Chapter 9 #2
Besides, Hannah is nothing like Charlotte. She would probably faint if I touched her that way. And I have no business imagining it in the first place. She made her feelings about my nature clear back in her kitchen, looking at me with such disgust when I wanted to feed on her neighbors.
She might be attracted to the ritual, but that doesn’t mean she wants anything to do with the witch performing it. She is only letting me feed because she has to.
And why would someone like her—young, bright, virtuous—ever want to be tangled up with a sanguine witch?
I’ve killed more people than I can count.
I’ve done things that would horrify her sweet moral sensibilities.
Even if she did want our feedings to become more, the way I want to pin her beneath me and make her mine would terrify her innocent heart.
From what I can glean, she’s not like that.
No, we’ll be done with each other the moment this binding spell is broken, and then she can go find someone who can pleasure her without the constant threat of draining her life away.
I force my gaze away from her and down at my palm, which tingles where I cut it. It’s slowly stitching itself back together with threads of magic that feel like spider silk.
Yes, it’s better to appreciate her beauty from a distance and keep my darker desires locked away where they belong.
Hannah and I stop in front of a narrow door wedged between two shops, looking up at the glowing words The Crimson Moon. A full moon rises behind the letters, more scarlet than crimson.
I wrinkle my nose at the litter and grime around the door. “Charming.”
Of everything that’s changed in the last century, the filth of the city remains constant. This is why I prefer the woods.
A group of young women walk past wearing clothing that would have scandalized a brothel back in my time—skirts that reveal their entire legs, shoes that defy gravity, shoulders completely exposed, breasts all but hanging loose.
It’s…well, I’m no better than a man, because it’s hard to peel my eyes away from them.
Hannah clears her throat. “Shall we?”
We follow the women inside, stepping away from the foul-smelling outside world and into a stuffy establishment with dim red lighting.
It’s so loud I can barely think, a deep beat reverberating in my chest. Is this supposed to be music?
The air carries the scent of whiskey and something else—herbs, maybe sage, burned recently as if to ward off evil.
Too bad sage doesn’t work on sanguine witches.
As I blink the room into focus, I stop in my tracks, wondering what we’ve walked in on.
Bodies press together, writhing, sweaty, hands groping.
Fingers roam up bare legs and down plunging necklines.
Hips sway, lips devour, tongues plunge into mouths.
Like watching animals in a mating game. No waltz, no pattern, no decorum, just desire on display.
When did such intimacy become acceptable outside closed doors? I can’t decide whether to be scandalized or to envy their freedom.
Heat rises in my body, but when I feel Hannah’s gaze on me, I look away from the crowd, remembering what we’re here for.
At the perimeter, every seat and table is occupied, but none of the faces are familiar.
Behind the bar, a very tall, broad man with pale skin and red hair stands serving drinks. And beside him…
My heart leaps.
Florence.
Or rather, Florence’s descendant.
She has the same piercing eyes, the same sleek black hair and light skin, even carries herself with the same elegance. She’s in her forties, perhaps, and wearing simple black garments.
I lean closer to Hannah and point. “There.”
Our shoulders brush, and maybe it’s the atmosphere setting me on edge, but the contact sends a swell of heat through my middle.
As we stride up to the bar, I can make out the gold tag reading “Maya” pinned to the woman’s shirt.
When she looks up from pouring a drink, those familiar eyes meet mine.
Her gaze flicks over my face, my hair, my cloak.
She freezes. Her jaw goes slack. The color drains from her face.
The glass slips from her fingers, shattering on the floor. While several people turn toward the commotion, she just backs away with her hands raised as if I might strike her down where she stands.
“Interesting,” I say.
“Um,” Hannah says.
Maya bolts.
Hannah and I take off after her, weaving between startled patrons who clutch their drinks.
She disappears through a door marked “Staff Only,” and we follow her into a narrow hallway. Another door at the far end leads outside, already swinging shut on its hinges.
We thunder after her.
The alley is a maze of junk and pools of darkness deep enough to hide in. It reeks of rotting food and alcohol, and broken glass crunches under our feet. I can hear her rapid footsteps and panicked breaths heading toward the street, where she thinks she can disappear into the crowd.
The hunt awakens something primal in me. What little magic I have responds eagerly, practically purring as I track her movements through the shadows. This is what I was made for—the pursuit, the cornering, the moment when prey realizes there’s nowhere left to run.
I lift my hand and hesitate, debating whether to use my small reserve of power this way. But I need to stop her. So I blast a bin in her path sideways, and it slams into her.
She cries out. The sound of her body striking the rough ground echoes off the alley walls.
“Please,” she gasps, scrambling away until her back hits a brick wall. “I don’t know anything. I’m not—I’m not one of you.”
“We’re not here to hurt you,” Hannah says.
I laugh. “Well, she’s not.”
Hannah swats my shoulder. “Be nice!”
Maya looks between us, wide-eyed and breathing hard. Blood oozes from her scraped palms.
“Why did you run from me?” I ask.
She says nothing, her jaw tight.
I grab her arm and haul her to her feet. “You’re descended from Florence Kwan, are you not?”
