Ah, dear readers. We're back. A different realm. A different hero. Another fantastical adventure.

This one is for everyone who thinks their story is over when it is only just beginning.

Let me know what you think in the reviews!

Chapter 1

The Figure in the Photo

Cassandra Reed did not believe in magic.

And yet, as she stared down at the trio of low-quality CCTV photos before her, she had to wonder.

The first two showed a distinct, shadowy figure draped in some sort of long garment that reminded Cass of the cloaks you would see at a renaissance fair. Perfect for disguising one's identity, if one were so inclined.

The third photo, now, that was where things got interesting. The figure was gone, revealing an empty display case where an ancient sword once rested. Despite the time stamp showing only a fraction of a second after the previous photo, the person had vanished.

As if by magic.

Cass had called the shopkeeper back immediately after she received his email, thinking that there must have been a blip in the system.

But no, the shopkeeper assured her, there was no blip. He had to watch the recording several times over to make sure of it himself. The thief was there one second, and the next – poof.

Cass wished that she could take his word for it, but any journalist worth their salt would want to confirm it for themselves.

Despite what her current LinkedIn Profile might insinuate, Cassandra Reed was absolutely a journalist worth her salt.

The shopkeeper assured her that he would send the file to her as soon as he had the hard drive back from the police.

Cass's knee bounced beneath her desk. She could receive it tomorrow, or two weeks from tomorrow. It was entirely outside of her control, and that was entirely vexing.

She was certain that this was the mastermind behind a series of high-profile thefts of Anglo-Saxon artifacts from London antiquities dealers. She felt it in her gut.

The police did not believe the thefts were related – or so they claimed. Cass wanted it to stay that way.

She did not need old Scotland Yard spoiling what could be the defining investigative piece of her career. Not when she was so close to finally setting things right and –

"What's this?"

Cass nearly jumped out of her skin, knees banging against the top of her desk.

"For the love of all things good and gory, can you warn a woman?" Cass flung at the young, black-haired woman before her. "Lord, Emma. You'll give someone a heart attack."

"You're thirty, fit, and eat healthier than a baby goat." The woman grinned, flicking her long braid over one shoulder with all the confidence a 20-something, stand-out social media guru could possess. "Not exactly heart attack material."

"Thirty, haven't actually exercised in ages, don't have money for fancy food, and writing ungodly listicles day in and day out. Hardly the epitome of health and happiness." Cass countered, attempting to surreptitiously gather up the notes and photos strewn across her deck into a tidy pile.

"Right, and back to my question…" Emma plucked a photo up, pulling it high in the air before Cass could snatch it back.

"This doesn't look like a café in Covent Garden." Emma gave Cass a glance. "And aren't you supposed to be writing about the best cafés?"

Cass flinched. "I'm working on it. This is just…a side hustle."

"Your last side hustle nearly cost you your job."

"I'm like a cat. Nine lives and all that." Cass grinned. "I'm still here, right?"

Emma just raised an eyebrow. "You won't be if you miss deadline again." She gave a deep, long-suffering sigh. "I know you don't love your job, Cass, but at least try to –"

"Cass! Cass can you come here for a moment!" A high-pitched voice called out from across the open office space. Emma's eyes widened a fraction as Cass cringed.

"Her Majesty awaits." Cass groaned, but not before snatching the photo back from her friend and depositing it with the rest of the notes in her desk drawer.

"Good luck." Emma whispered conspiratorially. "Just give the signal and I'll pull the fire alarm, okay?"

Cass laughed, a small weight lifting from her shoulders, just as Emma intended. She did not know what she had done in a past life to deserve such a good-natured, well-meaning friend in this hellscape of an office job, but she was damn glad about it.

"I'm sure it'll be fine." Cass smiled, even as unease churned in her stomach as she approached her manager's office.

For goodness' sake, Cass. She thought to herself. You're acting like you're a child being called to detention. You're an adult, so act like it!

So, Cass straightened her spine and plastered a smile on her face as she checked to make sure her hair was still pulled back into the clip.

There, she told herself, a picture-perfect adult.

Sarah d'Velier was perched behind her standing desk, bright pink nails flashing across the keyboard. "Cass!" She chirped, her smile as immutable as ever as she looked out from behind the bejeweled laptop. Cass had a running bet that it had taken at least two surgeries to get it to stay put. "How are you? Was your weekend well?"

Cass barely opened her mouth to respond when her manager continued. "Ah good, good. Yes, well. I just wanted to check in on how your assignment was coming along."

"It's going great!" Cass replied, hoping Sarah did not see the twitch in her eye at the lie. "I'm halfway through the draft now, in fact."

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Cass cursed. What if she asked to see the draft?

"Excellent! Sarah clapped. "I—" She paused; head quirked as the smile slanted a fraction. "What happened to your hair?"

"Oh, I, er –" Heat flared up Cass's neck to her cheeks as her hands flew up to check the clip. Curse her unruly hair. How could it have escaped the clip so quickly? She truly felt the deepest sympathy for Medusa and her struggles.

"Just get it fixed before our editorial meeting with the big boss on Thursday, okay?" She said, her attention already turning back to the screen as her long nails tip-tapped across the keyboard.

"Of course." Cass's fiddled with the locket at her neck, rubbing her thumb across the embossed design. "Door open or closed?" She asked, gesturing to the open office door.

"Open is fine." Sarah replied, barely looking up. "Oh, and Cass? One more thing."

