A Bargain With The Shadow Prince (A Shadow's Bargain Book 1)

1. Soulless

ELOISE

My attorney”s nail polish is the same color as her hair, a shiny black called Soulless made by Skull and Thistle, a beauty brand that caters to a woman”s inner goth. I know this because Maeve Gowdie, Esq. is also my best friend, and I saw the bottle of polish the night I was curled in the fetal position on her floor. At the time, I”d thought things couldn”t get any worse than having to move in with my grandmother to escape my abusive husband.

I was wrong.

“Can you repeat that?” I heard her well enough but don”t want to believe what she’s saying.

“Tony wants the house, Eloise. Your house. Harcourt Manor.”

My eyelashes flutter like dying butterflies against my cheeks, and a tiny muscle below my right eye starts to twitch. Has all the air left the room? My necklace is suffocating me. With trembling fingers, I slide the drop pearl back and forth along its chain, making room between it and my throat. “That can”t be right. That house belongs to my grams.”

“Not legally, it doesn”t.” From her leather chair behind an enormous walnut desk, Maeve retrieves some paperwork, the skeleton mermaid tattoo on her arm swimming with her movement. She turns a page toward me. “When your parents were killed, you were named beneficiary of the property, but you were under eighteen, so your grandmother took ownership as your legal guardian. The title reverted to you on your eighteenth birthday, even though your grams continued living there and you did not. Ordinarily, under Virginia law, inherited property isn”t considered marital property, but Tony made substantial renovations.”

“But— but he insisted!” I protest. “A freak sinkhole threatened the foundation. Our neighbor”s house was condemned because of it. I didn”t even ask Tony for help— I wasn’t even living with Grams at the time to understand the extent of it. He just had it fixed. The workers had to bring in heavy machinery to make it safe again.”

“Well, that heavy machinery was expensive, and because Tony substantially contributed to the property”s value, he can now claim it as marital property. The bastard wants it, El. And one of his lawyers told me he”s willing to go the distance. This is going to court unless you can buy out his share of the property.”

“Which is?”

“Five hundred thousand.”

A strangled squeak escapes my throat. It’s like I”ve reached the end of a rollercoaster, rattled and nauseated, only to find the lap bar is stuck, and the attendant says I”ll have to ride again. I grip the armrests of my chair until my knuckles turn white and send a pleading glance across the desk to Maeve. “How is that possible?”

“Property values have increased considerably since your great-grandparents settled in Echo Mills, especially on the river.”

I clear my throat. “I don”t have that kind of money.”

From behind the thick rim of her glasses, Maeve”s dark gaze flicks to the corner of her office. Her voice is soft as she says, “I know.”

She understands better than anyone. I’m broke. Tony is loaded, and we”d shared an account when we were married, but I no longer have access to a dime of that money thanks to an ironclad prenuptial agreement he insisted on. I can’t even afford Maeve. She’s representing me pro bono. I’m also unemployed, thanks to Tony. He”d made me quit my job as an art teacher six months into our marriage to “focus on managing the household.” What a joke. We had no children. We didn”t even have a dog. But I’d quit in an attempt to be someone he could love. Turns out nothing could fix what was broken between us.

It’s been a week since I left and moved in with Grams. Harcourt Manor is the only reason I’m not sleeping on the street. Now he wants to take that too.

My heart thumps faster. This is happening. Tony— cheated-with-his-secretary Tony, struck-me-twice Tony, dominated-the-last-two-years-of-my-life Tony— is rearing his reptile fangs and attempting to snatch my ancestral home right out from under me.

I scoot to the edge of my chair and rest my wrists on her desk. My hands are trembling so violently, I have to couple them like I’m about to pray. Honestly, that’s exactly what I should be doing. “I can”t move my grandmother. It”s not an option.”

Maeve sets down her pen and leans across the desk to cradle my fingers in hers. “I know this is awful, El. Your grams has lived in that house her entire life. I remember her stories about giving birth to your father in one of the guest rooms.”

“I was the first child born in a hospital.”

