Marked By Moonlight (Château Nocturne #2)

Chapter One

I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, looking at Auberre’s public park through the windshield. Honestly, how hard could this be?

My heart pounded and my fingers tapped faster, but my nerves were still on edge.

You can do it, I tried telling myself.

What if I couldn’t? What if I failed?

If Marius were around, I would have been eager to prove to him what I was capable of.

But my dragon shifter lover was away on another job with his colleagues Roux, Bene, and Henrik — their second trip since we’d returned from Mallorca.

Only three days this time, but it already felt like an eternity.

To avoid moping over Marius like a love-sick puppy, I’d assigned myself a list of tasks to accomplish in that time.

So far today, I’d gone for an early morning run, scraped peeling paint in the west wing of the chateau, and set out on an epic shopping trip in anticipation of the guys coming home — er, coming back — soon.

Now it was time for the next item on my list. Shadow-walking, right here in the public park, where everyone could see — or rather, not see.

All my life, I’d been brushed by magic that came and went as it pleased — little relics of my mixed ancestors’ much greater abilities.

The way normal people vowed to master knitting, gardening, or a foreign language, I’d made halfhearted resolutions to learn magic.

I hadn’t ever actually accomplished much, though.

But the past few weeks had shown me I had to sharpen every tool in my box if I wanted to survive another brush with ruthless supernaturals.

Shadow-walking was tool number one — making myself invisible, in a sense. To do that, I had to maintain an illusion of myself in one place while sneaking over to another. I’d succeeded a few times in the past, but I needed to do it reliably. Confidently. Hence, this visit to the park.

But now that I was here, my resolve faded away like moonlight on a stormy night.

You can do it, I pictured Marius saying.

I pushed the car door open, strode to the park, and plopped down on a bench, rubbing my hands nervously. I could do this. I could definitely do this. Once I started, it would all come naturally. Right?

I looked around. No one in sight. I settled into as natural a position as possible, gazing solemnly at the tricolor flags flanking the village war memorial.

I carefully noted every detail, from the angle at which my ankles crossed to the way one hand rested over the other.

I catalogued the length of my shadow and the way the autumn breeze flowed around my body.

Then, recreating that exact scene, I inched silently away, checking the illusion I’d left behind.

Sad gaze aimed at the war memorial — check. Body and shadow unchanged — check. I was there, but I wasn’t there.

At the same time, I had to conceal every trace of the real me. That meant erasing my shadow, rearranging the breeze, and creating the illusion of untrampled grass under my feet.

Intense didn’t begin to describe the process. It was like painting two different scenes at the same time, keeping one eye and one hand on each. But the consequences of an error now weren’t merely a smudged canvas. It was smudging myself right out of existence.

My head started to throb, but I kept it up, maneuvering farther away with every step.

Then, for practice, I turned away, because an illusion was that much harder to maintain without visual feedback.

Had my illusionary head tipped to a strange angle?

Was my nose migrating over to my mouth like a warped Picasso portrait?

A cloud covered the sun, dimming every shadow. I hurried to correct the faux shadow at my fake double and the too-bright spot I’d been mind-casting over my real shadow. Then the sun emerged again, and I reversed the process.

Whew. I made a mental note to stick to indoor shadow-walking — if I had to shadow-walk at all.

I paced from side to side, trying different distances and checking for another cloud. Luckily, the sky looked as if it would remain clear for the next few minutes.

I was just congratulating myself on a job well done when someone called from the street.

“Oh, Mina! Bonjour!”

It was Madame Fontaine, the retired schoolmistress, approaching the park.

The good news was, she was focused on fake me. That proved the illusion was working. Yay, me!

The bad news was, she was closer to the bench than I was, and my illusion was about to be exposed.

Oh shit.

I sprinted over, desperately trying to keep myself masked. A damn good thing no one was around to notice the details I lost track of in my rush, like my footsteps in the grass or the shadow I cast.

“Mina! Yoo-hoo,” Madame Fontaine hollered when fake me didn’t turn.

I made a mental note to try more realistic, moving illusions in the future — if I ever worked up the nerve to try this again. Because damn, was I cutting it close.

At the last possible second, I jumped into the space occupied by the illusionary me and released the spell.

Madame Fontaine did a double take, and I winced. I hadn’t resumed exactly the same position, making my image skip like a badly edited video.

“Oh bonjour, madame,” I panted.

Her brow furrowed. “Are you all right, dear?”

I nodded quickly. “Fine, thank you. I guess my mind was somewhere else.”

My body, too, but no need to mention that.

Glancing at the war memorial, she patted my hand. “It’s good to know young people still remember their sacrifice.”

I often did, but my motives today were entirely selfish, making me feel terribly guilty. I made a mental note to lay a wreath the next time Armistice Day came around.

“It’s so sad,” I said, and I meant it.

She patted my hand again. “All we can do to honor their memory is to make the best of the time we’ve been gifted with.”

Her wise words prompted another round of soul-searching.

Was I doing my best with the time I’d been gifted?

Shouldn’t teaching fifth graders rank higher than renovating a crumbling building and carrying on with a dragon shifter I might not have a future with?

Or was it just as important to hold true to my heart and my family’s legacy?

A legacy that involved magic. Was I a fool to play with fire, or was I justified in trying to rekindle it?

Berating myself for another me, me, me moment, I silently read the names on the war memorial. Then I took a deep breath and offered Madame Fontaine my elbow.

“Does a trip to the boulangerie qualify as making the best of the time we’ve been gifted?”

She chuckled and stood, wrapping her arm around mine. “Always. Especially when there are éclairs involved.”

Off we went, arm in arm, and for the first time, I felt she and I had something in common other than both being teachers and residing in the same peaceful corner of Burgundy.

“It’s so lovely to have young people back in town,” Madame Fontaine said along the way. “You…Clement…”

She meant my childhood buddy turned local hottie/police officer/overprotective wolf shifter. A man I loved like a brother, but only as a brother.

She didn’t exactly waggle her eyebrows, but Why on earth aren’t you two already married? came through loud and clear.

“It’s lovely to be back in town,” I said diplomatically.

That also saved me from trying to explain how Marius’s soulful eyes and gritty determination more than made up for his slightly sketchy background. She would never understand anyway.

I endured another few minutes of hinting and matchmaking, but the éclair was worth it. And, oh! The splitting headache that always plagued me after magic-making had dissipated already.

I said my goodbyes and walked back to my car, making a mental note to always, always follow up magic practice with a pastry. For mental health purposes.

Then my phone rang, and I lit up in anticipation of a call from Marius. Was his mission finished? Was he safe? Was he on his way home to me?

I yanked my phone out of my pocket and hurried to my car, heart pounding in giddy elation.