Chapter 12 #2
The door closes behind me with a soft click and I pause just past the threshold, letting my senses adjust to this new space.
Shelves line the walls from floor to ceiling, filled with objects that have been placed with care rather than convenience.
Glass cases reflect the soft light filtering through the windows, throwing gentle rainbows across polished surfaces.
Polished wood carries the faint scent of age and preservation, of time itself made tangible.
There’s no heavy weight of magic in the air like my shop carries, no thrum of power waiting to be awakened.
Everything here is exactly what it is meant to be.
I take another step forward, my boots silent against the worn wooden floor.
“Careful.” Lucien’s voice carries across the space, smooth and measured.
I still instinctively, looking toward the nearest display.
A stand of intricate glass orbs, Witches orbs, if my newly acquired knowledge is correct, catches the light in various shades of blue, sitting wobbly and precarious beside me like they’re just waiting for one careless movement to send them crashing.
“I would prefer your first visit to remain intact,” he adds, placing the object in his hands down.
I shift back half a step, giving the display a respectful amount of space. “Understood. No accidental destruction on my first official visit.”
He looks up, and the impact steals my breath like a physical thing. His eyes meet mine over the rim of those glasses, calm and knowing in a way that makes my heart beat faster than it should, like he sees more than I’m ready to show.
“I was wondering when you would come in.”
I place my hand on my hip and bring my coffee to my lips, studying him over the rim of my cup. There’s something about the way he says it, casual but weighted, that makes me think this moment has been anticipated. “You say that like I have been avoiding you.”
“You have,” he says without hesitation, but there’s no accusation in it, just gentle observation.
“I have been busy with Ezra, the grimoires, Sir and his grumblings.” I grimace, thinking of all the hours spent poring over ancient texts and trying to keep my Familiar from insulting every person who walks through my door.
I mean, he knows I’m the only one who can hear him.
I can’t keep my face a blank mask all the time. “I’ve been next door.”
“I am aware.” He smiles and I settle at the reassurance it gives me.
I drift along the nearest shelf, letting my fingers hover just above the surface without touching anything.
The items here feel significant in a quiet, undeniable way.
Watches with faces that seem to hold entire lifetimes, pendants that catch light like captured stars, brooches that speak of stories long forgotten, journals whose leather covers are soft with age, spy glasses that have seen secrets, and all kinds of bits and bobs that speak to lives lived fully. Yep, I get the name now.
“What exactly is all this?” I ask, nodding toward the displays, my voice softer than I intended.
“History,” he says, and there’s reverence in the word. “Pieces that matter. Pieces that were kept. What the archives do not hold, I do.”
I glance back at him, intrigued by the weight behind his words. “So, this is a shop or a museum?”
“A little of both.” he replies, waving his hand around the room casually.
My attention catches on a small object resting within a glass case near the counter, and I feel an almost magnetic pull toward it. I lean in, drawn by something I can’t quite name. A sharp, insistent tug in my chest, an urge to reach for it before I can think better of it.
It’s a ring. Simple at first glance, silver worn smooth in places that suggest it has been handled often, loved deeply. There is nothing ostentatious about it, no precious stones or elaborate engravings, which somehow makes it feel heavier, more significant than any crown jewel.
I step closer, leaning slightly, my breath fogging the glass for just a moment. “This one feels important. Is it special?”
“It is.” Lucien says, and I look up at him, waiting for the story I know must be there.
“Whose was it? I know there’s a story.” I ask, curiosity threading through my voice.
“She gave it to me.”
He says it as if I already know the answer, and for a moment I let my mind wander through possibilities until understanding clicks into place like a key turning in a lock. I look back toward him and Lucien waits patiently for me to reach the conclusion he knows I will.
“Ruby,” I say, her name falling from my lips like a prayer.
The pull deepens, persistent, as something inside me clicks into place.
He gives me a nod and my eyes widen, the implications hitting me all at once.
“You knew her.” I say in wonder, staring at this man who suddenly seems even more mysterious than before.
“I did.”
“How long have you been here?” I ask, staring transfixed at the unassuming ring that connects him to my ancestor, to the woman who built this place I’m only just beginning to call home.
“A long time.” He replies with amusement at my amazement, like my wonder is something precious.
I glance at him, needing precision, needing to understand the scope of what I’m dealing with. “Define long.”
A faint smile touches his mouth, and there’s something almost fond in his expression. “I arrived when this place was little more than a spring and a handful of structures built by those who needed somewhere to exist without being found. I crossed the veil and found myself here.”
I let his words sit with me, not ready to rush past what they mean. The veil, the Fae realm. I’ve read about it in several of the grimoires, descriptions of the otherworld that seemed like fairy tales until this moment.
“You stayed,” I say, and it’s not quite a question.
“Yes.” he says patiently, watching my face as I process this revelation.
I draw my hand back from the glass and turn to face him fully. This isn’t just an antique shop. This is a repository of time itself, watched over by someone who has lived through centuries of it.
“You didn’t want to go back?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
“No. I came here for a reason. The reason required me to wait.” He shifts behind the counter as if he is about to move but stops himself, some internal decision holding him in place.