She licks her bottom lip. “This isn”t fair. But if Tony wins the property, he has to pay you for your portion. You and Grams could get a nice place for 500K.”

“It”s not just that.” Denial is a comfort I can no longer afford, and I spill the news I haven’t been able to bring myself to tell her yet. “Grams is dying. The cancer is back, and it”s in her bones. She started in-home hospice this week.”

Maeve”s already pale complexion turns ashen. “Oh, Eloise...”

Tears well and spill over my lower lashes, even though I hold my breath in an attempt to control them. Frantically, Maeve tugs tissues from the box on her desk and hands me the wad. I bury my face in them. When I speak again, I have to force the words past the massive lump in my throat. “If it was just me, I”d leave. I love the place, and it would kill me to lose that connection to my parents, but I”d survive. Grams… she wants to die there. She wants to be buried next to my parents in the family cemetery. I won”t let him take that from her. Please tell me there”s a way to stop him.”

Maeve’s expression shifts into the determined, more than a little intimidating one I”ve come to love over the years we”ve been friends. She”s scary as hell when she wants to be and not just because she looks like the spawn of Wednesday Addams and Machine Gun Kelly. Her normally chocolate-colored eyes turn as dark as her nails with her anger. I cast a glance toward the window. A storm has moved in. I hug myself against a sudden chill.

It”s always this way with Maeve.

“Answer me honestly.” She glares at me. “Does Tony know your grams is sick?”

I chew my lip. “He does. The cancer came back a few months ago, although Grams didn’t tell me until recently how serious it was. I paid a few of her medical bills from our joint account before I moved out, stuff that wasn”t covered by Medicare.” I give a sarcastic snort. “God, please don”t tell me that gives him a right to half of her too.”

Maeve bristles at my dark humor. “Fuck, I hate that guy. I really do.”

I blot my face with the mass of tissues. “I know.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Do you? Because I tried to hide it before. Even when you started wearing...” She gestures toward my dress.

I sniff. “What”s wrong with what I”m wearing?”

She touches the tip of her tongue to the corner of her blood-red lips. “It”s just a lot of beige, hon.” Beige with tiny flowers that match the darker beige of my pumps. Her attention darts to my bleached hair and then down to my ballet pink nail polish. “The hair, the nails.” The way her head tilts and her eyes narrow makes me feel like an abandoned, flea-ridden kitten. “The pearls.”

Indignant, I raise my chin a full inch. “I”ll have you know this shade of nail polish was a favorite of the Queen of England. It”s very sophisticated. And pearls never go out of style.”

“The queen died years ago… at the age of ninety-six. You”re twenty-five.” Maeve folds her arms. “You wouldn”t have been caught dead in that before you met him.”

She has a point. Over the years I’d dated Tony and the two we were married, I”d changed almost every aspect of myself to meet his standards, including my wardrobe. It was never enough. “I appreciate your help. I really do. But the last thing I”m worried about at the moment is my outfit.”

“Right.” She drums her fingers on her biceps. “He”s just taken so much from you. I can’t remember the last time I saw you smile. And your art. How long has it been since you painted anything? The gall of that man. When I think about the woman you were when you met him?—”

She’s right about the smile and the art, but that’s not the whole story. “I was a kid with a death wish. Tony took me under his wing and forced me to get serious about my life. If it wasn”t for him, I probably wouldn”t have my teaching degree.”

“You would have done fine without him. You were an accomplished artist by then—one big break from being as big as your mom.”

“It’s true I had a bright future as an artist before my parents died. But Tony made me see how impractical a career in the arts is. Besides, I could barely pick up a paintbrush from grief after I lost them. A teaching degree just made more sense.”

“And if it wasn’t for him, you’d still be using it,” she snaps. I shrink at the harsh truth and her face softens. “I’m just appalled on your behalf.”

“I know.” I blink back another onslaught of tears. “Just tell me what can be done about the house.”

She reclines in her leather chair, elbows on the armrests and hands steepled over her lap. A dark queen on her throne. “There are a few legal avenues I can try, but honestly, your best bet would be to convince him to back off. Can you confront him? Maybe guilt him into letting the house go?”

