Chapter 2
Nia
“HOW TO DETECT FAIRY WINE AT YOUR NEXT CELEbrATION.” —A PAGANS BLOG
Nia stood far from the bonfire, where darkness welcomed her and her shadows prowled.
“How much are you willing to pay for your transgressions?” she asked, her voice calm, almost bored. “What are you willing to do?”
Jackson, her latest mark, swallowed hard. “T-transgressions?” he echoed.
Nia rolled her eyes. Shadows coiled around him, slithering up from the ground, winding like smoke around his throat. They whispered to her, revealing what he tried to hide—his fears, his secrets, the things he thought no one else could see.
Movement in the distance caught her eye.
A man, tall, broad-shouldered, and entirely out of place lingered at the edge of the gathering, half-hidden behind a bush. Was he… talking to it? Petting it?
Curiosity flickered over Nia, sharp and unexpected. Without thinking, she let her magic tighten around Jackson’s throat, silencing his blubbering as she turned to study the stranger.
Who was he here with? Why wasn’t he joining in like everyone else? And why was he so fascinated with that bush?
His gaze lifted and locked onto hers across the bonfire.
The noise around her dimmed. Her pulse skipped. An odd feeling stirred beneath her skin, slow and certain: like she’d found something hidden, something meant only for her. It settled deep in her chest, a familiarity she couldn’t place and didn’t trust.
Jackson’s choking shattered the moment.
The spell was broken, leaving her with a flicker of irritation. Nia’s gaze snapped back to her mark, her magic coiling tighter around his throat, punishing him for daring to break her focus. His face turned a lovely shade of blue before she pulled her shadows loose.
“I—I can’t believe they call you Saint Nia, Duchess of Charity,” he wheezed, glaring with watery eyes. “What would people say if they found out you threatened and terrorized for your donations?”
Nia’s lips curved into a cold smile. “And what will they say when they learn that the so-called king of happy and healthy chickens is a fraud? That his birds are living in squalor and fighting off rats? That those organic chicken breasts they’re feeding their children come from animals covered in lesions and riddled with disease? ”
His eyes went wide. Nia gave him a wicked grin.
“Ten thousand dollars,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
“Oh, Jackson,” she said, shaking her head. “No.”
“F-fifty thousand.”
“You think fifty will absolve you of your cruelty?” she asked, her tone cool and unyielding. “That amount is a drop in the ocean for someone like you.” She paused, watching horror dawn on his face. “I know about your illegal gambling. And the money laundering.”
“You’re a monster.”
“No, I just grew up with one,” she backed him farther away from the party and tightened her powers once again.
He was right where she wanted him. “Here’s the deal, Jack.
You’re going to clean up your farm, get proper veterinarian care for those poor chickens.
Then you’re going to donate fifty thousand to Feeding Children, twenty-five thousand to the Stella Rune Pantry for the Unsheltered, and then, for pissing me off, ten thousand to the Stella Rune Animal Shelter. ”
His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.
Nia leaned in. “What? Cat got your tongue? Spit it out.”
“Eighty-five thousand?” He shook his head, incredulous. “That’s insane.”
She pulled her phone from her dress pocket and pressed play on a video of one of his farms. The sound came first: the restless clucking of chickens and the creak of old wood.
The footage showed overcrowded enclosures, the birds packed too tightly, their feathers ruffled and dull.
Some perched uneasily, shifting as they tried to find space, while others remained still, their heads tucked down.
Nia watched his face pale. “How much would you lose in sales if I posted this? If, say, the media got their hands on it?”
His jaw clenched. “Fine. Fine.”
“Niiaahh,” a singsong voice called from the distance.
“I expect the funds in five days. Now tell my business partner how pretty she looks tonight.”
Nia linked her arm through Jackson’s and smoothed the creases from his shirt. She turned to Ivy, who was skipping toward them in a shear opal dress. Her white-blonde hair gleamed orange in the firelight and her eyes sparkled with delight.
“Nia,” Ivy said with a breathy sigh. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“I’m right here.” She pinched Jackson’s rib.
“You look lovely tonight, Ivy.”
She pinched harder.
“Absolutely stunning, if I wasn’t already mar—”
“Thank you so much, Jackson,” Nia cut in. “I look forward to working with you.”
She released him and he stumbled away as Ivy waved an uneasy goodbye.
“What were you doing with the CEO of the largest poultry distribution company this side of the continent?” Her delicate hand continued to wave.
“Talking to him about the best places to donate his money.” Nia glanced at her nails, her tone casual.
She and Ivy had founded The Charis Foundation six years ago, back when they’d shared a tiny apartment on the verge of foreclosure.
The building’s owner, an elderly woman, had fallen behind on her payments.
A large corporation was circling, eager to buy the property and turn it into a parking garage.
A parking garage in Stella Rune—how obscene.
Determined to help, Ivy and Nia had worked tirelessly to raise the money needed to save the property, eventually returning ownership to the older woman.
That victory had sparked the creation of Charis, an organization dedicated to supporting causes close to Stella Rune and in the surrounding area.
Years later, when the woman had passed away, she left the building to Ivy and Nia.
On the surface, Charis matched small charities with donors and helped them find creative ways to raise funds.
