It didn't hurt, taking another look at the fresh shipment of old as dirt books that were practically falling apart at the seams. They were musty second-hand books that often were sent here when they didn't sell at estate sales or various other methods how people procured timeworn books. How many shops like this one had he visited in attempts to garner more information? Anything to claw himself closer to answers, anything to unbind his deal with a demon. He loathed being in this stuffy place with narrow aisles, it made the already antsy man even more on edge. He was never claustrophobic before but now, small spaces give him that prickly feeling, wanting to be out in the open where the illusion of safety was. Even he knew all the space in the world would not keep you safe. But this task was one of those things that had to be done. How badly had the man liked his freedom? Well enough to venture into countless bookstores and his bed should have a woman in it, not books. Alas, this was the fateful hand the warlock was given, and he would fight until he couldn't.

He would much rather be out in the ocean, with the salty mist spraying his face and the waves his only companion. It would forever be his solace, that hell dimension had even robbed him of that sweet bliss and his boat was still a work in progress because of his absence. How that place robbed him of so much more than that. So today the man would be tormented by that perfect sailing weather. Those perfect winds that beckoned to him like a siren's call, the way the waves remained tame enough until it changed its mind. It also felt cooler out there at least a few miles out, a break from the oppressive heat.

Yet despite all the things he could be doing, the Irish man found himself here, instead of drinking away those memories he wished to forget. In an attempt to save his own hide yet again from a perilous obscure fate he had no interest in learning. Yet again he entered that old bookshop, even the store owner who kept a watchful eye at the front knew him by name. Not that he ever told the man his name, he seemed to know things without giving away his secret. Brennan preferred to be inconspicuous, but with the watchful hawk stare of the shop owner, that seemed impossible. He seemed to possess some sort of psychic gifts, that he was at least certain of. His eyes hardly seemed human, the way he watched him in that way that honestly bothered the warlock. Yet that creepy stare wasn't enough to deter him, he was here for a purpose. He rolled those shoulders before making his way to that familiar section, ignoring those books that contained epic adventures and romances within them. His eyes scanned those familiar spines, looking for the right book that simply jumped out at him. Blood magic. He knew he would have a book that possessed the real deal in his callused hands before the week ended and yet he couldn't stop looking. He inhaled the overpowering smell of old books which flooded his senses. He concentrated, reading the copious titles of hardcovered books and yet there was always an eye watching, always ready. He wasn't so sure if he would ever rid himself of that feeling.

He allowed his fingers caress the spines of books about two shelves down from the top, most titles he had seen before. Nope, no, nah, have that one... Ah.. That one seemed new it had the cryptic title which seemed intriguing enough. It was called Ancient Magik, spells and incantations. Promising, perhaps? It seemed lucky and he was not a believer in miss lady luck and she certainly overlooked him. Yet it was enough to make him pause. It couldn't hurt to look, he reached for the book, his fingers just about to pull it out before a force suddenly slams into the cappuccino brown-haired man. He hissed out a curse under his breath before whirling around with those honed muscles intended for battle. He could feel his magic flaring to the tips of his fingers, his multi-toned blue eyes laced with a fine intricate accent of silver land upon his assaulter. However, he had expected to face something far more nefarious than a petite woman with long flowing hair that draped down in waves in a seemingly endless trail, framing her slender body.

His eyes dart assessing her, quickly but entirely shameless before arching a dark brow skyward as she murmured a disheartened 'my bad'. Moving that long hair from her concealing her face with a nonchalance as he peered at him, hesitating as if surprised. Now he couldn't say being collided into by a woman that looked like her was such a bad thing even if he was hardly prepared for it. "Graceful, little bird." His eyes glitter with humour, a sense of humour that probably was only amusing to him. A wry grin spread across his lips as that iconic mischievous gleam suddenly flared to life.

"What could you be possibly looking for in this section? I am sure I saw a romance section two rows down that way." That Irish brogue prominent within the rich baritones of his teasing voice. The voice that was antagonizing as it was flowing smoothly like his preferred top shelf whiskey. His eyes follow her, watching her as she moves around him with a book in her hand, wondering what the human had curiously placed her little mitts on.

What was a human doing in this section anyway? He could tell a witch from a mile away simply by that silvery, iridescent magical energy that so clung tightly to their colourful aura. She was human, there was no questioning it. Perhaps he was simply curious. His body turns once more to the books he was looking at, casually searching for that same book he was going to take out before. However, it was gone. Like it had grown legs and walked right out of here. He was no fool, he knew exactly what happened. Maybe not exactly, but whom. He knew it had to be him. "Bastard." He hissed in frustration under his breath, remembering those distinctly yellowy orange hawk eyes of the shop owner. It had to be him. He would have words, he was sure of it. At least he would when he was ready to leave, but he found himself terribly curious about what a human could want with books like these? It couldn't make that much sense. Could it?

Brennan O'Connell