Under the Dragon Moon (The Belamour Archives, #1)

by Mawce Hanlin

“Is it rude to say it smells like something died?” Leo asked, his voice barely a whisper as he ducked into the tent behind me. Something probably did die, honestly.

She made a terrifying, dreadful picture if you weren’t prepared for her—thin gray skin pulled taut over sharp, protruding bones, looming so tall she had to duck to avoid her own hanging decor. Her lanky black hair dripped with dark water, leaving trails of it mucked across her skin like rivers cut across a map, and she breathed so rarely that if not for her jewel-green eyes blinking slowly at us, I might have thought her dead. Or…more dead. I didn’t care much for most undead species, but rusalki like Ambra were rarely malevolent towards anyone who didn’t deserve their ire. They were isolated creatures, living mostly near the place they’d drowned and giving life and blessings to those who actively sought them out. Ambra was the only rusalki I’d ever heard of who strayed so far from her home.

“A cufflink. Probably what cut through my shirt. Guy must have been in a hurry.” I stood and pocketed the accessory, earning a raised eyebrow from Leo. “What? He shouldn’t have dropped it.”

“We did a lot of stupid stuff in college—drugs, partying, more drugs. Do shrooms or acid once and you’ll swear magic is real to anyone who’ll listen, you know?”

“How did I help with that? You didn’t see me do magic until I came to the house.” Leo snorted, side-eyeing me. “Your bookshelves moved, Mael. I can explain away a lot of stuff, but shelves that move on their own? I waited for you for like two hours and every time I turned around to head for the door, something was in my way. Then you showed up and when you tried to leave, the shelf literally blocked your path. I had some suspicions before then, some stuff Remy did or said that made me entertain the idea, but I never really admitted it to myself until then. Kind of hard not to, at that point.”

The Kid once told me that I should feel at home at Gavri’s. That maybe that’s why I liked Rueben as much as I did. I always figured it was just because I liked Rueben.

“That’s it right? It looks like a fancy spellbook, but like… way fancier than yours. No offense.” It was fancier.

“Hey, this isn’t going to cost me my first born, is it?” I spared Leo a raised eyebrow and he glared playfully back. “What? You said it was possible! I shouldn’t be blamed for having that put in my head! I just need to know what this stuff is going to cost me!”

“Don’t worry about it,” I assured him, holding up my hand when Leo tried to argue. “Seriously. Rueben and I already have a preset agreement. These books aren’t costing me anything.” The blonde frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “You want me to believe in a magic black market, one where you had to warn me not to talk to anyone on the off chance I accidentally sell my soul to them, that these books are free?” I tried to hold back the smirk. I really did.

While anyone here—aside from Rueben and probably Ambra—would salivate at the idea of a dragon egg to break down for parts, a thief would most likely get more out of it from an auction. Humble merchants versus rich collectors. An age-old battle.

I had no idea what to expect from him when we made it back to his shop. His magic shop. Because he was magic. And we’d just come back from a magic black market. It all still felt like a weird-ass drug trip sometimes. Like I’d wake up tomorrow morning with my phone blasting Photograph by Nickelback and Lori yelling that I was late for some event or another.

Eventually, our lunch detour began to look increasingly familiar, and by the time we stopped in front of the little corner cafe, I was shaking my head in vehement denial. “No. No way. Absolutely not.” I glared when the other man just smirked at me. “This is a tourist trap. It’s always been a tourist trap!” Mael chuckled, smiling just wide enough for me to catch the hint of his tongue poking out between his teeth. “It’s a good cover.

As for Nessie, there is a family of Cirein-cròin that live in the loch and have for many generations. We assume that’s where the story about Nessie came from.” “Cirein-cròin?” The southern tilt to my accent left much to be desired in the way of pronunciation, and Mael raised a hand to his face as if it’d hide the way his mouth widened in a smile. Thankfully, he didn’t comment on it. “It’s a type of sea serpent. Distantly related to dragons, I think.” “So we do have proof of Nessie! That photo that was taken—” “Was just a stick,” Mael interrupted with a little tilt to his head, something indulgent and amused pressed between his lips.

We’d only just gotten our food—which, honestly, was way better than what they sold to the tourists out front, how rude was that?—when Mael took a bite and let out a hissed “Merde” from the heat.

“Wait—nope—sorry. We’re not just going to skip over that. The forties? As in the nineteen forties? You were born in the nineteen forties?” Or well— “I was born in the nineteen-thirties.” Right, math. I’d never been good at it.

Mael narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re very weird.”

