Chapter 3 #2
Inside was warmer, thick with the smell of incense and spice, burnt sage, dried lavender, and something bitter, metallic under the tongue.
Candles guttered in sconces, their flames bent at unnatural angles, casting shadows where there should have been light and light where there should have been shadow.
Sable looked up from behind the counter, her dark hair braided tight against her scalp, sleeves rolled to her arms as though she’d been elbow-deep in spellwork before I arrived. Her gaze cut across me, keen and evaluating, then softened—slightly.
“You’re late,” she said, though the clock hadn’t even struck midnight, her voice smooth with a rasp underneath. “And you’re bleeding on my floor.”
I glanced down. A smear of red still streaked my knuckles where I’d gripped the dagger. Not mine.
My hands moved before I thought better of it. “Not important.”
Her mouth curved—not into a smile, but something knowing. “When it drips, it matters. But you never did like hearing that, did you?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I pulled the satchel tighter over my shoulder and stepped closer. My fingers shaped the words, sharp and clipped. “I need more elixirs. Stronger. Enough to last at Court.”
Sable stilled. Just for a breath. Then she leaned her weight against the counter, studying me like I was a spell she hadn’t quite decided to cast. “So it’s true,” Sable murmured. “The prince came for you.”
Her words landed heavier than they should have, stirring the charms strung across the ceiling until they chimed like restless bones.
Before I could sign a reply, a streak of rust-colored fur leapt onto the counter. His paws skidded across the wood, scattering a stack of runes and sending a jar of dried yarrow clattering to the floor.
“Damn it, Trouble.” Sable scooped her familiar up before he could nose at my satchel. His tail swished like he knew exactly how close she was to smacking him.
The little beast twisted in her arms, bright eyes locking on me. He yipped once, sharp and accusing.
“She doesn’t owe you anything,” Sable said to him—or maybe to me. Her gaze followed the blood at my knuckles, then climbed to meet my eyes again. “Especially not her life.”
I set the satchel down on the counter harder than I meant to. The bottles inside clinked against one another, and Sable’s jaw tightened like she wanted to scold me for it. My fingers moved before she could. “I don’t have a choice.”
“You always say that.” She set Trouble down, and he darted across the counter, curling against the jars as though he owned them.
“Like you don’t have a mind of your own.
Like he didn’t walk in here and bleed all over my floor, and you—” Her mouth snapped shut, but the heat in her glare finished the sentence for her.
I crossed my arms, my signs clipped and angry: “The tithe is due. The bar’s wrecked. I can’t pay.”
Sable’s lips thinned. She understood exactly what that meant. “So you made a deal with a Veyne,” she said at last. “Gods, Merrit.”
Trouble yawned, pointed little teeth flashing in the candlelight.
“I need elixirs,” I signed, fingers biting the air. “Before dawn.”
Sable’s laugh cut like glass. “Of course you do. Not tonight, not tomorrow, but before dawn. You think I’ve got shelves of miracles just waiting for you to stroll in and demand them?”
Trouble gave a little huff, curling tighter against the jars as though he agreed with her.
I didn’t rise to the bait, only pulled the satchel open and laid the few empty vials I had left on the counter. The faint scent of bitter herbs still clung to them. My hands shaped the words: “You’re the only one I trust to brew them right.”
That made her pause. Not soften, but pause.
Sable dragged a hand over her face, muttering something about reckless bartenders and suicidal princes. Then, quieter, almost to herself: “Like I don’t have enough of my own debts.”
My head snapped up.
Her eyes were already back on the vials, shoulders stiff. “What? You think you’re the only one chained to someone else’s terms? The pack bleeds you, sure—but me?” She gave a bitter laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “I made a bargain I didn’t want. Now I owe someone who doesn’t let go.”
Trouble’s ears flicked, his amber gaze darting between us as if even he didn’t like the taste of that truth.
I signed slower this time, careful, “You never said.”
“And you never asked.” Sable’s mouth quirked, humorless. “Not that it would’ve mattered. You don’t lie to me, Merrit. You can’t. I taste it.” Her tongue flicked against her teeth, pointed and deliberate. “And gods help you if you ever try.”
Her glare burned, but her thoughts were worse—bitter chords of debts unpaid and bargains she wished she’d never struck. Don’t end up like me, hummed beneath every thought.
She pulled the vials closer, inspecting them one by one. “Fine. I’ll mix what you need. But don’t think I’m happy about it. Brewing in the middle of the night isn’t easy, Merrit. Some ingredients don’t like to be rushed. Neither do I.”
Trouble hopped down from the counter, his tail brushing across my wrist like punctuation.
I tapped the wood once, steadying myself. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t life or death.”
Sable’s gaze flicked to me, hard and assessing. Then she sighed, the fight bleeding out of her as she swept toward the shelves. “Life or death. Always life or death with you. Gods help me, one of these nights I’ll let you walk in here and bleed out on the floor, just so you learn.”
But she was already pulling jars down, setting her mortar out with brisk, efficient movements.
Sable swept a clay jar toward her, the stopper coming loose with a hiss like it resented being opened. The air filled with something acrid and bitter, metallic as blood and sweet as rot all at once.
“Hold this,” she muttered, shoving a mortar into my hands before I could sign refusal. The stone throbbed faintly, warm as though it had a pulse.
Trouble hopped back onto the counter, tail twitching as he watched her measure out a pinch of ash-black powder and a sliver of dried root that oozed sap even after death. Each ingredient sparked faintly against the air, the candlelight bending around them.
Sable ground them together, muttering under her breath—not words I recognized, not even ones meant for untrained ears. The sound tasted bitter on my tongue, like glass scraped over bone.
The mixture smoked in the bowl, gray tendrils curling into shapes I almost recognized before they vanished. Faces, maybe. Shadows. Futures I wasn’t ready to claim.
She caught me watching. “Don’t,” she said flatly. “Elixirs don’t like being stared at. They start thinking you want answers, and then all you get are lies.”
I set the mortar down carefully.
Trouble sneezed, spraying a little puff of smoke.
The air smelled thicker now—mint, iron, crushed roots bleeding their secrets into the mix.
She poured the first elixir into a vial with a practiced hand, corking it tight before sliding it across the counter toward me. Then another. And another. Each soft clink felt like a verdict.
“Don’t waste them,” she muttered. “I’m not brewing more if you burn through these in a week.”
I gathered the vials carefully, tucking them into the satchel like fragile bones. My fingers moved once more, slower this time. “Thank you.”
Her mouth curved—wry, reluctant. “You’ll owe me for this, Merrit. And don’t think I won’t collect.”
Trouble yipped from his nest of jars as if to second the threat.
I shouldered the satchel and stepped back. The bell shrieked overhead when I pulled the door open, charms sparking once more as if they disliked letting me leave.
Sable’s voice followed me out, softer than I expected. “Come back breathing, Locke.”
The wards snapped shut behind me, and the Divide swallowed me whole. The vials clinked softly in my satchel, each one heavy as a chain. The street stretched ahead—crooked, restless, alive with too many eyes watching from shadowed corners.
Whispers brushed against my skull, stray thoughts seeping past the cracks of my fading elixir: hunger gnawing like bone on stone, suspicion cold as steel, envy curling like smoke.
Easy prey, one mind hissed. Another flashed an image—coins spilling from a broken purse, a knife flashing in an alley.
Too many voices I didn’t want, each one a reminder that I couldn’t keep this secret buried forever.
I pulled my cloak tighter and kept walking, the Lock & Key only a few turns away. By dawn, the prince would come to collect his due. And I would step into Court with nothing but a satchel of elixirs, a scar at my throat, and a secret sharp enough to cut us both.