Chapter 3—Declan
I STEP OFF THE SIDEWALK and march straight toward the wooden arch that marks the town’s entrance, determined to leave Evershift Haven in the rearview mirror. This is the fourth time I’ve attempted to exit since dawn, and I’m once again inspired to try after my encounter with Vandria St. John. Each time, the road loops back around, guiding me right here again, as though the universe is playing a joke.
A glimmering mist lingers in the air the moment I pass under the arch. The sign overhead creaks, almost groaning in sympathy. I find myself walking the same curve of road that meanders by the pastel coffee shop, “The Enchanted Espresso.” The moment I spot that café again, tension throbs behind my temples. There’s no rational explanation. I started out heading west. Now I’m approaching from the east.
I push down the urge to curse aloud. The lantern at my shoulder bobs, an ever-present companion since it latched onto me at the bookshop. I refuse to look at it, though it’s impossible to ignore the faint glow. It hovers a few inches away, gold light dancing across my peripheral vision. Half an hour ago, I tried tying it to a fence post with a discarded shoelace. The lantern simply drifted free and caught up to me again. The townsfolk passing by watched with mild interest and a few stifled laughs.
I veer onto a side street, determined to find a different way. The air smells like cinnamon and faint wood smoke. A swirl of pink leaves blows across my boots with each leaf shaped like a heart.
A sign near the corner reads “Mystical Motors” in shifting letters made of gears. Throk’s garage. He was unavailable last night, but I figure it’s worth a shot now. The large metal doors are halfway open, revealing a cluttered workshop inside. Hissing steam escapes from a contraption near the entrance, and wrenches float by themselves, turning bolts. It’s all so bizarre I almost turn around. Then I remember my van, stuck at the entrance to this insane town.
A giant shape steps into view—broad shoulders, greenish skin, and tusks jutting slightly from his lower lip. This is not a man in a costume. The green skin extends up his neck, blending seamlessly with a stubble-like texture near the edges of his jaw. Muscles ripple beneath a sleeveless work shirt. There’s no zipper or hidden seam. He towers a solid foot above me. Everything about him screams orc, and that word shouldn’t even exist outside of fantasy.
He narrows one eye, scanning me as he sets down a massive spanner that’s floating at his elbow. The moment he releases it, the tool hovers upright, waiting for instructions. “You’re the guy with the broken van.”
I nod. “Yeah. Declan Stewart.”
“Throk Ironheart.” He nods once, then turns. “I towed it in this morning but haven’t had a chance to look at it yet. Follow me.”
He leads me through the workshop. Spare parts lie in neat clusters, with each cluster labeled as Engine Components, Hex Removers, Tire Enchantments, and the like. I scramble to categorize what I’m seeing. The air hums with an otherworldly energy that sets my nerves on edge.
We step around a half-dismantled motorcycle that seems to gently rock on invisible currents. Throk lifts a palm. “Your van is around the corner.” He strides outside, ducking under a large overhead beam. I follow.
My van rests on a small platform near the edge of the lot. Throk approaches, sets a hand on the hood, and closes his eyes for a moment. Nothing about that gesture is normal. It’s almost like he’s talking to the engine. He pulls back, scowl deepening. “Yeah. That thing’s not working until the festival’s over.”
My gut twists. “Festival’s over? That’s days away. I can’t wait that long.”
He shrugs, large shoulders rolling with casual finality. “The enchantment that snagged your van is strong. Thanks to Grizelda’s pregnancy, town magic is in overdrive. Your best bet is to wait it out. I might do some patchwork, but it’ll fry again if you drive too soon.”
My fists clench at my sides. “There has to be something you can do.”
He slides a rag from his back pocket, wiping a smear of oil off his forearm. “Not unless you want me to completely rebuild your engine with enchanted parts. That can cause more trouble once you leave Evershift Haven. Most folks don’t prefer a magically altered vehicle in the human world. Trust me on that.”
My chest feels tight. This is ridiculous. I gesture at the hood. “Surely, you can patch it enough to move.”
He glances at my scowl, then snorts. “I get it. You’re upset. Problem is, it’ll break again as soon as you hit the barrier on your way out if you rush things.” The lantern at my shoulder flickers. Throk eyes it with a grin. “That thing mark you as a festival favorite?”
I grit my teeth. “Apparently.”
He raises a brow. “Tough luck. They don’t let go easily. You’re stuck with that orb until it’s satisfied, or the final night closes it down.” He snaps his fingers. “Oh, that reminds me. Grizelda gave me this. Something about your leftover flowers.”
He ducks into the garage, rummage around a cluttered workbench until he emerges with a small pink misting bottle. The contents shimmer when he holds it up. “She said the flowers in your van were starting to wilt. This stuff is supposed to keep them fresh.”
That detail drags my mind back to the reason I was even on the road, to deliver Valentine’s bouquets. Fortunately, I’d already dropped off the roses for a big wedding happening yesterday. Thank goodness, because she had been a true bridezilla, and she wouldn’t have understood me being a no-show, especially if I tried telling her I was held hostage in a magical town.
