Book of Fates ✔

The parcel

The girl he was only hoping to find was standing before him. Once she saw Nikk, she stared at him, owl-eyed in surprise.

"Hey," Anya said in uncertain voice. She looked like a pixie with her hair in disarray and her jumper slightly too big for her and resembling a cloak around her shoulders.

Nikk scratched his head. Anya's visit, to say the least, caught him off guard. How the hell did she find me? She's a spy after all. No, a spy doesn't come straight to the door, right? Anyway, Nikk couldn't let her see his confusion. "Hey," he forced a word up his throat. "Come in."

A line of suspicion appeared between Anya's eyebrows. "You wouldn't even ask how I know where you live?"

"I suppose, I'll find out soon enough."

Anya nodded and stepped over the threshold, her eyes rummaging around the apartment. No doubt, their bookish chaos was a peculiar thing to witness, but Anya showed no sign of frustration or astonishment so far. Good acting.

"Please, sit," Nikk harshly tossed aside a few books, freeing some space on the couch.

One of the tomes fell right at Anya's feet, raising a pillar of dust. Anya glanced at a shabby cover that once was apparently adorned with golden letters, but now was only stained with ink and candle wax.

"It's ancient Aramaic," Daphne said, her voice emotionless, eyes cold. If Nikk didn't know she looked like that at every human, he'd think she despised Anya personally.

Anya flinched at the comment. She cocked her head to see a motionless figure stationed among the books. "Hello."

"Hello," Daph gave their guest a dry smile. "The book. I said it's written in ancient Aramaic. A useless collection of stories. You can take it if you want."

"Um, no. Thanks." Anya carefully strode over the book and sat on the couch.

"So," Nikk sank into the same torture instrument pompously called an armchair, across from Anya. "How do you know where we live?"

"I-"

"Didn't you tell her the first time you met?" Daphne's lips twisted in a sarcastic smile. Maybe she despised Anya. Just a little.

Nikk drew a deep breath. "No, I did not, Daph."

"Did you tell her who we are then?"

"No."

"What we're doing?"

"No." Nikk offered her a significant glare and turned back to Anya who expression was growing increasingly tense.

"Not a part of human society yourself, uh?"

"Daphne, please," Nikk made sure the irritation in his tone was obvious.

Daphne smirked, satisfied. "Okay, okay, I'll go make some tea. That's how you treat guests on Earth, right?" Without waiting for an answer, she stood up and ostentatiously strolled toward the kitchen, the hum of her black blouse swaying from side to side.

"Right," Nikk echoed, sighing. It was the second time Daphne wouldn't let Nikk talk to Anya. Again, is she jealous? Unlikely. What would she be jealous about? Probably, her secret worries are to blame or-

"I didn't mean to be any trouble," Anya apologized, cutting Nikk's thought off. "I just brought you a parcel."

"A what?" Nikk unwillingly raised one eyebrow. It was getting more and more interesting. And complicated.

"A parcel," Anya dug around in her bag, fished out a small box and handed it to Nikk with a timid smile.

Taking the box from Anya's hands, Nikk met her eyes for a mere moment. Her greenish silver eyes. They seemed so fathomless, Nikk marveled how one's eyes could hold such depths within them. No spy or assassin could possess these eyes. A witch from a fairytale though...