“I don”t think it would end well.” I hug myself against an inner quake that leaves me clammy.

“You think he”ll hit you again.”

“Tony doesn’t like to be confronted. He almost broke my jaw while we were married. I hate to think what he’d do now that we’re getting divorced. I won’t rule out trying, but I’d be lying if I said he doesn’t scare me.”

“Fucking asshole.” Maeve heaves a deep sigh. “Any way to manipulate him? Got any dirt on the bastard?”

“Nothing I can prove.” She shoots me a knowing glance. Maeve has long suspected Tony is involved with organized crime, but if he is, he never admitted as much to me, even when things were good.

She sighs. “Then I think there”s only one way to guarantee Tony doesn”t get Harcourt Manor.”

“How?”

“Magic.” I swear I see her eyes twinkle behind her glasses.

What?“Magic?” The word comes out strangled. Is she joking?

“Come on, Eloise. You must have suspected over the years. That time we went camping and it rained on everyone else”s tent but ours. Our grades on that calculus exam neither of us studied for. The tea I gave you that helped you lose five pounds the night before your wedding.”

I inhale sharply. All those things were weird but... “What exactly are you implying? That you made those things happen?”

She gathers her raven black hair into a twist, holds it in place with one hand as her other forms an L with her thumb and forefinger and circles the knot three times. When she removes her hands and turns so I can see, it’s secured in a perfect updo without the benefit of a single hairpin.

My heart jackhammers in my chest as I try to deny what is right in front of me, while knowing in my heart that it is the truth. Knowing in the back of my mind that I suspected… maybe not magic, but something. Knowing, like everything else today, that this is really happening. “Why didn”t you tell me?”

“Why didn”t you ask?” Maeve smooths her hand along the edge of the desk. “Goddess knows, it wouldn’t have been the craziest question you’ve ever asked me.”

“So, you’re a...” I can’t say it.

“A witch.”

“Like a Wiccan or something?” I try to get my head around it and can’t. I think of witches the same way I do Tibetan monks. I know they exist, but I’ve never actually met one. At least I thought I hadn’t before today. And aside from a few suspect videos I’ve watched online, I have no reason to believe the ones that do exist can make their hair levitate.

“No. A witch as in the magical sense.” She shakes her head. “Magic is real, El, and I can wield it.”

Slowly, I lick my lips. My muscles are sore and tense from processing everything, and I rub the place where my shoulder meets my neck. “What exactly can you do?”

“Enough.” She cuts the word short like it’s all the explanation I’m going to get, but there’s one thing I have to know.

“Can you heal my grams?”

“No,” she says immediately. “I”m sorry. I wish I could. But healing something like cancer, especially when the disease has progressed, is not within the Gowdie wheelhouse.”

“It”s a family thing? You’re all, um—” I still can’t say it.

“Witches. We”re all witches.”

“Even your dad?” I raise an eyebrow. Her father is a khaki-wearing accountant who looks about as magical as a Swingline stapler.

She lowers her voice. “He can brew a potion that would make Tony sleep through his fiftieth birthday.”

I lean in. “Seriously? Is that what you”re proposing?”

She waves a hand dismissively. “No. I mean, it would work, but it”s too close to home. Too risky. We need plausible deniability here. A third party to handle the situation at a time when both of us are accounted for.”

“Do you have someone in mind?”

She folds her hands beneath her chin. “First, I need to ask you what you”re willing to do to save your house.”

I scoff. “What am I not willing to do? I”ll do anything. Anything.”

Maeve”s mouth bends into a wicked grin, and her dark hair falls from its twist, landing in perfect waves around her shoulders. “Good. Then I know someone who can help you… for a price.”

I toy with the pearl around my neck again. “I can’t afford much.”

“He won”t want money.”

“Then what kind of price?”

Her dark brows rise above the rim of her glasses. “Exactly what you have to offer, Eloise. And you”re going to give it to him.”