He opens the back doors to reveal a few remaining bouquets and presses the spray nozzle. A soft pink mist drifts onto the drooping petals. The effect is instantaneous. The petals straighten, vibrant color floods back, and the stems look firmer. I stare, words catching in my throat. There aren’t many orders remaining, and I’ll never get them delivered today, Valentine’s Day, but it’s still amazing to see the spray’s effects.
He grunts in approval. “Works like a charm. You want some more, ask Grizelda. She might charge you. Might not, depending on her mood.”
I approach, hands spread. “That’s...actual magic.”
He hands me the bottle. “She told me to use it all if you plan on trying to salvage those flowers for your delivery. Keep spraying them until we can fix your van. They’ll last.”
I test one spritz on a single bud that’s almost dead. It practically blooms in front of my eyes. No illusions. The color intensifies from pale pink to hot fuchsia. I step back, mouth dry. This defies any scientific explanation I know. I whisper a thanks. He nods and wanders to a rolling toolbox that’s stenciled with runes. A floating wrench zips over his head.
My voice cracks when I speak again. “Is Grizelda far from here? I’d like to see if she’ll sell me more.”
He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “‘Enchanted Emporium’ is two blocks past ‘The Enchanted Espresso.’ She’s probably there. Don’t let her spook you.”
A swirl of confusion rattles me, but I manage to keep my expression steady. “Thanks for your help.”
He waves the rag. “Just doing my job. Plan on seeing me in a few days for the van, but I’ll let you know if something changes.” He vanishes behind the workshop’s parted metal doors.
This is too much for one morning. I return to the street, lantern bouncing happily around my shoulder. A few passersby grin as they notice my frustration. Three or four murmur greetings, as though they see a new neighbor. I tighten my hand around the pink bottle. The only bright spot in this fiasco is the possibility that I might have found a way to keep flowers fresher longer if I can arrange some kind of delivery once I’m back in the real world.
My stomach grumbles when the sweet aroma of pastries and coffee drifts from the pastel café ahead. The swirl of fresh-baked pastries teases my senses, reminding me I haven’t eaten since a quick snack on the road. A sign out front advertises a Valentine’s-themed special called “Hearts Aflame Latte.” Just in time for Valentine’s Day, but maybe that isn’t a holiday celebrated here. It’s probably for their festival instead.
I shove open the door. Warmth and the hum of conversation greet me. Floating cups drift by, gliding from behind the counter to waiting customers. I watch one sail past, carrying whipped cream dusted with red sprinkles. My mouth gapes a bit, then I clamp it shut.
A woman with a barista apron approaches. Her nametag reads “Bella.” She beams when she spots the lantern next to me. “Welcome. I’m Bella Brewster. You must be Declan. Word travels fast in Evershift Haven.”
I manage a nod, throat tight. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
She gestures to the chalkboard menu. “We have all the usual things, plus our special Hearts Aflame Latte, which causes an eruption of hearts.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Sure. I’ll take it.” My skepticism is waning, replaced by weary acceptance. This place is so weird that a latte that spawns hearts sounds almost normal.
Bella looks delighted and nods at the floating cups near the espresso machine. One drifts my way, empty. She flips a switch, and pink steam hisses from the machine then hums a soft melody, pours the steamed milk, and sprinkles tiny candy hearts on top. The cup floats in front of me, glowing slightly.
My eyebrows shoot up. I reach out and grab it before it can bob away.
She points to a table near the window. “Take a seat, if you like.”
I glimpse an empty chair in the corner and head that way, but someone stands from a nearby seat and steps into my path. It’s Vandria, the black-haired woman from the bookstore, who teased me mercilessly. She holds her own mug, which has steam curling upward in a swirl of pink. There’s a cautious smile on her lips. She lifts a hand in greeting without speaking, then gestures to her table.
My pulse kicks up a notch. She’s probably the last person I want to see—except the tug in my gut suggests otherwise. The memory of her fangs unsettles me, though her green eyes are bright, not menacing. She inclines her head, inviting me to sit. My stomach churns with conflicting emotions. I hesitate, then place my latte on the table and sink into the chair.
She folds her hands around her mug. “I owe you an apology.”
I stare at the swirl of foam on top of my latte. “For what?”
Her brow creases. “I pushed too hard earlier. You’re new here, and I turned it into a joke. I’m sorry if that overwhelmed you.”
I stare at the heart sprinkles dissolving into pink foam, creating a bubbling mass as the surface becomes agitated. “You’re right. I was overwhelmed.”
She watches me, expression gentler than before. “This place can be a lot. I should have let you breathe.”
I blow out a slow breath, uncertain how to respond as I watch my cup seem to form a volcano. “Uh... I appreciate the apology.” Is it going to spew?
