Chapter Seventeen
SEVENTEEN
Ben’s sister would have been instantly recognizable even if Eleonore hadn’t seen her the previous evening. She had the same thick, slightly unkempt hair as Ben, the same warm brown eyes, and a tall, sturdy build. She was also fidgety, though in a less nervous-seeming way than Ben: she was bouncing on her toes, hands in her coat pockets while she watched passersby with avid curiosity. She wore the same pink shoes as the previous night.
“Hey!” she said, hurrying over once she’d spotted them. They’d decided to meet at a café a few blocks from the warehouse. She hugged Ben, then extended her hand to Eleonore. “Nice to officially meet you, Eleonore. I’m Gigi.”
“I know,” Eleonore said as she shook Gigi’s hand. Did Gigi think she was forgetful enough not to realize this was the same person she’d seen the previous night?
Gigi took Eleonore’s bluntness in stride. “So you’re my security detail, huh? Do you have a bulletproof vest under there?”
Eleonore looked down at her attire—black jeans, sturdy boots, and a leather jacket. After Ben had taken her to buy clothes, he’d used a sewing machine to add hidden pockets at her request, so her knives were well concealed. “Why would I need a bulletproof vest?” she asked, having learned of the invention on the internet. “I’m faster than some witch.” Besides, guns were a clumsy, unsophisticated weapon, and no witch or warlock she knew would stoop to using one instead of spellcraft.
“Love the confidence.” Gigi cocked her head. “So, uh, do you have a background in stage combat or something? No offense, but you’re not exactly what I envision when thinking about bodyguards. Not that that’s a problem, of course. I’m grateful for the help.”
Ben must not have shared Eleonore’s credentials with his sister. “Don’t worry about my capabilities,” she reassured her. “I have been killing for six centuries.”
Ben winced for some reason.
“Oh.” Gigi blinked. “That’s…Wait, I thought that was just part of the performance.” Eleonore shook her head, and there was a long pause. “Six centuries, wow,” Gigi said. “Sorry, I guess I forgot vampires are immortal. The Middle Ages must have been something, huh?” She made a few stabbing motions. “All that feudalism and stuff.”
“I’m only half vampire and therefore not immortal,” Eleonore said. “Technically.”
That elicited an even longer pause. Gigi looked at Ben and widened her eyes. Eleonore didn’t see what expression Ben made in response. She was too interested in watching Gigi’s face. She’d been all smiling professionalism last night, but in this more informal setting she was more expressive, thoughts and feelings flying across her features with little effort to disguise them.
What a safe time people lived in now. They could hug strangers without fear of gutting. They could say what they liked and show what they were feeling on their faces without shame or consequences. Eleonore knew she was often an overly literal person, failing to understand subtext or the fast-paced jokes and references people made, but she could read the meaning in Gigi’s expression easily. Gigi had never met someone like Eleonore before and wasn’t sure how to react.
Eleonore didn’t mind. She was a product of her time and lived experiences. And part of why she didn’t mind was because, like Ben, Gigi took her blunt proclamations in stride and accepted her anyway. The young werewolf had started grinning again, eyes sparkling as she focused on Eleonore. “We need to go out for drinks sometime,” she said. “I have a feeling you have some very interesting stories.”
“Maybe next weekend?” Ben suggested. “This week’s going to be busy with all the new business coming in to the Annex.”
Gigi waved a hand. “Oh, you’re not invited. This is a girls’ night.” She winked at Ben. “Just me and your friend Eleonore here.”
Ben groaned. “Just what I need, the two of you collaborating.”
Eleonore seized on the idea instantly. “Yes,” she said. “We shall have a girls’ night.”
She hadn’t socialized privately with someone who wasn’t in possession of the crystal in…how long? And yes, Ben was far preferable to the Witch in the Woods, but there was still an edge of discomfort to their arrangement. He could alter the course of her life with a few words.
Eleonore was under no mystical obligation to Gigi. They could just be people together.
“Great.” Gigi clapped her hands. “Let’s work out the details later. Are we ready to face Cynthia Cunnington?”
“Tell me about her,” Eleonore said, switching into mission mode. “What potential dangers will we face?”
Gigi grimaced. “Honestly, she’s probably just going to be nasty and try to get me to drop out of the race. She’s rich and snooty and friends with all the other rich and snooty people in town, and one of her ancestors cofounded Glimmer Falls in the 1800s, so her opinion holds extra weight in the community because of that. Oh, and she’s a really good witch.”
“She plays with her necklace before casting spells,” Ben said.
Eleonore nodded. She was familiar with the ways of witches. Magic required a combination of spellwords and a physical ritual. Some witches drew runes, some danced, and others manipulated thread or other objects—whatever was most natural for gathering their focus and channeling it into mystical intention. “Does she know you’re bringing protection?”
