Chapter 3—Bella
THE MOONLIT INN STANDS before me, its Victorian architecture a stark contrast to the modern buildings surrounding it. Wrought iron fences with intricate designs frame the property, and the gardens—even in March—bloom with night-flowering plants that shouldn’t be possible in this climate. The St. Johns have never been ones to follow natural laws.
I march up the cobblestone path, my green hair whipping around my face in the evening breeze. Hecate trots beside me, her tiny paws making almost no sound on the stones. The inn’s windows glow, inviting weary travelers inside.
“Remember,” I whisper to Hecate, “No barking at Crystal this time. I know she moves too quickly for your liking, but she’s not trying to hunt you.”
Hecate gives me a skeptical side-eye that clearly says she’ll believe it when she sees it.
The massive oak door swings open before I can knock—a classic vampire move that never fails to irritate me. Crystal St. John stands in the doorway, her willowy figure draped in a flowing burgundy dress that complements her pale complexion. Her violet eyes seem to glow in the dim light of the entryway.
“Bella,” she says, her voice musical and lilting. “What a delightful surprise.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Is it really a surprise, Crystal? Because I think you’ve been expecting me.”
Her perfect eyebrows rise slightly. “Oh? And why would that be?”
I pull the folded note from my pocket and hold it up. “Because someone left this at my café, and it has your perfume all over it.”
Crystal’s expression doesn’t change, but her fingers twitch slightly at her side—a tell I’ve learned to recognize over the years. She’s nervous. “Perhaps you should come inside,” she says, stepping back to allow me entry. “It’s rather chilly out tonight.”
The inn’s lobby is exactly as I remember it, with plush velvet furniture in deep jewel tones, antique wooden tables polished to a high shine, and crystal chandeliers that cast dancing shadows across the walls. A fire crackles in the massive stone fireplace, though I know the St. Johns don’t need the warmth.
Hecate immediately makes herself at home, hopping onto a crimson ottoman and curling into a ball. Traitor.
“Where’s Etienne?” I ask, scanning the room.
“Right here,” comes a smooth voice from behind me.
I spin around to find Etienne St. John standing at the base of the grand staircase. His pale skin seems to glow against his black suit, and his blue eyes watch me with amusement. Three hundred years old, and he still moves like a cat.
“You two are up to something,” I say, crossing my arms. “And I want to know what it is.”
Crystal glides across the room to stand beside her husband. They exchange a look that contains an entire conversation—the kind of silent communication that comes from centuries together.
“Would you care for some tea?” asks Crystal, deflecting.
“No, I would not care for tea. I want answers.” I hold up the note again. “Did you leave this at my café?”
Crystal sighs, a completely unnecessary gesture since vampires don’t breathe. “Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I was asked to.”
I tap my foot impatiently. “By whom?”
Crystal’s gaze meet mine steadily. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”
My temper flares, and I feel my magic responding, crackling at my fingertips. The lights in the room flicker.
“Crystal, I don’t have time for games. Someone stole Seamus’s gold, and now there’s a trail of mysterious notes leading me around town. If you know something—”
“We’re not playing games, Bella,” Etienne interrupts, his voice calm and reasonable. “We’re simply...facilitating.”
“Facilitating what?”
“A journey,” says Crystal cryptically.
I groan in frustration. “You two are impossible. Fine. If you won’t tell me who asked you to leave the note, at least tell me what I’m supposed to do next.”
Etienne smiles, revealing just a hint of fang. “The next clue is in our library.”
I blink in surprise. “Your library? Why would it be there?”
“Because that’s where knowledge is kept,” she says, as if explaining something to a child. “And knowledge is what you seek.”
I roll my eyes. “Spare me the fortune cookie wisdom.”
He grins. “As you wish. Do you remember the way to the inn’s library?”
