Chapter 6 Rose Thief and Succulent Destroyer
Rose Thief and Succulent Destroyer
Istared at my reflection, chest heaving, mascara smudged beneath my eyes. The silver-haired Santa version of me had vanished—if she’d ever been there at all. I’d finally cracked under the pressure of... of what? Having a terrible week? Seeing a reindeer in a park?
The bathroom door crashed open with such force that it bounced off the wall.
A dark-haired man from the bar burst in, eyes wild, scanning every corner of the small space before landing on me. “What happened?”
Before it fully registered that one of my stalkers was in an empty bathroom with me, a second figure appeared behind him. The second one who’d been watching me stepped through the doorway with controlled movements, like he was on some kind of top military mission.
“What the actual fuck?” I reeled backward, colliding with the counter. My hands gripped the edge so hard my knuckles whitened. “What are you doing?”
The door swung shut behind them. No security guard came rushing in. No concerned bartender. No one came to my rescue.
The dark-haired one ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, glancing from me to the mirror and back. “I heard you scream.”
“From across a nightclub?” My voice crept higher. “Through walls and over music that could wake the dead?”
He shifted his weight, flashing a concerned smile. “You’ve got some serious pipes. Pretty sure they heard you on the International Space Station.”
The blond one hadn’t moved, hadn’t smiled, stared at me with those unnerving gray eyes. “We felt it.”
“Felt what?” I straightened my spine, trying to appear taller, more formidable, less like someone who’d just seen her doppelg?nger dressed as Santa Claus in a nightclub bathroom mirror.
“Your magic.” He said it so calmly, so matter-of-factly, like he was commenting on the weather. “It spiked.”
The room tilted. I gripped the counter tighter. “I don’t have magic. And you both need to leave. Now.”
Neither of them moved. The dark-haired one’s smile faded, his expression shifting to something that looked dangerously like pity. “You’re waking up.”
The words shouldn’t have made sense. They shouldn’t have sent ice water rushing through my veins. They shouldn’t have felt so catastrophically true.
The blond one pointed a finger toward the mirror behind me. “Look.”
I turned, half expecting to see the Santa version of me again.
Instead, the mirror was frosted over, patterns of ice spreading from the center outward, crystallizing into intricate snowflakes and spirals.
It looked like something out of a winter fairy tale: beautiful, impossible, and absolutely terrifying because it hadn’t been there moments ago.
“I didn’t do that.” My voice came out as a whisper.
“You did.” The dark-haired one stepped closer, his heat filling the small space between us. “Like how you made it snow at Sinclair’s.”
My heart stuttered. “I didn’t... who are you?”
“I’m Pierce.” The stormy-eyed blond one remained by the door, standing guard. Against what? Who might come in? Or who might try to get out?
“Vix.” He held out his hand, but I didn’t move to take it. “I know this is a lot to handle, but we are trying to help you. Pierce wanted all nine of us to knock on your door, but Rudy put his hoof down about that.”
My eyes widened. “Hoof?”
Pierce glared at Vix, although that wasn’t saying much since his face seemed to be stuck in a scowl. “Foot. We all have big feet.”
“Big feet?” I laughed, the sound high and thin with hysteria. “You expect me to believe that nine men with big feet have been following me to help me?”
Frost continued spreading across the mirror’s surface, branching outward like tiny lightning bolts. The bathroom had grown cold enough that I saw my breath when I spoke.
I needed to get past these two tanks and get to safety. My mind raced through potential escape routes, calculating the odds of dodging Vix or shouldering past Pierce’s immovable frame. Neither option seemed promising.
They were solid walls of muscle standing between me and the rational world where mirrors didn’t frost over and strangers didn’t talk about magic like it was as common as getting a coffee.
The bathroom felt claustrophobic, and the walls got closer with each panicked thought.
This had gone beyond weird and into genuinely horrifying territory.
My fingers twitched at my sides, ready to push, shove, or claw my way out if necessary.
All I needed was one opening, one moment of distraction, and I’d bolt straight for the exit and into the comforting anonymity of the crowded club.
“You both need to back the fuck away from me.” I inched to the wall, hoping to slide around until they adjusted their positions so I could slip out the door.
Vix stepped closer, hands raised in a placating gesture. “We’re not trying to hurt you.”