“I don’t know who that is.” The denial comes too quickly. Her gaze darts past me, as if calculating an escape route.
“Your ancestor was a powerful witch.”
“My ancestors have owned this bar for generations. None of them were a—whatever you think they were.”
I release Maya’s arm and seize her throat, slamming her back against the brick wall. “Lying to me is a mistake.”
“Julia!” Hannah rushes forward, her voice sharp. “Don’t.”
I ignore her, tightening my fingers enough to make breathing difficult. “I knew Florence before she had children. We worked together for decades. She made the most exquisite protection charms—little silver amulets shaped like crescent moons.”
“I don’t—know what—you’re talking about.” Maya’s hands fly to my wrist, trying to pry me off.
Beneath my arm, at her collar, I catch a glint of silver.
Anger pulses through me at the sheer nerve of this woman for thinking she can keep me at bay like I’m some ghost or demon. I squeeze harder. “All this effort to protect yourself from evil, but none of these protections work against a coven sister, Maya Kwan.”
“I’m not—who you think I am,” she chokes out.
Pathetic. If she were a witch, she would have used her magic to defend herself by now.
“Even if the gift skipped you, that does not grant you an escape from who you are.”
She meets my gaze for the briefest moment. The hesitation is all the confirmation I need. She’s hiding something. And I’m too desperate to be gentle.
I press my palm against her clavicle. One hex. I can afford it.
I murmur an incantation—not to draw out her life force, but to make her talk. “Tell me what you know.”
Maya’s scream cuts through the alley. She convulses against the wall, her eyes rolling back. The veins in her face darken, her skin graying.
“Julia, stop it!” Hannah tries to pry my hand away, but I shove her back with my free arm.
“Not until she tells us something useful,” I say before continuing the incantation.
Blood trickles from Maya’s nose, dripping onto her collar. She shudders in pain, but her eyes stay sharp. She keeps her jaw clamped tight, giving no indication that she’ll bend.
I grit my teeth, breathing hard. Sweat prickles across my back. I’m draining what power I have left, but I refuse to show it. As far as Maya is concerned, I could do this for hours.
“So stubborn,” I mutter, pressing her harder.
“Maya.” Hannah steps forward, her tone urgent. “Julia and I have been bound together by a spell, and if we can’t find her old coven, we’ll be stuck like this forever. Please help us.”
Maya’s eyes flick between us, her breathing ragged, sweat beading on her temples despite the cold. “Why should I care? Maybe the world will be safer if Julia Moreau is tethered to someone with a conscience.”
Her use of my full name makes me pause. So she does know who I am. That’s why she ran. Even if she’s not a witch, does her blood still sing with recognition when she spots one? Should I be flattered that someone in her lineage feared me enough to warn her about me?
“I’m searching for Rebecca,” I say, easing up a little. “And the others. A location is all we need.”
Maya scoffs, looking venomous. “Why would I help a sanguine witch? My mom told me what that means. What you do to people. A warning about you has been passed down since Florence’s time.”
“A warning? About me?” I grin. Looks like I wasn’t forgotten, after all.
“Just leave me alone, okay? I have no connection to that life. Don’t make me call my bouncer out here.”
I don’t know what a “bouncer” is, but I’m willing to bet it won’t hold up against a sanguine witch. Magic crackles between my fingers.
But Hannah grips my arm. “Julia, we can get what we need a different way,” she whispers.
I curl my fingers, wanting to keep using force. But if Maya is even remotely as stubborn as Florence was, I’m not sure about my chances of getting information out of her.
Hannah’s grip tightens, and she tries to pull me back. “Sorry to bother you. We’ll be on our way.”
I shoot her a glare that says, We absolutely will not.
Her returning glare says, Let’s talk about this.
She had better have a plan.
Reluctantly, I release Maya and let her back away.
When the door slams shut behind her, I spin to face Hannah. She’s taken a step back, putting space between us. We’re alone in the shadows with only the distant hum of people and the putrid smell of the alley.
“She’s lying,” I snarl.
“Of course she is.” Hannah’s voice comes out shaky. She wipes sweat from her hairline with a trembling hand. “She knows exactly where the coven is. But that doesn’t mean we have to torture her.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Hannah waves her hands in exasperation. “You can’t throw people around with magic!”
“Why not? It’s efficient.”
“It’s assault!”
I chuckle. “What a quaint modern sensibility. In my time, we called it justice.”
“In your time, you called a lot of horrific things justice.”
I straighten my cloak, ignoring this. “We’ll have to wait for the establishment to close and follow Maya home. We’ll restrain her while we turn her house upside down. She must have something in her possession that can lead us to them.”
Maya Kwan thinks she can hide from her heritage, but she can’t change that she is descended from one of the greatest witches ever to live.
Whether she likes it or not, she’s about to help me find my way home. Even if Hannah won’t approve of my methods when the time comes.
“Julia?”
My heart does something strange at the sound of my name on Hannah’s lips.
I lift my chin and turn back to her.
She crosses her arms, a fiery look in her eyes. “If we want to get to her house, I have a better idea.”