“I do.” I haven’t had time to visit in a couple of years, but I enjoyed discovering its charms...two years ago, when Seamus had booked a room there for a while during our time together. I gesture for Hecate, and we turn to walk down the hallway toward the small but elegantly appointed library technically for guests’ use but really open to everyone in town if they can’t find what they’re looking for at our municipal library.
The Moonlit Inn’s library is just like I remember it, even down to smelling of leather bindings, old paper, and something distinctly magical—like cinnamon and ozone mixed together. I step through the ornate double doors with Hecate perched on my shoulder, her tiny body warm against my neck.
“This place gives me the creeps,” she whispers, her whiskers tickling my ear. “Too quiet. Too many secrets.”
I run my fingers along the spines of ancient books as we move deeper into the library. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the towering bookshelves. The wooden floor creaks beneath my boots, announcing our presence to anyone—or anything—lurking among the stacks.
“We’re looking for ‘Irish Magical Folk Tales,’” I murmur to Hecate. “It has to be here somewhere.”
Hecate’s nose twitches. She stands up on her hind legs, balancing precariously on my shoulder. “Bella, there’s old magic here. Really old. This isn’t just some silly treasure hunt.”
I pause, glancing at my familiar. “What do you mean?”
“I mean whoever set this up knows things. Personal things.” Hecate’s collar charm shifts from blue to a murky purple. “They’re playing with powerful forces.”
Before I can respond, a book flies off a nearby shelf, narrowly missing my head. I duck instinctively, and the book crashes into the wall behind me.
“Who dares disturb my library?” A shimmering figure materializes between two bookshelves as a woman in Victorian dress with her gray hair piled atop her head appears. Lady Winifred, the ghost librarian of the Moonlit Inn.
“Lady Winifred,” I say, straightening. “I apologize for the intrusion. I’m looking for a specific book.”
The ghost sniffs, adjusting her phantasmic spectacles. “Bella Brewster. I haven’t seen you in these stacks for quite some time. What brings you back now?”
“I need to find ‘Irish Magical Folk Tales.’ It’s important.”
Lady Winifred’s transparent form floats closer, studying me with piercing eyes. “That particular volume has been waiting for you, my dear. For two years now.”
My stomach drops. “What do you mean, waiting for me?”
“Follow me.” She glides between the shelves, her form illuminating the dark corners of the library.
I hurry after her, weaving through the maze of bookshelves. Hecate digs her tiny claws into my sweater, holding tightly.
“That ghost knows something,” Hecate hisses. “Ask her what she means.”
“Lady Winifred,” I call after her. “What did you mean about the book waiting for me?”
The ghost pauses, turning to face me. “Some books find their readers when the time is right, Miss Brewster. This one has been particularly insistent.”
She leads us to a secluded reading nook tucked away in the back corner of the library. A large bay window overlooks the snow-covered gardens of the inn, moonlight streaming through the glass. On a small table sits a single book, its emerald green cover embossed with gold Celtic knots. I was reading it during that argument with Seamus and forgot to return for it.
“Here we are.” Lady Winifred gestures to the book. “‘Irish Magical Folk Tales.’ First edition.”
I approach slowly, my heart pulsating wildly. The book seems to pulse with energy, calling to me. I reach out, fingers hovering over the cover.
“Go on,” Lady Winifred urges. “It’s been patient long enough.”
I pick up the book, its weight substantial in my hands. The leather binding is warm to the touch, as if someone had just set it down. I open it carefully as the pages crackle with age.
Something slips from between the pages—a folded piece of parchment sealed with green wax. A letter.
“What’s that?” Hecate leans forward, nearly tumbling off my shoulder in her curiosity.
I turn over the parchment in my hands. The wax seal bears the imprint of a four-leaf clover. I think it’s Seamus’s personal seal. “It’s from him,” I whisper, my throat suddenly dry.
Lady Winifred clears her throat. “I’ll leave you to your reading, Miss Brewster. Some things are meant for private eyes only.” She begins to fade, then adds, “Though I must say, that leprechaun of yours has terrible manners. Leaving a letter in a book instead of delivering it properly.”