“Yeah, I emailed her back and mentioned I’d be bringing a few members of my team,” Gigi said. “I didn’t say bodyguards, though, because I don’t want to start the meeting on a hostile note.”
“Will Cynthia have protection with her?”
Gigi looked abashed. “You know, I didn’t think to ask.”
Eleonore had gone into far worse situations blind. “No matter,” she said. “I will be more than capable of handling any threat that arises.”
Ben lightly nudged Eleonore’s hand, drawing her attention and sending a shiver down her spine. “Hey,” he said softly, dipping his head toward hers as if sharing a secret. Historically, she wasn’t a fan of people looming over her, but Ben’s looming felt protective, not hostile. “Obviously if anyone’s in real danger, you can protect us, but this is probably just going to be an awkward conversation. So maybe…” His mouth worked as he clearly considered his words. “Maybe don’t…”
When he didn’t immediately elaborate, Eleonore realized his concern. “Bite her throat out unprovoked?” she asked, raising her brows.
He coughed into his fist. “Well, yeah, but also…”
Also? Gods, what else did he think she might do? Yes, she was easily startled, but in six hundred years she hadn’t once gutted or beheaded someone without good reason or mystical compulsion. “No random acts of disembowelment?” Eleonore joked.
“No unnecessary maiming in general,” Gigi broke in when Ben just stammered. “Or, um, other…vampire stuff.”
Christ’s balls, they were serious.
Eleonore took in their solemn faces, then burst into laughter. Did they think she had the temperament and manners of a rabid dog? “I don’t enjoy killing or maiming,” she said, still chuckling. “I only kill when forced to or in cases of mortal peril. So unless Ben orders me to chop Cynthia’s head off or she actively tries to hurt you, I will merely stand nearby, being quietly menacing.” Another giggle slipped out. “ No unnecessary maiming , really.”
Gigi and Ben weren’t laughing with her, though. In fact, Gigi was looking at her with consternation and Ben with some pensive expression she couldn’t interpret. Eleonore’s laugh trailed off. Had she committed a faux pas? The stars knew she wasn’t aligned with this time and its social norms, but surely their concern about her committing unprovoked crimes had been a bit funny.
“What do you mean, you kill when forced to?” Gigi asked softly.
Oh.
Eleonore turned on Ben. “You haven’t told your family why I’m here?”
Ben looked guilty. “It’s a whole thing,” he told Gigi in a low voice, as if Eleonore weren’t standing right there. “I’ll explain later.”
“Why later?” Eleonore asked, humor slipping into irritation. Would he rather Gigi think Eleonore an unpredictably violent murderer? If Gigi truly thought she was a rabid dog with no mind of her own, girls’ night was canceled. “Gigi wants to learn about the binding spell, and the primary source is right here.” She turned to face Ben’s sister. “I have been mystically tied to a crystal for six hundred years, cursed to obey any order the owner issues.” The words were well-worn by now, but they still tasted sharp on her tongue. “Ben bought the crystal, so if he ordered me to behead Cynthia or jump off a cliff, I would be forced to do it.”
Gigi’s jaw dropped. “Like Ella Enchanted ?”
Eleonore didn’t know who that was. “Does this Ella also murder on command?” she asked. If so, she extended her sympathies.
Gigi’s head whipped around as she glared at Ben. “Did you seriously buy that crystal? What the fuck, Ben?”
A gratifying response. Girls’ night was back on.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Ben said quickly. “I was drunk and thought the eBay listing was a joke…”
“It was posted on eBay ?” Gigi repeated. “Is that even legal?” She looked furious. “I need to look into this. As mayor, I will refuse to allow mystical entrapment in Glimmer Falls.”
Girls’ night was going to become a weekly event. “Thank you,” Eleonore said. “I’m not enthused by the situation, as you can imagine.”
“I’m going to figure out how to release her from the spell,” Ben told Gigi. “It’s just been so hectic lately I haven’t had time to look into it.”
Gigi didn’t look mollified by that. “No offense, Ben, but when someone’s destiny lies entirely in your hands, you should probably make time .”
Ben made a frustrated sound, then looked at his feet. His toes were tapping in that anxious rhythm: right, left, right, left. “You’re right,” he said softly. “I dropped the ball on this one.”
Eleonore frowned, thinking of Ben’s late nights and red-rimmed eyes, how sometimes he was so tired he fell asleep during dinner. How he was on the phone all the time talking to vendors or Gigi’s other campaign advisers, how she’d caught him staring at a half-made scarf in his lap at three a.m. one morning, muttering sadly that he’d dropped a stitch. The silver spikes hadn’t been weapons, after all—they were knitting needles he was using to create gifts for his family members.
