Starkeeper of the Fractured Crown

Just like the cottage, the Impossible Street had only one entrance and the same exit. That alley. Which made sense. Everyone here had magic. They could portal, open magical doorways, Jump out of here. They didn’t need an entrance.

Madam Levine’s Shop sat right up against the wall that blocked the very end of the street, an ancient structure leaning up against a seemingly impenetrable force. It wasmy favorite shop on the whole street. I visited every time I came here and was always met with a devious smile.

I pushed open the door, the light chime of a bell sounding through the old store, spice, and something sweet filling my nose.

The shop was made of rotting wood, held together by the iron-clad will of the old woman. The creaking of the wooden floorboards was music to my ears as I gazed upon the rows of wooden shelves filled with all sorts of curious objects.

The light, struggling to come in through the murky, dusty windows, gave a sort of halo to the things lining the shelves.

I made my way slowly down one aisle, running my fingers over the edge of the shelf sitting at eye-level. Jars of strange moving goops, glass figurines, a trumpet, a throwing star.

Madam Levine had told me once that everything in this shop was magical. Some cursed, some blessed, she would never reveal which was which. It was almost like a game. I had considered from time to time purchasing something at random just to test it out, but I needed the resources for my cottage, my brother.

“…something of that power isn’t real.”

I slowed at Madam Levine’s old but strong voice, peeking between an hourglass of living gold and a bowler hat with a purple brim to get a better look at who was speaking to the old wolf.

“He killed a village filled with his own people, Minerva, and all for this single item? No king in their right mindwould do that.”

“No one ever claimed that man was anything other than a true monster, I don’t see how that is a surprise.”

Madam Levine was sitting at the front desk, speaking with a tall, black-haired man wearing a top hat crookedly on his head. He held a cane in his right hand, beautiful, black twisting roots with a strange looking dragon’s head on the top that changed color with every breath of motion. He didn’t look old enough to need a cane, but age was but a number in a world filled with immortals.

“I don’t have it,” she sighed when the man didn’t reply. “The information you seek does not exist, especially here.”

He was searching for information? I had plenty of information.

“I don’t know why in the world you would ever think of coming to Therian in search of an answer to what that male is doing anyway. I don’t even know how you managed to find this place or why you’re taking such a big risk in coming here. It’s idiotic.”

The man frowned.

“And even if I did have what you were looking for, what could you possibly do about it? If this preposterous story has any truth to it, then nothing, not even your egotistical, wretched High King, could stop him. I’ve been telling everyone for decades that the War of Ruin wasn’t the end of it, and here we are.” She clicked her tongue in bitter disappointment.

She was right. The War of Ruin had only been step two. But most refused to acknowledge that.

Whomever they were speaking of, it sounded serious. I had to know his name. There was no choice in it.

“I don’t believe in being doomed,” the man stated, lifting his chin. “My source led me here. I understand that there is no magic allowed in Therian which is the very reason I came. This street is a mystery in and of itself, how could I possibly stay away?”

Well, he had her there.

“However, all I’ve gotten are dead ends. Something must have interfered with my magic.”

Madam Levine pressed her lips into a tight line, wrinkles on top of wrinkles only making her look older. “You warlocks and your conspiracy theories. You obviously got the spell wrong, but I understand that your egos are—”

“No, no, that’s not it,” he mumbled, mostly to himself.

She frowned deeply. “Delicate,” she finished.

Warlocks were immensely proud creatures, but I supposed most Nightwalkers were. Especially the Fallen. Warlocks were proud and cocky. The Fallen were proud andincrediblyterritorial. Pixies were just plain evil. Fae wore their confidence like crowns. I’d have to say they were the best species when it came to pride. The wolves had aggression issues when their pride was challenged, and the vampires? Well, they were just uptight. They had rules and there was absolutelynobreaking them. It was ridiculous.

I didn’t have time to stand around any longer. Warlocks weren’t known for being careless killers, so I was decently safe in this one’s presence.

Unless he was having a bad day.

I stepped out of the shadows and lifted my chin. “Afternoon, Madam,” I announced, allowinga soft smile, despite the fact that she couldn’t see it.

The two turned. Levine offered her best smile, knowing and mischievous, while the warlock looked on as if he had found the most curious thing in his presumedly long life. “Astraea,” she greeted.