They worked with wealthy individuals who had a genuine heart for giving—but that was only half the story.
Off the books, Nia targeted corrupt individuals and forced them to pay for their sins.
It was the only way she knew to atone for the damage caused by people like her father. She’d never let Ivy in on what she really did, or the kinds of people she convinced to donate.
“Nia,” Ivy scolded, spinning to face her. “You were roughing him up, weren’t you?”
“Me? Never.”
“If people want to donate, let them do it out of the goodness of their hearts.”
Nia arched a brow. She never judged Ivy for how she got her donations. Her best friend had once bought them groceries—and quietly funded three food drives—by sending a few spicy videos to some exceptionally generous individuals. Not one of them knew their money ended up feeding the hungry.
Ivy had no idea how far Nia went to secure donations, and it was better that way. Safer.
Nia smiled, deflecting. “Oh, go dye your eyebrows.”
“How dare you!” Ivy gasped, her hands flying to cover her brows. “You know how much it bothers me. You can’t even see them unless I color them every other week.” She stomped her foot for emphasis. “That’s it.”
“What are you going to do?”
Ivy’s lips curved into a mischievous smile. “I’ll order you decaf for a month!”
“You wouldn’t do that to me.”
Satisfied, Ivy turned her nose up and strutted off toward the growing crowd, where people had begun to dance beneath the now-dark sky.
On her way, she passed one of Stella Rune’s few remaining elders: a wiry old witch with shoulders curved from years of hunching over spellbooks and mediating petty squabbles.
The elders carried weight in town, not just in the supernatural community, but even in the Videt’s decision-making.
They weren’t lawmakers, exactly—that was the Videt’s domain—but their words held enough sway that few dared to ignore them.
They had a way of charming humans, too, securing goodwill, influence, and occasionally funding for magical initiatives.
They also officiated hand-fasting ceremonies and other romantic rites, which made them particularly popular during celebrations like Mabon.
Something about the air—whether it was magic, moonlight, or just an excess of wine—had a way of stirring up romance.
Someone always ended up married before the night was through.
Because nothing said true love like exchanging vows while your drunk uncle accidentally turned himself into a toad in the background.
Nia cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled after Ivy’s retreating figure, “Make good decisions!”
Ivy was the only reason Nia bothered coming to these celebrations. Left to her own devices, her could-not-be-single best friend would end up married off to an ancient oak, a fairy, or—like last time—a wood devil.
Nia shivered and was thankful when a man approached with mulled wine.
She grabbed a glass and made her way toward a shadowed tree.
Settling onto the ground, she adjusted her skirt so it pooled around her and turned her attention to the dancing.
Ivy swayed to the music, her movements fluid and carefree as she and others circled the fire, their laughter rising into the night air.
Nia always came to these gatherings as an observer; she never got naked, never let herself indulge, dancing and reveling, the way others did.
Everything was business to her. But she still enjoyed watching the supernaturals cut loose, chasing things she told herself she didn’t need.
Love. Connection. The luxury of being fully known.
She had spent the first eighteen years of her life hidden, a secret kept for her own safety. And though she had built a new life in Stella Rune, she was still keeping that secret. Just like her father had.
Nia lifted the glass to her lips, but before the wine reached her tongue, a halting movement, out of place in the easy flow of revelers, snagged her attention.
A tall, awkward man hesitated at the edge of the crowd before reluctantly stepping in.
His brow furrowed as he tried to find the rhythm, his movements stiff and uncertain.
Nia recognized him immediately: the man who talked to bushes.
Now that she had a proper view, he wasn’t terrible to look at.
Actually, as his face relaxed and a small smile curved his lips, he became devastatingly handsome.
Not that Nia was interested. She had a duty to help as many people as possible, and she wasn’t about to get tied down.
Not after what happened to her mother, and not for some tall—
He turned and her brain short-circuited.
Thighs. Thick, strong, and unfairly distracting under tailored pants. Her gaze trailed up and down, her breath catching as she took in the rest of him: broad shoulders, a solid, grabbable waist, and an ass that could only be described as perfect.
She could almost feel the rough press of his thighs under her palms, her hands gliding upward to dig her fingers into that infuriatingly faultless curve. The thought burned through her, sudden and unwelcome, leaving her stomach tight and her heart racing.
No. She would not be tempted. Dancing led to flirting, flirting led to dating, and then bang! You were married against your will.
Nia downed half her drink, though the burn and fizz almost made her spit it back up. She looked to the sky as her eyes watered, but—instantly and irrationally—she missed the sight of him. When she looked back toward the supernaturals, he was staring at her.
Her breath hitched as she swallowed a hiccup.
He was so handsome with stars dancing around his head.
When he gave her a welcoming smile that felt comfortable and familiar, she was suddenly on her feet.
Which was a horrible idea, because as she stood, her vision blurred.
It felt like her feet left the ground as colors swirled around her in a vibrant tornado, and all she could hold on to was her absurdly desperate need to get to him.
That wasn’t normal. It was rom-com-level nonsense. A part of Nia knew this was how people got cursed, or worse—married. She’d need to see the eraser witch first thing in the morning to sort out whatever this was.
But first, she’d dance.