“You’re like the warlocks in D&D,” I blurted out, dutifully ignoring how my cheeks tried to flush from embarrassment at dropping that nerd knowledge. “You’re basically magical sugar babies!” Unfortunately—or hilariously from my side of the table—Mael had decided to take a drink right then. My comparison had him sputtering and choking around a mouthful of water, his arm shooting up to try and catch the overflow spillage with his sleeve. I tossed my head back and laughed, the glare he shot at me too adorable when paired with the quiet coughs and the way his eyes watered as he tried to breathe again.

Something soft and sorrowful colored his tone at the end, a weight settling almost visibly on his shoulders. Like he was remembering something from long ago.

I was angry. I was furious that I wasn’t included in whatever fancy magic shit the Slythes were planning. But not because of the magic, or the rituals, or even their traditions. I was furious because they were keeping my twin from me; they were hurting my niece by keeping us in the dark.

Julia was all bruised knuckles and sharpened teeth, and I was a chronic kleptomaniac who wouldn’t speak, we were two sides of the same little shit.

Worry carved a vicious scar between her eyebrows,

“I guess you could probably take them if you want. Honestly, you can probably take anything in here, but I don’t know what Remy should probably keep, you know? For her magic and stuff? Are there like, magical heirlooms? Would they even keep those here? Or do you guys have magic safe deposit boxes at magic banks or something?”

“It looks kind of like a dictionary,” Leo mused, flipping back to the beginning of the book where a runic alphabet was penned, “and look, someone was leaving sticky notes! ‘Make sure to curve the tail backwards rather than forwards or you’ll spell—’ oh yeah, that probably would get you punched.”

“Will she have to learn it? Because I was prepared to help her with math homework, not magic homework.” I nearly offered to help her myself. Nearly. But regardless of how much fun Leo seemed to be having with all this, and how weirdly attached I was growing to his endless curiosity, this was just a job. He was my client, and I was his employee. Once this was all over, I doubted we’d ever see each other again aside from a casual “Hello” if we passed each other in the street. For some reason, that thought churned my stomach.

I didn’t have to look at him to know Leo’s eyes were on me again—they were like the warning of a sunburn on my cheeks.

I hadn’t realized how close we’d gotten when I sat down to look at the book, but he radiated a gentle warmth and I felt drawn to it like a lizard on a basking rock—our thighs pressed together and our shoulders brushing with every breath. Amber eyes flickered down, long eyelashes fluttering against pale cheeks. His freckles glittered with guardian magic, tiny lightning bugs forming constellations over the crooked bridge of his nose. Unable to help myself, I raised a finger to brush across them, fascinated with the small bite of embers dancing across my knuckles—the sun flares reaching out to wrap around my tattooed fingers.

Would he taste like sunshine if I kissed him? Did I want to kiss him? Did he want to kiss me?

I closed my eyes and held my breath. Snow crunched underfoot, cold on my tongue when my magic reached out and found the Kid’s. The soft hint of ozone and rain drifted from the couch where Owen’s grimoire still lay open where I left it. Other magic throbbed around me the more I focused—a tinkling lullaby of a keyboard in the front window of the shop, the swooping nausea of a folded paper crane hanging above my bed, the gaping emptiness of one of Galileo’s telescopes in the attic.

Grief was an ugly and heavy burden that did not care whose shoulders it rested on.

What the hell were you thinking, taking an intruder on by yourself? And a djinn? You can barely throw a punch!”

“Don’t be mean to him,” she demanded. “Momma said we shouldn’t be mean to people who are hurt!” She wobbled precariously on the cushion, and I steadied her with my good elbow. “I can when he was being dumb in the first place—ˮ “He was protecting us!” “Jules, baby.” Harry raised an eyebrow at her wife. “Need I remind you that you’re an adult and you are arguing with an eight-year-old?”

“And you are?” “Doctor Harriett Guerin. I belong to that one.” She jerked her head towards Julia and shook Leo’s hand. “Leo. Leo Greyson. I guess I belong to that one,” he responded with a shaky finger in my direction.

“Rem, baby, you scared the Jesus outta me.

“I’d like to know that too. Seriously, Mael. What were you thinking? Having a djinn here? Going after it like that?” “I was thinking that I had two kids to protect while someone broke into my warded house,” I snapped back, the pain and fear finally boiling over to saturate my tone. “And the djinn wasn’t mine. She was here for the egg.”

“Right.” The Kid slapped their hands on their thighs and scooped Remington from Leo’s arms. “Why don’t we go take a nap in my room while we let the grown-ups talk about the boring stuff, yeah?”