Her posture relaxes. “Join me for a few minutes? Unless you plan to run out the door again.”
I’m not sure if she’s joking. I pick up my mug, which seems to have stabilized for the moment, taking a careful sip. The latte is sweet with a hint of spice. Suddenly, a cone forms as soon as I finish the first sip.
In seconds, it flings out tiny pink hearts like a volcanic eruption. They remain, gossamer but seemingly durable as they swirl in the air around me, dancing near my shoulders. One drifts close enough for me to see it’s formed of shimmering light. I gasp softly, anticipating more eruptions when I take a longer drink, but this time, it only releases a small cloud of hearts.
She lifts her mug, covering a faint smile. “Bella’s monthly specials are always...theatrical.”
I glance at her, feeling oddly shy. She’s unnervingly beautiful, with the kind of ethereal look that suggests she isn’t fully human. She mentioned being Crystal’s daughter, but Crystal looks maybe ten years older than me. Vandria is maybe a few years younger than me. I search for a logical explanation. She might have excellent genes or a great cosmetic surgeon. Or she really might be a vampire, which is insane.
She glances around the shop, then lowers her voice. “You must have questions.”
I set the latte down. “Understatement of the year.”
Her smile reveals another flash of fang. Ask anything.”
I clear my throat. “Crystal looks a few years older than me, and I’m thirty. You look a bit younger than her and me, but you’re calling her your mother. That can’t be right.”
Her lips twitch. “Vampires don’t exactly age the same way humans do.”
My stomach knots. I lean back, crossing my arms. “You really believe you’re a vampire?”
She lifts her cup, sipping slowly, eyes glinting with a flash of red over the rim. “I don’t just believe it.”
A heavy silence hangs between us. The pink hearts continue drifting around my shoulders, making the scene look ridiculous. “I can’t explain your reflection in the mirror or your mother’s either. Vampires don’t have reflections.”
She laughs. “Old myths. Reality is quite different. Before you ask, we drink blood, but it’s not from sentient beings. It’s also fortified with a magical concoction to reduce the need for consumption as well, and we can still eat food.”
I press my elbows against the table. “And you’re their daughter.”
She nods, gaze steady. “I am. I was born seventy years ago, and my mother is over two hundred. That’s normal for vampires, who can be born or turned.”
My spine stiffens. “That’s not normal.” Then I catch the flash of hurt in her eyes, and my tone softens. “Look, I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”
She runs her thumb along the edge of her mug. “It’s fine. We’re used to it.” She straightens. “You don’t have to believe right now. Just give yourself a chance to see this town for what it is.”
I breathe in coffee-scented air and shake my head. “This is still too much.”
She shifts her focus to the lantern, which floats near my right ear. “That thing likes you. People are starting to talk.”
Two older women at a nearby table glance over with impish grins. One jots something into a small notepad. The other stifles a chuckle, gaze flicking between me and Vandria. My skin prickles.
She squints at them. “They’re placing bets.”
My jaw tightens. “Bets on what?”
She tilts her chin, annoyance crossing her features. “How long until you accept the magic.” She forces a thin smile in their direction, then focuses on me again.
My stomach churns. “They’re treating me like a sideshow.”
She lifts a shoulder. “Small-town curiosity. They don’t mean harm.”
My gaze drops to the steaming latte. I swirl it, watching tiny hearts dissolve. “I’m not here for a magical matchmaking experiment.”
She looks away for a moment, gaze shifting to the window where a cluster of lanterns hovers in the distance. “You might not have a choice. Our barrier is stubborn. The festival is in full swing. The lantern does what it wants.”
My fingers drum the table. “Is the festival because of Valentine’s Day?”
She arches a brow, prompting me to tell her about our holiday. Vandria shakes her head. “No. It’s from a fae tradition, I think. Something about finding one’s mate before the spring equinox to ensure maximum fertility.” She grins. “I hear you’re stuck here for now.”
I nod. “The orc said probably not until the festival ends.”
She hesitates. “You might not want my advice, but...embrace the magic, at least a little. It might help you accept what’s happening here.”
I push up from my seat, ignoring the hearts that swirl around me. “I refuse. This is insane. I’m just trying to leave.” The frustration almost chokes me. “I can’t do this. It’s all so ridiculous.”
She shifts her weight. “I’m sorry.”
My jaw tightens. “It’s not your fault.”
She glances at the lantern. “I hope you find a way to cope with that thing. If you need me, my shop is open.”
My throat feels scratchy. “Thanks.”
With a nod, she rises and departs the café, crossing the street toward her bookstore. A swirl of confetti bursts above the clock tower at the center of town, signifying the official start of some midday event. People gather in small clusters, likely preparing for the festival’s big night. Children laugh, chasing after floating hearts. Musicians test their instruments near the fountain, each note sparking a tiny rainbow in the air.
I can’t keep scowling at everyone. The energy in Evershift Haven is so joyful, it’s impossible to stay angry forever. That irritates me even more.