“Hold on,” Eleonore said, putting her fists on her hips and facing Gigi. “That’s not fair. Ben has been working himself ragged lately, including on your campaign. He can’t magically create more time when every minute of it is already taken up with obligations.”
Ben looked up, surprise written over his features. Gigi, too, seemed taken aback. “Oh,” she said. “Sorry, Ben. I didn’t realize things were that hectic.” She hesitated. “I can find someone else for the campaign…”
“I can handle it,” he said instantly.
Gigi looked relieved. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. “Positive. One hundred percent.” He jerked his thumbs at his chest. “Solid as a rock, this guy.”
Eleonore narrowed her eyes at him.
He smiled a little. “Really,” he said softly. “But thank you, Eleonore. And I promise we’ll find a way to break the curse.”
“Hmm.” She recognized wounded pride when she saw it, understood how important it could be to cling to scraps of imagined control long past the point of reason. Her pride, battered and chipped as it was, was her most precious possession, like an old warrior’s armor kept in a place of honor despite the dings and indents of battles lost.
Ben was too proud to admit he was overwhelmed. He would cling to his knitting and his obligations until he passed out from sheer exhaustion.
“Very well,” Eleonore said, deciding to let it go. “Forget the crystal for now. We have a wicked witch to face.”
Cynthia Cunnington stood alone in the middle of the warehouse, highlighted by a fall of sunshine from a broken skylight. The concrete floor was stained and dust floated in the air, though none of it seemed to settle on the witch. Her pulled-back hair was as golden as the sunlight, and she wore an iron-gray pantsuit with clean, sharp edges. A pearl necklace ringed her throat—the only visible weapon, but the only one she likely needed.
Eleonore considered the height of the witch’s heels and how she’d positioned herself for maximum visual impact rather than strategic advantage in combat. Some of the tension left her shoulders. This wasn’t the look of someone eager to start a fight—at least, not a physical one. This was someone who wanted to make a statement.
“I told you to come alone,” Cynthia said as she watched the three approach. Her eyes touched on Eleonore briefly before lingering longer on Ben.
The first—and often last—mistake many warriors made was assuming the largest-looking threat was the most dangerous one. Eleonore smiled, feeling a rush of adrenaline. There was something intoxicating about battle that started in the tense, waiting moments before all hell broke loose. She remembered it from standing with her clan on the edge of a snowy field, knowing the white expanse would soon be churned and spattered with crimson.
She didn’t miss killing, but she did miss that feeling, though she’d thought it lost after centuries of tedious, meaningless violence. But here it was again, pricking her nerves and sharpening her senses. She was here of her own accord to defend others; no one had commanded it.
That made all the difference.
“I emailed you,” Gigi said brightly. “Generally I don’t make a habit of lurking in abandoned warehouses alone, but to each their own.” She stopped out of arm’s reach of Cynthia, bracing her feet apart as Ben and Eleonore flanked her. Gigi didn’t look as polished, but her footwear was far more sensible, and her smile expressed confidence.
Interesting, how easily Gigi shifted from the bright, expressive, ebullient woman they’d met on the sidewalk to this more contained, practiced version. There were no cracks in her composure for enemies to sink their claws into.
Cynthia’s eyes were blue and cold. Her beautiful face was expressionless, but there was a thin quality to her skin and enough fine lines—though not smile lines—for Eleonore to put her age at somewhere in her fifties. Her posture was impeccable. “Why are you running for mayor?” she asked without preamble.
“Because I love Glimmer Falls and believe I can institute worthwhile change,” Gigi replied. “Why are you running for mayor?”
Cynthia’s pink lipstick–tinged mouth tightened. “I’m not running for mayor. I am the mayor.”
“For the moment.” Gigi was still smiling, though Eleonore’s sharp eyes caught a tremor in the hand at her side. Nervous, then, but doing an admirable job of hiding it.
“You don’t have experience in politics,” Cynthia said.
“Neither did you when you ran for mayor.”
“You don’t have the required connections.”
“Agree to disagree on that one.”
“No one’s going to vote for you. Look at you—you’re like a child playing dress-up, desperate to fit in with her betters.” Cynthia laughed, light and nasty. “Do you actually imagine you have what it takes to challenge me?”
Ben made a low, angry sound. “Watch it,” he said.
Cynthia turned her cutting gaze on him. “I remember you. The flower seller, right?”
“Something like that.”
Her disdainful once-over before she returned her attention to Gigi spoke volumes. “I looked up your family,” Cynthia told Gigi. “As common as they come. Your father was a roofer, your mother a secretary, your brother”—she tipped her head toward Ben—“no one important. You’re working-class stock, completely unsuited for public office.”
Eleonore did not like this woman. “You are unpleasant,” she said.
