Born of Shadow and Sea

Cheers to Xander Crowfield

NOOR

Adelaide has a gift. For a mortal girl with no magic to speak of, she wields power over a crowd akin to any curse or potion. Without hex or poison, she bends people to her will, drawing them into her web of deception. Whatever lies she wishes for them to believe, they believe. Because she believes first.

And that is, of course, the beginning and end of all magic.

Belief.

An irony not lost on me, the secret child of Nascenterra, the only babe born of the same world as magic itself. Entirely unknown and utterly denied, and yet, indisputably magical simply by being created where magic itself comes to be.

Seven hundred years I've moved through civilizations of magical folk and trancies. Never believed in by either. And still the most powerful girl in all of creation.

But it's Adelaide's ability I'm focused on now and I watch as she starts with an earsplitting shriek to set the scene. Instantly, she takes captive her audience, the usual collection of shoppers, vendors, and pickpockets of Pucklebury's morning market.

"Thief!" Adelaide screeches at the top of her lungs, spindly white finger darting out in front of her, pointing into the crowded marketplace like a blade out for blood and yet seeking no one specifically. Still, all eyes turn at once, taking her in before looking on to search the faces staring back at her accusatory finger.

"Stop them!" she cries out, slender braids of chestnut hair shaking on the waves of her tantrum as she gestures wildly at the poor souls desperately trying to scramble away now. At first, the attempts are subtle. A shadow slipping off here, a turned head moving away there. Then, as Adelaide increases the flame fueling her fit, survival instincts conquer reason, and a most delightful chaos ensues.

It's never short of fascinating to view an entire marketplace divide itself on guilty conscience alone.

All because of Adelaide who stands at the center of her own storm, as much a part of the illusion as anything.

First, in her narrow, bony build. Then, the doe eyes of watery blue. And lastly, a complexion so milky white the violet of her veins shines through everywhere sunlight touches, giving new meaning to the term 'blue blood'. It's no surprise it takes but one look at Adelaide to convince the entire marketplace she's but a frail, youthful, innocent elite who's been victimized by the scoundrels prowling these streets in search of an easy mark.

A charming twist of irony.

As we are the scoundrels prowling these streets.

From the second Adelaide opened her mouth to release her bloodcurdling scream, I've been on the move. I could do what everyone else does, nick watches and rings in passing. Snatch coin purses every time my shoulder bumps into another. But my aim reaches beyond petty thieving.

I'm here for mayhem.

And today, my mark is none other than Xander Crowfield, the sole proprietor of Ruin's Patch, a pub known to be the absolute seediest part of Pucklebury's underbelly. I don't mind so much he sees fit to serve his guests more poison than elixir. Far be it from me to care who sips what or for what purposes. My interests in him aren't a matter of judgment. They're a matter of self-preservation.

Lately, there've been rumors of his girls—alltrancies—going missing halfway through their shifts, only to reappear weeks later with a new name and no memories. Whatever darkness Xander is toiling with is casting a shadow over Pucklebury I can't afford to lift anymore than I can afford to let it be.

So, mayhem it is.

With his tall build and bright red hair pulled into a braid down the nape of his neck, Xander is easy to spot even as people begin to scramble.