Lisa Shearin - Magic Lost, Trouble Found

To my agent, Kristin Nelson, for your guidance, enthusiasm, and for believing in the magic.

To my editor, Anne Sowards, for your sharp eyes, and for always taking the time to answer a new authors questions.

And most of all to my husband, Derek. Thank you for your love, patience, and encouragement. You never doubted, and always believed.

Sorcerers werent normal, sorcery wasnt natural, and Quentin Rand didnt like either one.

Quentin had always made an exception for me, but just because you tolerated what a friend was, didnt mean you understood what they did. Nothing explained to me what Quentin was doing breaking into the townhouse of one of Mermeias most infamous necromancers. Quentin was a thiefat least he used to be. And to the best of my knowledge, he wasnt a suicidal ex-thief. Yet there he was crouched in the shadows of Nachtmagus Nigelius Nicabars back door, picklocks at the ready. While not the most efficient way to ask for death, it was one of the more certain.

I knew all about Nigels house wards. The human necromancer did everything he could to inflate his reputation, but he didnt depend on it to protect his valuables. Magical wards were home security at its most basic, and Nigel had some good ones. But although they were nasty, they wouldnt killrumor had it Nigel liked to save that pleasure for himself. I guess when you worked with the dead for a living, your idea of fun was a little different from everyone elses. The city watch frowned on citizens taking the law into their own hands like that, but the watch was notoriously shorthanded in the Districts. They couldnt prosecute what they didnt know about, and Id rather they didnt know Quentin was here tonight.

Quentin occasionally works for me. My name is Raine Benares. Im a seeker. I find things. Most times the people who hire me are glad when I do, but sometimes theyre sorry they asked. Personally, I think people should be more careful what they ask for. Some things are better left unfound.

Seeking isnt the flashiest occupation a sorceress can put out her shingle for, or the most highly regarded, but it pays the rent on time. Ive found the formerly unfindable for the Mermeia city watch, and since Im an elf, elven intelligence has sought my help on more than one occasion. Most of what Im hired to find didnt get lost by itself. It had help. Help you could depend on to use blades or bolts or nastier magical means to keep what they went to all the trouble to get. When thats the case, I go by the rule of me or them.

I also apply that rule to my friends. Thats why I was cooling my heels in one of Mermeias more aromatic alleysto keep Quentins moonlighting from earning him a one-way trip to the city morgue.

As a former career thief, Quentin knew the underside of Mermeia better than just about anyone. Thats why I hired him. Well, it was one of the reasons. Our professional paths had crossed from time to time over the years. What I had been hired to find was often something Quentin had been hired to steal. It got to the point that I just started my search with Quentin to save myself a lot of unnecessary footwork. He didnt take it personally, and neither did I. However, I always extended to Quentin the professional courtesy of waiting until the object in question had left his hands before recovering it. That way he got paid while maintaining his reputation. But when the risks started to outweigh the rewards, Quentin thought that an early end to his career might keep the same fate from befalling his life. I helped him bridge the gap between thief and quasi-law-abiding citizen.

No fact, tidbit or rumor was too small or too hidden for Quentin to ferret outgiven the proper monetary motivation. Greed still occasionally whispered sweet nothings in his ear, enticing my sometime employee to seek out additional means of income. Most times he didnt tell me the details. Most times I didnt want to know. Considering where he was right now, tonight wasnt one of those times.

The city of Mermeia in the kingdom of Brenir consisted of five islands that had been forced into existence by the determination of its founders, and kept from sinking by the greed of its merchants. A powerful force, greed. It made solid ground where there had once been marsh; built palaces and trading houses where there were reeds; and inspired humans, elves, goblins, and magic users of all races to live together in a city separated only by the canals that marked their respective Districts. Sometimes we even got along.

I cupped my hands to my mouth, blowing on cold-numbed fingers. I was trying to breathe through my mouth to keep my nose from becoming any more traumatized than it already was. The cozy little alley Id found across Pasquine Street from Nigels townhouse held a charm all its own. Id put a shielding spell across the entrance, so unless Quentin walked over and looked in, he couldnt see or hear me. The alley walls were slick with something dark and damp and best left unidentified. The air was chilly but still warm enough to enhance the aroma of the garbage sharing the alley with me. And the stench of the canal a block away at low tide only further enhanced my sensory experience. I rubbed my hands together, then gave up and reached for the gloves at my belt. Not that I wanted anything to happen to Quentin, but it would be nice if all this turned out to be worth my while.

You stood me up.

I yelped. I recognized the voice, which was the only reason my throwing knife remained in my hand, instead of being lodged in the voices owner.

I blew out my breath. Dont do that! I sheathed my knife, though I was still tempted to use it, more from acute embarrassment than anything else.

Phaelan chuckled and stepped out of the shadows hiding the alley entrance from the street. My cousin looked like the rest of my familydark hair, dark eyes, dark good looks, equally dark disposition. Next to them, I stood out like a flaming match at night with my long red gold hair, gray eyes, and pale skin. The hair and skin tone were from my mother. I assumed my eyes were from my father. Neither parent was around for me to ask.

Phaelan was the main reason having the name Benares was an asset in the seeking business. When looking for pilfered goods, it helped to be related to expertsprofessional pilferers all.

You could say our family was well known in the import and export business. The goods my cousins side of the family imported never saw the light of day in a harbormasters ledger, and the exports consisted of vast profits sent to secret family accounts in various banks in numerous kingdoms. Phaelans natural talent was in acquisitions. Many times he neglected to get permission from the owners whose goods he intended to acquire; or when he did ask, his request often came from the business end of a cannon.

Since when does spending the night in an alley rate above dinner with me at the Crown and Anchor? he asked.

Since Quentins moonlighting again.

Varek said you were staking out Nigel Nicabars. He didnt say anything about Quentin.

When in Mermeia, Phaelan did business out of the Spyglass, and Varek Akar, the proprietor, served the dual purpose of business manager and social secretary for my cousin when he was in town. I didnt normally make my stakeouts public knowledge, but since Nigel was involved, I thought itd be a good idea to let my next of kin know where to find me.

Thats because I didnt mention Quentin, I told him. Id rather the watch not get wind that hes working again.

Varek knows how to keep his mouth shut.

I trust Varek, but I dont feel the same way about his new barkeep. Quentin hasnt done anything illegal tonight.