A tiny line formed between Cynthia’s brows as she looked at Eleonore. “Is this another relative?” she asked. “Hecate knows werewolves breed like it’s going out of style.”
“I revise my statement,” Eleonore said. “Vous êtes une connasse.” She turned to Gigi. “People actually voted for her?”
“She pretends to be a lot nicer in public,” Ben said. “But the elitism is part of the package for her supporters, and there wasn’t a huge voter turnout last time.”
“More people will vote this year,” Gigi said confidently. “We’re partnering with the Glimmer Falls Resiliency Project, the Environmental Protection Club, and local schools and nonprofits to launch a Get Out the Vote campaign.”
Cynthia did not look pleased. “You can launch any campaign you like—you’ll still lose. Which is why I’m giving you the opportunity to withdraw from the race now and save yourself a large amount of money and humiliation.”
Gigi tipped her head back and laughed, and Eleonore’s esteem for her rose even more. It took courage to laugh in the face of opposition. “What a generous offer,” she said. “However, I must decline.”
Cynthia’s eyes narrowed. “You really insist on doing this?”
“I do.”
“Then know this,” Cynthia Cunnington said. “After I walk out that door, we will be enemies. And I give no quarter to my enemies.”
Gigi raised two fingers to her brow and saluted. “See you on the campaign trail, Mayor Cunnington.”
Cynthia brushed past, heels clicking on the concrete as she strode for the exit. She didn’t look back.
“Well,” Ben said when she was gone, “that went better than expected.”
Gigi bent over, bracing her hands on her knees. “Damn,” she wheezed. “She’s intimidating enough from a distance, but up close she’s terrifying.” She glanced at Eleonore. “As our resident acting expert, how’d I do?”
Eleonore wasn’t sure she could be termed an expert, but she liked the sound of it. “You did very well, and I believe you hit on exactly the right technique to anger her most.”
“I did?” Gigi straightened. “And is that good or bad?”
“Good. A frustrated or angry opponent is more likely to make errors.”
“What was the technique?” Ben asked. “She seems pissed off one hundred percent of the time.”
“Gigi laughed at her,” Eleonore said. “It’s clear Mayor Cunnington takes herself very seriously and expects others to do so as well. She expects to earn respect or fear. Laughing at her hits her directly in her weakest spot: her pride.”
“How very Jane Austen of you,” Gigi said. “Something-something ‘pride is always in good regulation’?”
“What?” Ben asked, looking baffled.
Eleonore had no idea either.
“ Pride and Prejudice ? Which I’m sure someone can quote way better than me.” As the blank looks continued, Gigi sighed. “Uncultured swine.”
“Pride isn’t always a weakness,” Eleonore said. “For some people it’s a motivator, a reason to feel engaged with their cause. Something that comes from earned confidence. People who are truly proud of themselves and secure in it don’t mind being laughed at.” She tipped her head toward the warehouse exit. “She nearly burst a vein when you laughed at her.” And oh, how nice that blood would have been to lap up. “When pride is that fragile, it’s just aggression papered over insecurity or cruelty. It becomes a liability.”
Eleonore liked to believe her own pride was in the strength category, rather than a weakness. She was certain of her worth as a person and determined to have that worth be respected. That was the sort of pride that allowed her to hold her head high despite whatever indignities she suffered.
Cynthia Cunnington didn’t sound like she’d suffered many indignities in her life—which was good news for Gigi. They could write up a list of Cynthia’s weaknesses, then craft strategies to exploit them.
“I’m pretty sure Darcy said something almost exactly like that in the book,” Gigi mused. “Maybe he was a six-hundred-year-old vampire succubus, too.”
“Wouldn’t that be an incubus?” Ben asked.
“Good point.” Gigi pulled her phone out of her pocket and swiped her thumb over the screen. “I also definitely need to read some fan fiction about vampire incubus Fitzwilliam Darcy, so I’m putting in a request to Lilith.”
Ben’s eyes widened. “You’re on a texting basis with Lilith, the Mother of All Demons?”
Eleonore listened with interest, remembering the demoness she’d met behind the newspaper box while stalking Ben.
“We’re in the same fan fiction Discord server,” Gigi said. “Themmie founded it. It’s called the Smutty Smurfettes. We share prompt fills, and Lilith always picks the most outrageous ones.” She tilted her head, chewing on her lip. “Maybe we can work in tentacles somehow? Elizabeth Bennet, tentacle monster has a nice ring to it.”
Ben shook his head and started walking away. “I refuse to discuss tentacle porn with you.”
Eleonore wouldn’t have minded learning more about tentacle porn, but that was what Google was for, so she followed.
“Fine, fine,” Gigi said, catching up with them. “No Austenian tentacles. Let’s get out of here and start coordinating a kickass Get Out the Vote campaign.”