“Oh, fantastic! Two strange men corner a woman in a bathroom and promise they’re not trying to hurt her. That’s completely reassuring!” My fingers curled into fists as my voice rose. “What is this exactly? Some kind of cult?”
Pierce’s jaw tightened. “You don’t understand the danger—”
“The danger?” I cut him off, fury and fear battling for dominance. “The only danger I see is being trapped in a bathroom with two stalkers who talk about magic like it’s real!”
The temperature plummeted further. The mirror made a sharp cracking sound, and both men’s eyes widened. A jagged line split the frosted glass from corner to corner.
“Neve…” Vix took another step forward.
How the hell did he know my name?
I held up my hand. “Stay back! I don’t know you. I don’t know what game you’re playing.”
“This isn’t a game.” Pierce’s voice remained steady, but his eyes kept darting to the spreading frost that now crept along the bathroom walls. “You’re losing control. Let us help you.”
“Help me?” I let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “That’s what this is supposed to be?”
Vix reached out, not quite touching me. “You forgot. It’s not your fault.”
“Forgot what?” I was shouting now, my voice bouncing off the tiled walls. “That I’m secretly a Disney princess? That I can conjure ice out of nowhere? That I hallucinate reindeer in parks who speak to me in my mind?”
Pierce’s eyebrows shot up.
The mirror cracked again, louder this time. The frost had reached the ceiling, forming intricate patterns that sparkled under the fluorescent lights. A thin layer of ice now coated the floor around my feet.
Something inside me snapped. The last thread of rationality I’d been clinging to broke apart like the mirror behind me. I lunged forward, shoving past Vix with enough force to send him stumbling into the wall.
Pierce moved to block the door, but I was faster, rage and terror lending me speed. I ducked under his outstretched arm and crashed through the bathroom door into the pulsing of the club.
The sudden heat hit me like a wall, but my breath still fogged in front of me. I pushed through the crowd, ignoring the startled looks from dancers who shivered as I passed. Behind me, I heard Vix calling my name, but the throbbing bass quickly swallowed his voice.
I needed air. I needed space. I needed everything to make sense again.
Most of all, I needed to run.
The digital clock on Mia’s microwave glowed with judgmental brightness. I’d spent three hours staring at her living room ceiling, trying to convince my racing brain that the bathroom incident had been a combination of vodka, exhaustion, and too many Christmas decorations infecting my subconscious.
Mia had accepted my faked migraine excuse with minimal questions, though I caught her concerned glances during the Uber ride back to her condo.
She’d offered me tea, Advil, and even her “special” gummies before finally retreating to her bedroom with a gentle reminder that her door was open if I needed anything.
What I needed was a brain transplant. Or possibly an exorcism.
I kicked off the blanket and sat up on the pull-out sofa.
The silence pressed against my eardrums with the same intensity as the nightclub speakers, but with none of the distraction.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw ice crystallizing across that mirror and those two men looking at me like I was a bomb about to detonate.
Maybe I was.
My fingers tangled in the hem of the oversized T-shirt I slept in. The condo felt too small, too warm, too... contained. Like the walls might close in if I stayed inside any longer.
I padded across the polished concrete floor, past Mia’s closed door, where her gentle snores confirmed she was asleep, and straight to the sliding glass door that led to her private balcony.
But even as my hand touched the cool metal handle, I knew the small concrete slab wouldn’t be enough. I needed more space. More air.
The roof. Mia had mentioned that the building had a communal rooftop garden that residents rarely used.
I slipped on my shoes without socks, grabbed Mia’s keycard for the shared spaces, and headed for the stairwell. Four flights later, slightly winded and wishing I had taken the elevator, I swiped the card and pushed through the heavy metal door to the rooftop.
The night air hit me like salvation. Cool but not cold, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from the planters arranged around the perimeter.
Potted palm trees swayed against the backdrop of city lights, their silhouettes black against the indigo sky.
I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with something that wasn’t panic for the first time since the bathroom incident.
I took three steps toward the railing when a distinct crunching sound stopped me dead.
Not alone.
My body tensed, fight-or-flight kicking in for the third time that night. I squinted into the shadows, searching for the source of the noise.
“Hello?” My voice sounded embarrassingly small.
The crunching paused briefly, then continued.