“For what?”
“I did not know who I was waiting for,” he says, finally moving, stepping from behind the counter with the same measured calm that defines everything he does.
Each step is deliberate, unhurried, like he’s dancing to music only he can hear.
“I only knew that I would recognize them when the time came.”
He stops in front of me, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his violet eyes, can catch the faint scent of something otherworldly that clings to him, not cologne, though I can smell that too, something deeper, older.
He smiles, and it’s soft and sure and devastating. “And then you walked into my life.”
I hold his gaze, letting the meaning of that take shape instead of pushing against it. The air between us feels charged, heavy with possibility and destiny and choice all tangled together. Did Lucien just mic drop on me with the revelation of a lifetime?
“Me,” I point to myself.
Lucien smirks, and the expression transforms his face entirely. “You. Keisha.”
“I hear you,” I say, my voice steady despite the way my heart is racing. “And I am not going to pretend that didn’t land exactly the way you meant it to. Because damn, Lucien, that was some metaphysical type shit you just dropped.”
His arched brow lifts as he tries to fight back a smile, clearly pleased with my reaction. He reaches for me, then hesitates and lets his hand drop. I want him to come closer, need him to close the distance between us, but before I can voice that want, I need to address the elephant in the room.
“But it is not just you.” I blurt out, the words rushing out before I lose my nerve.
He watches me intently, waiting with the patience of a saint. Saint Lucien, that’s his new name now. This man who has waited centuries and can apparently wait a little longer for me to work through my thoughts.
“I felt it with Maceo,” I continue, the admission feeling both terrifying and liberating.
“Out there in the woods, the hike from hell, something changed, and it did not feel temporary. Whatever is happening with Ezra did not come out of nowhere either, so I am not going to stand here and pretend I do not recognize that.”
I take a small step closer without thinking about it, needing to be closer, needing for him to understand that this isn’t confusion or fear speaking, it’s clarity.
“So, whatever this is, it does not belong to just one connection. It is tied to all of you.”
Lucien watches me closely, and this time there is no distance in it, no careful restraint. His gaze is warm and accepting, like he’s been waiting for exactly this conversation.
“Yes, I agree.” he says simply.
I tilt my head, surprised by the ease of his acceptance. Did he just agree without hesitation, without jealousy or demand for exclusivity?
“This would sound insane anywhere else,” I admit, laughing a little at the absurdity of it all.
“It would,” he agrees readily. “But it is not unusual where I come from. Connections like this are not forced into a single shape to make them easier to understand.”
I study him, taking that in, letting it settle into everything I have already felt but been afraid to name. The relief is almost overwhelming.
“So, this doesn’t surprise you?”
“It’s not unexpected.”
Stunned by the easy acceptance in his voice, I nod my head slowly. “That explains why you are standing there so calm about it.”
“I have had time to understand what I was waiting for,” he says, and there’s something almost tender in his voice. “You are encountering it all at once.”
I step closer again without realizing it until there is barely any space left between us, until I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
“This still does not make sense in any way I would have expected,” I say, quieter now, my voice dropping to match the intimacy of the space between us. “But I am not confused about what I feel, and that is the part I cannot ignore.”
His gaze drops briefly to where my hand lifts instinctively, coming to rest against his chest, then returns to my face. His heartbeat is steady under my palm, grounding and reassuring.
“You are not meant to ignore it,” he says, and there’s certainty in his voice that makes something inside me settle into place.
I don’t look away and it surprises me how sure of myself I feel.
“This is not just you choosing me,” I say, the realization crystallizing as I speak. “This is something already in motion.”
“It is foretold. You’re my reason for being here, Keisha.”
A breath leaves me, softer now, as the full weight of that settles over us both.
“You are something else,” I murmur, shaking my head once before looking back at him with new eyes.
His mouth curves faintly, and there’s something almost vulnerable in the expression.
“I knew you the moment I set my eyes on you, Sweetness,” he says again, quieter this time, the endearment rolling off his tongue like it was made for me.
I stay right there, fully aware of how close he is, of how easily this moment could become something else entirely. The air between us is thick with possibility, with want, with the weight of destiny and choice intertwining.
I do not step back. I don’t run, don’t retreat into the safety of doubt and self-protection.
I don’t think this man would let me if I tried, and honestly, I don’t want him to.
Not going to lie, I’m bewitched, stomach twisted in knots by the revelation that Lucien has waited hundreds of years for me.
Anything could have prevented me from getting here, different choices, different paths, different circumstances, but everything happened exactly the way it was meant to.
Here we are. Right here, bodies a hair’s breadth away from each other, the culmination of centuries of waiting distilled into this single, perfect moment.
He lets the weight of his words settle as he takes my cup of coffee from my hands with careful precision and sets it on the counter beside us. I watch the action in a trance, mesmerized by how effortlessly he moves, unsure what to do with myself as my eyes find his again.
“Lucien?” I question, my voice barely above a whisper.
“No talking, Sweetness.” He says, his voice low and rough with want, before he leans in and claims my mouth with a kiss that feels like coming home and falling apart all at once.