Cass paused as she turned, wondering for a moment if her boss could hear just how heavily her heart thudded in her chest.

The last time someone had called into an office for a too casual "one more thing," Cass walked away with no job and an unsympathetic letter detailing how deeply regretful the organization was that it had to cut her role while padding the executives' bonus pool.

"Make sure to get your draft for the café segment in early. Michael will want to take a look before the meeting."

"Sure thing!" Cass replied with a too-wide smile as she all but fled down the hall, cheeks still flushed, as much from embarrassment as relief.

She slipped into the restroom, breathing a sigh of relief as she locked the door behind her.

She wasn't getting laid off again. That was good.

As for her hair…

Cass lifted the tips of her hair to the light, the teal all the more vibrant in the harsh fluorescents. What was supposed to have been edgy highlights that culminated at the tips instead looked like a temperamental toddler had grabbed fistfuls of her hair and dipped it in paint.

More "edge of sanity" than edgy.

"Just get it fixed, Cassandra." She imitated Sarah's posh accent. "Got to look good for the big boss."

She grimaced. "Can't she tell that if I could have fixed it, I would have done so before I left the goddamn house?"

In truth, she had run to the store to get more product, only for her card to be declined.

Both of them.

And she had just enough cash left to pay for her meals through the next two days – barely enough to hold her out through the middle of the week and certainly not enough to last until payday that Friday.

The hair dying had been a treat. Something she had saved up for. A foolish endeavor if there ever was one, she realized now. She figured if she could just make it through the end of the week, then she would have enough to pay rent and get some more DIY dye and that would be that.

"Maybe I can trim it…" Cass mused, using her hand to cover up the blue parts. "Or not."

Her hair was already above her shoulders. Any shorter and her wavy curls would look like a cross between permanent bedhead and a portrait of Richard III.

She stepped back from the mirror with a sigh. It was either lose her job or rock the Richard III look.

Hopefully her fate would be better than his. She did not much fancy eternity under a car park.

Cass set her jaw. If she could just find a story – a real story, not yet another listicle on the coolest cafes in Covent Garden – she could afford to go to an actual hair stylist. She felt like she was close with the artifact thefts. She just needed more time.

But first, the listicle. A girl needs to make rent, after all.

The summer sun was still high in the sky by the time Cass hurried with relief out of the office doors. Or at least, she assumed it still shone, nestled as it was behind a blanket of gray clouds.

The gloomy skies did not help her already damp mood. She wanted to run. She wanted to go to a bar and grab a drink – or three. She wanted to dig deeper into the mystery of the cloaked thief. She wanted to sing and dance and forget everything in her life up to this point.

But Emma was right. She needed to work on her article, or Sarah would have her head – or more importantly, her job – if she did not have a solid draft by Wednesday. Her wants were meaningless.

A light drizzle had begun to fall as she exited the Underground into the bustling nightlife of Covent Garden. Cass nudged between the anxious hordes of shoppers to make her way south, toward the first café on her list, but the crowd was indomitable. Slowly but surely, it pushed her further from her destination.

Perhaps she should just be more assertive? Her teachers had certainly always told her as much, Cass thought with chagrin.

Buildings passed by in a blur as she darted through the rain, huddled beneath the hood of her coat and grateful for its relative comfort.

Then, as she passed by a narrow alleyway, the hair on her arms stood on end as though she was in the middle of a fierce lightning storm.

She paused as she looked down the darkened path. Her gut had never led her astray before.

Her breath caught as a dark, shadowy figure emerged from the side of a building, long lengths of cloth billowing in breeze that channeled down the alley.

Unbefuckinglievable.

It was him.

The cloaked thief.

Almost as soon as the thought struck, a high-pitched alarm began to sound from the shop to her right.

The figure jumped with surprise, darting deeper into the narrow alleyway.

Cass's legs were moving before her mind had a chance to catch up.

This was her chance. Her big break.

She'd be damned if she let it slip away.

Her years of road races and half-hearted training paid off. The figure's back drew closer and closer. She could almost reach out to tough the fabric trailing through the air behind the thief.

Soon, she would have answers. Soon, she would have a bombshell piece to make her career. Soon, she –

WHAM!

Cass careened backward, shoulder striking the uneven pavement with a painful thud.

"Shit!" Cass cursed as she pulled her arm to her chest, the ache thrumming in tune with her heart beat.

"Merin's beard!" Groaned a masculine voice across from her.

A well-dressed man scrabbled to his feet, rubbing one hand against his curly crop of dark hair. "What in the –where is my?"

He glanced around at the papers and books were scattered across the alley like leaves around a tree in autumn.

"I am so sorry." Cass sputtered; gaze half-occupied with tracking the thief rapidly escaping down the path. "I was just, er – let me help."

She swept up as many of the papers and books as she could. Hell, she even swept up an odd looking stick in her rush.

"Here you go! I'm so sorry!" She presented with barely a glance toward the shocked stranger as she darted off back down the alley.

Please, she begged any deity that was listening, let me catch up to him. I need this story.

The heat of the man's gaze trailed her down the path. Despite her hurry, Cass cast a glance back, unable to shake the feeling. Only to find the man still standing at the aperture, an imposing figure against the lamplight. In one hand he clutched the stick, holding it aloft as though it could point the way forward.

As she turned back toward her pursuit, a feeling settled in her gut, as sure as anything she had felt before.

Their paths would cross again.