Of course, this section was among other misplaced books with a minor cloaking spell to keep the wandering human eyes away, nothing crazy, just a subtle deterrent. It was closer to the back where most undesirables ended up, dimly lit, away from any kind of natural light to mar the already worn pages of those old books. He swore he could feel that strange stare of the shop keeper keeping a close eye on him, he focused on pushing that thought and those creepy eyes away from his mind as though he could prevent him from looking in. The quicker he found what he needed and left, the better. However, his quiet, boring contemplation was interrupted by the slender figure of a spicy woman crashing into him. He could have written her off as just oblivious, but his eyes rove over her for a moment knowing very well how captivating women tended to be his downfall. It was all too easy to fall into old habits, letting those antagonizing words to fall from his lips as though to rile the woman he should have simply ignored. The moment he saw that coy smile and those eyes smoldering at him, he knew he was in trouble. He recognized that fire, the ignited spark that only made the warlock distracted from that specific sense of purpose. Despite that carefully laced sarcasm, he raised a brow at her, a glint appeared within his eye. He knew exactly what he was doing and he didn't stop it. "I can't say I have been called that in a very long time." He stated amused, his voice holding the laughter that threatened to leak through. He had been called a lot of things and certainly charming was not one of them.

She claims that she is fierce and while he didn't doubt it, he always preferred to see it firsthand. "I can't say I am careful or charming." He responded in that Irish croon, curious of that devilish glint in her eye and how he wished to toy with it. What good would come out of that? The man was better off a shadow, lurking in the backdrop, not meant to be seen. After all, how many jobs in the past demanded that very skill of him? Some things one could never shake. Perhaps one could say the irish man had turned legitimate and perhaps in certain ways he had but you know what they say about old habits.

Whatever possessed him in those moments to be so inciting, pushing like a sturdy force until she backed down. Perhaps it was that silent challenge she offers him like a siren's beckoning. She claims to be fierce and he was the kind of guy who needed to see to believe. "So do your worst." The Irishman challenged, not expecting the woman to do a thing about it in a cramped bookstore such as this. Of course, he utters that self-sabotaging comment just to ruffle her feathers. "Do use your nails though, I am a fan of those." That roguish gleam is back, sensual wickedness dancing in his eyes, accompanied by a wolfish grin. She simply had no idea who she was dealing with. He half expected to get slapped and have her shaking her little behind as she stormed off far away from him.

He should have let that conversation die, right then and there and focus on his true focus of why he was even wasting time in this ramshackle bookstore in the first place. Yet, he could hardly turn his cheek to the little minx that was so eager to play. Just how eager? He wonders as he posed a question that was intended to only add gasoline to that inner fire that practically glowed out of her eyes. He was a man who rarely held much back, yet in this very moment he should have.

She was incredibly keen to bite and he liked that, his question answered with a taunting one. He shrugged as though he could care less. "I would hardly call that bold." Antagonizing, maybe more like it, playing with fire, perhaps he couldn't quite deny that. He drew an idle hand to his scruffy chin, running a finger through the unkempt scruff that was in dire need of a shave. His words are dripping with the silent dare that he had a sneaking suspicion that she would bite.

Her attention seemed to fall back toward those books as though she was thoroughly unimpressed. He grinned to himself and partially at her comment. She claimed he was in the wrong section. Did he get underneath her skin? It certainly appeared that way.

"Fantasy?" It was enough to bring forth a masculine chuckle, clearly oblivious of that subtle jab. As far as Brennan was concerned, he was entirely unflappable by her goading words, not exactly understanding the reference in which she was referring to. If she was attempting to rile him, well she would going to be a little more creative than that. For a moment he seemed almost thoughtful before speaking. What strange sentiments for a warlock to utter. "I prefer the things I can touch within my own two hands. I do not believe in happily ever after, or epic quests where the hero prevails all." Especially for people like me. He didn't bother saying, a bitterness washed over him. In the real world the hero always died young and he had every intention to live as long as he damn well could.

It was curious how or why a human woman would be so intrigued with a section such as this one. After all it had been spelled to deter innocent eyes such as hers. Even though it was a simple feeling to ignore the section all together. That was why just the two of them seemed to linger here, the term magic seemed to make the innocent curious. For whatever reason, there was nothing fun about it, well maybe just a little. Yet, how blissfully unaware most of the world had been.

Wrong section the petite woman asked, a frown etched upon his face, clearly displeased that his book simply vanished. "No, I need to have words with the shop keeper once I am finished here." He muttered gruffly. How the hell did he make a book simply walk on out of here? The only useful book to him in this store, as far as he was concerned.

"Are you always so curious of other people, or am I just catching you on a good day, hm?" Perhaps the same thing could be said about him and yet he couldn't quite give a damn. But he had sneaking suspicion that she would.

Brennan O'Connell