Chapter 39 Nicole
Nicole
The smell of coffee drifts through the air. A music channel plays on the TV, but it doesn’t drown out the relentless echo of his words in my mind. Soulmates. The very idea sharpens my senses, leaving a bitter taste.
Daria is busy in the kitchen—the clinking of cups and the sound of running water remind me that all of this is real. I drag a hand across my face, rubbing my temples as though that alone could erase the memory of his touch. It doesn’t work.
I can still hear him, as if he’s standing right behind me. We, the witchers, believe in soulmates, but not in finding them in every lifetime. And yet, I found mine… only to lose her in a heartbeat.
My throat tightens, and my lungs feel heavy. Could there possibly be a hint of truth in it?
The only thing you need to know is that you’re safe.
I bite my lip, trying to repress the flood of thoughts crashing through me.
I think back to the first time I sensed his scent, the way his invisible presence always wrapped me in that sweet, peppery aroma.
What happened in the labyrinth… Was it really an anomaly in the magic, like he claimed? Or because we’re soulmates?
The doorbell interrupts my musings. I hear Daria’s footsteps in the hallway and the creak of the door. Faint voices reach me as she talks with someone. I frown and strain to listen…
No, it can’t be! I spring up from the couch and rush to the front door. My father stands there in his usual dark suit, crisp and immaculate, with his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze moves over Daria before settling on me.
“I knew it,” he says.
My legs shake, but I stay put. “How did you find me?”
His eyes are cold, and his mouth curls. “I checked your car’s GPS. Of all the places you’ve been over the past few days, this one struck me as the most unusual. It didn’t take much to discover that your childhood friend used to live here.”
Daria’s gaze shifts between us. “Hello, Mr. Vrachev. I assure you, Nicole is safe here.”
His attention remains on me. “Come outside.”
My body stiffens at the sound of that familiar, authoritative voice. I draw in a breath, trying to suppress the trembling in my fingers. “I won’t…”
He raises an eyebrow, his hands shifting behind his back as if to shake off the tension. “Let’s not cause a scene.”
The tone alone is enough to make me shrink inside. No matter how much I rebel against him, he always dominates me with nothing but his presence. I remember Gaetano’s words: Next time, you’ll be more confident. At this moment, I feel no confidence at all.
My father’s gaze darkens, and his lips tighten into a thin line. He crosses the threshold, and every fiber of my being tenses up. For some reason, Daria moves aside, as if forgetting it’s her apartment. “Mr. Vrachev, please…”
“This is between me and my daughter. Stay out of it unless you wish for trouble.” He steps closer and grips my wrist with an iron hold.
The unwelcome contact reminds me of Gaetano’s appearance last night.
How he emerged out of nowhere and grabbed me.
As my father’s grip tightens, my skin burns. Gaetano’s touch never caused me pain.
“You and I will deal with this at home. Enough drama in front of strangers!” Dad hisses.
“Let me go!”
“You clearly haven’t been yourself lately!”
My muscles tense up, and it’s as if my whole body refuses to move, even though every instinct urges me to fight back. It’s happening again.
Daria steps forward, her voice firm. “Mr. Vrachev, you can’t just come in and take her. That’s abuse!”
He faces her, still holding onto my arm. “This is concern. My daughter has problems. Strange behavior, unexplained outbursts, the kind of men she meets in the dark. Hiding her here isn’t helping. She needs real help. Medical help.”
His voice is so rational that anyone listening from the outside might think he’s right.
A fire ignites within me. A deep, bitter sense of injustice spreads through my entire body.
I kept my sanity after the Black Joker! I navigated a labyrinth of illusions and fear.
And now my father is trying to paint me as a lunatic. Damaged.
“I am not going with you!”
“Let her go!” Daria screams.
My father swivels his head toward her. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“Yes, it does.” Daria plants herself in the middle of the hallway, blocking his path. He shoves her aside with his shoulder. She stumbles and hits the wall. Her eyes widen in pain and shock.
Pure, blinding rage explodes inside me. For years, I’ve been shrinking myself to fit into this man’s mold, but Daria is not me. She’s a good, kind person who’s only ever shown compassion to everyone.
My focus shifts to the open bedroom door, to my duffel bag behind it.
Bracing my heels against the floor, I yank my arm free.
I lunge into the room, crouching before my bag, fingers finding the dagger.
It’s warm and fits in my palm with unsettling perfection.
