By Jocelynn Drake
Client pay attention . . .
Looking for a tattoo—and might be a bit whatever additional: a burst of fine good fortune, a dollop of real love, or perhaps a hex on an ex? Head to the quiet and mysterious Gage, the easiest dermis artist on the town. utilizing distinct potions—a mixture of notable elements and specified inks—to etch the fitting image, he can satisfy any heart's hope. yet in a spot like Low city, the place elves, faeries, trolls, werewolves, and vampires fortunately stroll between humanity, every little thing has its price.
No one is aware that greater than Gage. Turning his again on his personal style, he left the paranormal Ivory Tower the place merciless witches and warlocks rule, a choice that fee him the suitable to perform magic. And if he disobeys, his punishment—execution—will be swift.
Though he's attempted to fly lower than the radar, Gage can't conceal from robust warlocks who wish him dead—or the secrets and techniques of his personal prior. yet with assistance from his acquaintances, Trixie, a stunning elf who hides her actual identification, and a hulking troll named Bronx, Gage may well simply make it via this enchanted international alive.
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Extra info for Angel's Ink (The Asylum Tales, Book 1)
The scene whirled away, and Ambreene was somewhere else again. . A tower, where a woman wept, smoke curling away from her empty hands and ashes all around her. Nearby, a man who sat on empty air said, "And so your trick has turned to visit itself on thee. " The woman's raw howl of grief whirled Ambreene away into a scene of a sorceress betraying her tutor, then another, of an ambitious magistress turning to evil and mistakenly slaying the man she loved. .. "All of these happened, lass, and I was there to see them," Elminster told her gently.
I had just enough breath left to tell my story again. "I'm fine, Betha. But Dauna's been kidnapped. " She squeezed me again. "And I mean it. It isn't just a story, like Chesley says. " "Oh, we know, dear boy. " She hugged me again, and that was the last I could speak for a while. " Chesley appeared from the dining room. He was all narrow lines and livery. Our family didn't have a livery, but Chesley insisted on wearing one all the same. Livery and uniforms were as important to him as protocol and etiquette.
Now no suitor would recognize her as the highly desirable Hawkwinter heiress. She smiled grimly into the darkness, and went in search of the Lord Mage of Waterdeep. He was not on the dance floor, nor in any of the noisy, crowded antechambers that gave off it, where older nobles were busy loudly insulting each other, gossiping, gorging, and drinking themselves silly. Nor was he where Ambreene had expected to find him—the dim, smoky rooms on the floor above, where men who thought themselves wise and powerful muttered darkly about plots and trade treaties and the black days ahead for Waterdeep, and added new layers of refinements and pacts to the already labyrinthine entanglements of the city's intrigues.