Leo’s hand was on my chin, turning my head and tipping it up so he could get a better look at the dark red stain on my throat. Harry had done her best, but there was only so much she could do in one night without overloading, so she promised she’d be back in a few days to get rid of the rest of the burns before the scars settled in. Judging by the grimace on Leo’s face, it still looked pretty bad. “Jesus, she really gotcha good, didn’t she?” Gentle summer heat crept over my jaw and up my cheeks, and I hoped it was due to his magic and not my face flushing at his close proximity.

When he spoke again, his voice was barely louder than a whisper. “Thank you for keeping Remy safe. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost her too. Y’know?” Yeah, I knew. As much as I liked to argue that the Kid wasn’t really my kid, I honestly didn’t know what I’d do if something ever happened to them.

I thought about telling him that, about offering a bit of myself in return for whatever vulnerability he was showing right now, but when his gaze rose to meet mine, I couldn’t get the words out. I’d never noticed before but there was green in his eyes—freckled across the amber like leaves that hadn’t yet lost their colour in the fall. He looked so soft. Like he’d taste of honey bread if I kissed him. I licked my lips and his gaze flickered down to them, his fingers twitching where they rested on the pillow next to mine. “Are you going to kiss me, Mr. Greyson?”

The man was grieving, and regardless of what movies and TV shows told you, kissing someone didn’t immediately take a problem away. But gods did I want to know what his lips tasted like. His cheeks dusted a soft spring pink, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. “Can I?” And how was I supposed to ...

“I still think you’re prettier, babe.” “Oh, get fucked, you’re contractually obligated to tell me I’m pretty.”

“We’re going to the ballet, figured I’d go on theme, you know?” “Right. And who is ‘we?’ The sexy librarian guy you’ve been talking about? He seems like the ballet type. Old, boring, taking young pretty things to the opera house.” “He’s not boring—” “Ah, but he is sexy.”

I’d known that from the first moment I saw him—looking half dead, bags under his eyes and hair a mess, wearing clothes that he probably hadn’t changed in a week. Lori always joked that my taste in guys was “grumpy cat disaster gay,” and while God only knows what that means, it vibed pretty well with Mael’s whole general presence. Not to mention the tattoos, and the way his tummy looked like my fingers would squish into it if I grabbed him by the hips.

“I haven’t even thought far enough ahead to consider the sex talk with her. I’m still trying to remember that I have to feed her three times a day.

“He’s actually kind of sweet?” I kept my voice quiet, not because I didn’t want the others to hear, but because it felt like a secret. Like something I hadn’t even really admitted to myself yet. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to bedroom tango with that man so hard, but it’s—” I blew a raspberry and shrugged. “It’s different, I guess.

“He’s kind of quiet, but he really gets going when he’s talking about his books. And he’s so smart, Merc. You should hear him when he’s excited about a topic, or if he’s explaining something I don’t understand. He doesn’t think I’m an idiot when I ask too many questions or get mad at me if I need things repeated.” “Jeez Louise, Leo, you’re down bad.” I blushed, glaring at her. “I am not ‘down bad.’ I just think he’s… neat.”

Leo. I need to meet this man.” Absolutely not. “Absolutely not.

But if it gets serious, you’ll bring him home to meet the family. I better not have to wait until you’re pregnant with a child out of wedlock before meeting him.”

You’re not usually nervous for dates.” I shouldn’t have been nervous, and I told her so. She was right; once I got to college, my confidence skyrocketed to almost unhealthily cocky amounts. I knew I was hot shit, knew I could pull anyone I wanted—and starting a rock band that actually became popular in the underground circles surely didn’t help that idea in my head.

Mael was a pretty thing I didn’t think I’d ever get bored of though. Which was stupid because we barely knew each other. Before I kissed him—before he asked me to kiss him—we’d only spent a few days together, the rest of the time mostly texting, but we were just working a job. A job. That’s what this was, and mixing that with attraction could lead to dangerous paths. But he was sweet, with that small smile of his—like he didn’t think he was allowed to smile any bigger—and the quiet way he spoke about the things he held interest in—not a shy kind of quiet, but a passionate one. Like he didn’t need people to listen to him for him to talk, like he was just eager to get the information out there in case someone was interested. It was adorable. He was adorable. God fucking damnit, I’m screwed.

Have fun on your date. We’ll take care of the little monster while you’re gone. Teach her all the ways of being a real punk—have her first beer, smoke her first cigarette, smash her first guitar.” “You even touch my baby, Mercy, and I’ll run your drums over with my van,” I threatened as she walked away.