A silent force surges up my arm, envelops my entire being, and settles deep in my soul.
I face my father. When I stabbed Gaetano, my hand trembled. Now, I hold the knife with a calm that should terrify me. Instead, the ground is solid beneath my feet. It fills me with cold resolve. And a dark hunger for blood.
Is this how it feels for Gaetano when it’s time to harvest? Acting the part of someone who has nothing left to lose but himself?
Like it or not, you’re a predator, he told me last night. Right now, I’m inclined to believe him.
My father’s shoulders stiffen. His gaze drops to the blade, then slowly lifts to my face. “Don’t be ridiculous, Nicole…” Tension thins his voice.
He’s only a meter from the blade. One quick motion from me, and it would be buried in his gut.
A little higher, and it would pierce his heart.
He’d glance down in panic, grab at the handle as he collapses to the floor.
I wouldn’t stop. I’d press the blade deeper with the full weight of my body—I’ve done it before—and I’d keep pressing until the last trace of life left him.
I already smell the blood that would flood the hallway, spilling across the floor.
He edges toward me, then stops. His eyes follow the knife. That’s right, Dad. Come a little closer.
Daria rushes past him and heads into the kitchen. “I’m calling the police.”
For a split second, panic flashes over my father’s face. “Don’t be stupid. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I see a man who’s forced his way into my home, attacked his daughter, and shoved me against a wall.
That, Mr. Vrachev, is more than enough. And if the police don’t take this seriously, I’m sure the media will.
Especially after”—behind me, a familiar clicking sound—“I show them this picture of you.”
My father’s lips part, then press together again. His gaze shifts from Daria to me and the knife. And all of a sudden, he’s no longer the dominant man I invariably submit to. He’s a man. Just a man, losing his footing.
Not so pleasant, is it, Dad?
“Say goodbye to all your comforts,” he hisses.
Then he turns without saying another word, his movements sharp and stiff, just like they always are when he feels he’s lost control.
He storms out, and the door closes behind him with a haunting stillness.
I stare at the closed door, listening to the silence that follows.
For the first time in my life, he backed down.
Not because someone stood between us. Not because Gaetano told me to.
It wasn’t rage or desperation. It was me, finally standing my ground. And for the first time…I won.
“Oh, my God!” Daria throws her arms around me. “Your father…he’s changed so much over the years.”
He’s always been like this, I tell myself. But I was too young to see it. And he wasn’t yet rich or powerful enough to show his true face to the world.
“I still think we need to call the police,” Daria says.
“Don’t. He won’t come back.” Because if he does, I will kill him.
I set the blade down and scan the room. Gaetano is not here, though I sensed his presence as soon as my father grabbed my arm. For a moment, I thought he would interfere, but he didn’t, and I’m thankful for that.
And as much as I want to be angry that he’s watching me from the shadows again, I can’t shake the feeling that his words gave me the courage I’ve always needed to stand up to my father.
Daria clears her throat, drawing my attention again. “By the way, where the hell did you get that knife?”
* * *
The hours after my father’s departure drag on. I was about to leave Daria’s apartment and stop causing her trouble, but she insisted I stay. Said her home was mine, too. Then she had to go, teaching a yoga class at a studio two blocks away.
Which is how I find myself alone, drumming my fingers on the coffee table in front of the couch, and bouncing my leg underneath. Thoughts rush through my mind.
My gaze lands on Daria’s phone. She left it, saying, “Just in case. Phones aren’t allowed during class, anyway!”
I open the contact list and scroll through it until I find the name I’m looking for. Julieta Fortune-teller. I press “call.” The line rings several times before a raspy, irritated voice answers, “What?”
I’m not even sure what I’m hoping to get from this conversation. “Hello. This is Nicole. My friend Daria and I came to see you…about a witcher. You gave me a knife and—”
“I knew you’d call. My Tarot reading revealed the Death card in reverse.”
I grip the phone tighter, a chill crawling down my spine. “What does that mean?”
“Whatever it is, it’s not good.”
My stomach knots with equal parts fear and anticipation. “Actually, I’m calling to ask you something…”
“If the knife didn’t work, then you’re not dealing with a witcher. Whatever’s after you, it’s already inside you. I want nothing to do with it.”
“You said you had a relationship with a witcher…”
“Damned devil-spawn! Stole my youth!” she spits, her voice crackling through the speaker.