized one on her drawing as possible. The other squares along the map shifted to accommodate it.

I removed my fingers from the tattoo.

The map reverted to its previous aspect. Obviously, I had to be touching the tattoo to maintain the realignment.

Pressing my fingers to each square, working one at a time and carefully maintaining contact with the tattoo, I shifted them all until they copied the order depicted in Rochelle’s sketch.

Then I waited.

Nothing happened.

“It’s not a centipede yet,” I murmured. No antennae.

I scanned the blotchy blue and green areas of the tattoo, but didn’t see anything that resembled disconnected antennae.

Then I saw two dots next to some leaves on the top left corner of the map. I reached up and coaxed the dots out from underneath the leaves.

Yes, I was somehow moving two-dimensional objects around on a tattoo, as if it were an iPad. I hadn’t bothered questioning the ways of magic for a long while. If I did, I’d be constantly overwhelmed and completely dysfunctional in the Adept world.

The dots had lines attached to them once I pulled them out from their hiding spots. I dragged them over and placed them next to the head of the centipede.

Again, nothing happened. The squares were all lined up with each other, but they didn’t mimic the flow of Rochelle’s sketch. They had no … life. None of the vitality that Rochelle captured so effortlessly when she drew … and smudged.

Her lines were smudged and smoothed, blended and shaded.

I ran my fingers over the edges of the antenna and the squares that I’d collected together. I imagined the way a centipede moved. How it would look if it suddenly ran across the dragonskin.

The magic of the tattoo shifted underneath my fingers.

The centipede took form, twining up the side of the map.

Relieved and invigorated, I laughed.

The blue and green swirl of the center of the tattoo blurred, then solidified into a huge landmass along a coast I didn’t recognize. A large body of water was landlocked in the middle of the mass of green. Many triangles dotted the entire area. A huge lake surrounded by mountains?

The atlases on either side of the table rose up in the air.

“That can’t be good,” I muttered. Then I flung my arms around my head as the books dive-bombed me.

I stumbled out of my chair, knocking it backward as the column of books Drake had been perching on tried to knock me off my feet. I smacked them away as I grabbed the map, pen, and Rochelle’s sketch, quickly stuffing them in my satchel.

Then the books on the shelves behind me thought slamming against my head and shoulders looked like fun, so they got in on the action.

I ran for the entrance to the library, thankful that I could see it from my table so I wouldn’t get lost. As long as it didn’t move, of course.

Books of all ages and sizes swirled around me as I ran. I could have cut them down with my knife, but that would have ruined them. I was pretty sure such destruction would be seriously frowned upon.

Running in the eye of a book hurricane, I made it to the exit. I would have cleared the archway without further trouble, except the Persian carpet underneath my feet tripped me.

Yes, I swear it deliberately tripped me.

I tumbled through the archway and slid — face down — across the marble floor. I came to a stop only a few inches from a pair of impossibly handsome caramel-skinned feet.

I groaned internally. Only one male in existence could have feet that beautiful.

I cranked my head to the side and peered up through the tumble of blond curls obscuring my vision.

Qiuniu, the guardian of South America, aka the healer, was peering down at me. The breathtakingly beautiful dragon was wearing nothing but a simple pair of beige linen shorts.

I stopped myself from groaning in appreciation of this display. Even for a girl happily dating a gorgeous, rugged dragon and eagerly hoping to take him to her bed — hopefully tonight — that was a lot of smooth, well-muscled, practically hairless skin.

“The library doesn’t react well to the manipulation of magic.” The Brazilian healer had no discernible inflection in his Latin lilt, as if I wasn’t sprawled prostrate at his feet.

Well, maybe he got that reaction a lot.

“Right. Check,” I said, rather than exploding into a rant about no one telling me these things ahead of time. Even public pools had ‘Rules of Conduct’ signs posted at their entrances.

I gathered my feet underneath me and rose.

Qiuniu didn’t help me up.

I straightened my sweater dress and my satchel, then smoothed my hair. Well, as smooth as it got.

The healer watched me, though without any hint of his usual playful flirting. “You appear unharmed.”

“I am.”

He spun away before the second word was out of my mouth.

I watched him walk away, feeling sad as I did so. It wasn’t as if we’d been friends before, but I would have counted Qiuniu among the more supportive of the guardians.

Yeah, the mood in the nexus had changed. And not for the better. To my mind, anyway.

The books hadn’t followed me through the archway. A glance back determined that they seemed to be slowly returning to the shelves and stacks. That was a bitch, because I would have liked to get my hands on the atlases I’d set aside, so I could compare them to the landmass the map had shown me. Now I’d have to collect them all again.

I almost stepped back into the library, then reminded myself I had a date and wasn’t sure of the time. Coming face to face with guardians tended to speed things up in the outside world, and I’d just had two uncomfortable chats.

So I headed home.

CHAPTER TWO

The nexus might be filled with magic and gilded decor, but I was never more content than when I stepped back through the portal and returned to my bakery, Cake in a Cup.

Of course, it probably helped that I had to cross through a pantry filled with chocolate, vanilla, and other delectable scents to enter the bakery kitchen from the basement.