I knew there was evil in the world. Death and taxes were all necessary evils.

So was shopping.

“I hate shopping,” I muttered.

“Of course you do,” Phaelan said. “You’re a Benares. We’re not used to paying for anything.” Phaelan was my cousin; he called himself a seafaring businessman. Law enforcement in every major port city called him “that damned pirate,” or less flattering epithets, none of them repeatable here.

I really hated shopping. More to the point, I hated the aggravation of having to go into one shop after another to actually find the things I needed, things I had to have. Which was really strange considering what I did for a living.

My name is Raine Benares. I’m an elf and a seeker-and then some.

Two weeks ago, I found the Saghred-an ancient stone of cataclysmic power, an annihilator of armies, a stealer of souls, an eater of spellsingers, and the bane of my existence. The soul-sucking rock attached itself to me like a psychic leech. My magical skill level used to be marginal. Now I don’t think I have any limits.

So I came to the only place with people who could possibly help me.

The Isle of Mid was home to the most prestigious college for sorcery, as well as the Conclave, the governing body for all magic users in the seven kingdoms. My new talents put me at the top of every power-hungry mage’s most-wanted list. They wanted to kill me, or kidnap and use me, or keep me locked up for the rest of my life. I just wanted to get rid of the damned rock.

Since arriving on the island, I’d stepped hard on some faculty toes, assaulted the number-two mage on the island (he started it), single-handedly stormed the elven embassy, then topped it off with a walk on black magic’s wild side with a sexy goblin dark mage. It was a good way to make a bad first impression.