With that, she vanishes, leaving me alone with Hecate and the mysterious letter.
“Open it,” Hecate urges, jumping down onto the table. “Let’s see what excuse he had for breaking your heart.”
My hands tremble as I break the seal. The parchment unfolds, revealing Seamus’s familiar handwriting of elegant loops and flourishes that always reminded me of Celtic knotwork.
My dearest Bella,
By the time you find this letter, I’ll be gone. I know that’s not fair to you, and I know you deserve better. You deserve someone who can promise you forever without reservations or complications. You deserve someone who can put you first, always.
The truth is, my family has summoned me home. There’s been talk of instability in the fae realms and borders weakening between worlds. As the eldest son, I’m expected to take my place in the family business, to uphold traditions that go back centuries. Traditions that don’t include relationships with human witches, no matter how extraordinary that human might be.
I wish I could be brave enough to defy them, to choose my own path without regard for the consequences, but the magic that binds our families is old and powerful, and the repercussions would extend beyond just me. My siblings, my cousins—all would bear consequences of my choices.
So I’m taking the coward’s way out. I’m leaving while I still have the strength to do so, before your smile and your laugh and the way your eyes change color with your mood convince me to stay despite everything.
Know that these months with you have been the happiest of my very long life. Know that if circumstances were different, I would have knelt before you with my family’s ring and asked you to share in my unnaturally long leprechaun lifespan. Know that wherever I go, whatever I do, a piece of my heart will always remain in Evershift Haven, with the witch who taught me that magic isn’t just about spells and enchantments—it’s about connections that defy explanation.
I’m sorry, my love. I’m so very sorry.
Forever yours, Seamus
P.S. I’ve left something for you in our special place, where petals bloom and memories fade, where we first danced under the stars. A small token to remember me by, though I hope you’ll remember the good times rather than this painful ending.
I lower the letter, my vision blurred with unshed tears. Two years. For two years I’d believed he’d simply grown tired of me, of us, of our life together. For two years I’d nursed my anger and hurt, building walls around my heart.
“You never read the letter?” Hecate side-eyes me. “Girl, even I know that’s a rookie mistake.”
“I didn’t even know it was here,” I say, wiping at my eyes. “How was I supposed to know he’d hide a goodbye letter in a book?”
Hecate snorts, her tiny nose wrinkling. “Men. Always thinking they’re so clever with their grand romantic gestures.” She disappears suddenly, her form shimmering out of existence. Her voice lingers in the air. “Letting the drama unfold properly.”
I stare at the empty space where she was, then back at the letter in my hands. The truth of Seamus’s departure changes everything and nothing. He still left. He still chose his family’s demands over us, over me. He still didn’t trust me enough to face me, to tell me the truth directly.
“Bella?”
I freeze at the sound of his voice. Slowly, I turn to see him standing in the doorway of the reading nook. His wild red hair is tied back, revealing the sharp angles of his face and the pointed tips of his ears. His gaze locks onto the parchment in my hands, and comprehension appears in his eyes. “You found it,” he says softly, taking a step toward me. “After all this time.”
I hold up the letter. “You hid your goodbye in a book? A book, Seamus? What kind of coward does that?”
He winces, running a hand through his hair. “I know it was a poor choice. I was desperate and scared. The binding spell was already taking effect. I could feel it pulling me back to the fae realm. I thought the book would find you quickly.”
“Well, it didn’t.” I fold the letter carefully, slipping it back between the pages of the book. “Two years, Seamus. Two years of thinking you just didn’t care enough to say goodbye.”
“I’m sorry.” He takes another step closer. “I should have found a way to tell you face to face. I was a coward.”
“Yes, you were.” I stand up, clutching the book to my chest. “And now you’re back, and your gold is missing, and someone is sending us on this wild goose chase around town. What am I supposed to make of all this?”
Seamus opens his mouth to respond when a pillow flies across the room and smacks him directly in the face.
“No leprechauns allowed in my reading nook.” Lady Winifred’s voice booms through the library. Another pillow sails through the air, hitting Seamus in the back of the head.
“Lady Winifred, please,” he protests, ducking as a third pillow whizzes past his ear. “I’m trying to have an important conversation here.”
“Should have thought of that before you left your farewell in a book, you inconsiderate leprechaun.” Another pillow catches him square in the chest.
Despite everything, I find myself fighting back a smile. There’s something deeply satisfying about watching Seamus dodge flying pillows while trying to maintain his dignity.
“Perhaps we should continue this conversation elsewhere.” Seamus shields his face from an incoming cushion.
“Not until I finish what I came here for.” I open the book again, flipping through the pages. There has to be more. The clue that led us here mentioned finding the next step of our treasure hunt.
As I turn to the chapter on leprechaun gold, something flutters out—a small card with elegant script written in shimmering ink. The second clue.
“‘Where petals bloom and memories fade, retrace the path where promises were made,’” I read aloud.
Seamus dodges another pillow and moves closer, peering over my shoulder at the card. “The Botanical Dance Stage,” he says immediately. “Where we first danced during the LoveLuck Festival.”
Our gazes meet, and for a moment, I’m transported back to that night of fairy lights twinkling overhead, the scent of spring blossoms in the air, magical shamrocks floating in the air, and Seamus’s arms around me as we swayed to ethereal music. The night he first told me he loved me.
“That has to be it,” I agree, tucking the card into my pocket. “We should go there next.”
“Together?” Seamus asks, his voice hopeful.
Before I can answer, Hecate materializes on top of the bookshelf. “Oh, you’re definitely going together. This is getting interesting. Also, Seamus, hiding a breakup letter in a book? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, and I once watched a werewolf try to catch his own tail for three hours straight.”
Seamus glares up at her. “I wasn’t breaking up with her. I was explaining why I had to leave temporarily.”
“Two years is not temporary,” I snap, though the letter has taken some of the edge off my anger. “And you still should have told me to my face.”
“I know.” Seamus dodges yet another pillow. “I know, Bella, and I’m sorry. Sorrier than you can imagine.”
I study his face. Part of me wants to forgive him, to understand the impossible position he was in. Another part remembers the nights I cried myself to sleep, and the hollow ache that never quite went away.
“This doesn’t change everything,” I say finally. “But...it changes something. Let’s just focus on finding your gold and figuring out who’s behind all this.”
Relief washes over his features. “Thank you, Bella.”
Lady Winifred materializes between us, her spectral form glowing with indignation. “If you two are quite finished with your melodrama, I’d appreciate you taking it elsewhere. This is a library, not a theater.”
“We’re going,” I say, tucking the book under my arm. “Thank you for your help, Lady Winifred.”
The ghost sniffs, adjusting her spectacles. “Just remember, Miss Brewster, sometimes the stories we tell ourselves are more damaging than the truth.”
With those cryptic words, she vanishes, leaving behind only the faint scent of lavender and old books.
Hecate jumps down from the bookshelf, landing gracefully on my shoulder. “To the Botanical Dance Stage, then? Where you two made googly eyes at each other under the moonlight?”
I roll my eyes but can’t suppress a smile. “Yes, to the Botanical Dance Stage, and Hecate? Try to behave yourself.”
“No promises,” she says, settling comfortably against my neck.
Seamus gestures toward the library exit. “Shall we?”
I nod, clutching the book to my chest like a shield. The letter inside has changed the narrative I’ve been telling myself for two years, but the pain of his absence remains. As we walk toward the door, I steal a glance at him—the strong line of his jaw, the way his hair catches the light, the familiar way he moves.
My heart gives a traitorous flutter. This is going to be complicated.