Chapter 3
EIRA
Three Days Ago
The bell above the door jangles angrily at being disturbed.
I pause just inside the threshold, letting the familiar, forbidding smells hit me first. Dust, dried herbs, something metallic beneath it all as bitter and sinister as the shop’s owner.
The interior is still narrow and dim, shelves stacked with charms, candles and dusty jars filled with things that might once have been alive or might still be.
A hand-painted sign near the register promises Love, Luck, Protection.
I snort under my breath at the straight-faced lie.
‘Don’t just stand there breathing my air,’ a voice snaps from the back. ‘Either come in or leave. I don’t sell indecision.’
I close the door behind me and lock it out of habit.
The front room is a front. Anyone with half a brain can feel it. The real work is behind the velvet curtain that looks like it’s never been cleaned and never will be.
‘I missed you too,’ I say, heading for it.
The curtain parts and Ma?tre Selphine Rousseau glares at me like I’ve personally offended her ancestors.
Save for a handful more wrinkles, she hasn’t changed from the sour woman I met five years ago.
Her diminutive figure is still sharp-boned, wrapped in layers of black that might once have been mourning clothes and might now just be aggression.
Her hair is iron-grey and braided tight against her skull, her eyes the colour of old bruises and twice as unforgiving.
She smells faintly of incense, bitterness and something much older.
And no, it’s not just vibes.
‘When you came to me five years ago,’ she says, ‘you had the good sense to be well mannered.’
‘I’ve learned since then,’ I reply just as tartly, because I’ve learned that Selphine might not admit it, but she appreciates getting as good as she gives. And right now I’m tart enough to sour Texas. ‘Knocking implies permission.’
Her lip curls. ‘You’ve learned arrogance and sass. That comes with staying alive longer than you should.’
‘Still alive, though,’ I point out. ‘I’m a testament to your genius and cunning so… you’re welcome.’
She turns her back on me, throws her gnarled fingers up in a quick gesture that seals the curtained entrance – I learned that to my cost when I walked into it and nearly seared my face off in the first weeks of my stay here – and moves deeper into the workroom, where chalk sigils stain the floor and glass vials line the walls like a private library of curses.
I follow, eyes flicking automatically to the reinforced door at the far end.
The one no one ever opens.
Rumour says she keeps something important back there.
A powerful being. Possibly a demon. Possibly the lover who wronged her, whose blood she drains drop by drop, turning it into wards strong enough to fool Gods and make her richer than Midas.
I’ve never been bold enough to ask which version, if any, is true.
And I was never stupid enough to venture back there.
‘What do you want, child?’ Selphine asks without preamble.
I drag my gaze from the lacquer-black door. ‘I need the potion. Double strength.’
She takes her time crossing the room and settling into an armchair that’s seen better days. Another flick of her wrist and the mug on the table beside her steams.
She lifts the tea and peers at me over the rim. ‘I gathered that. It’s the reason you’ve been coming to me all these years. But why now, and why double? You’re not due your next normal potion for a few months yet.’
I open my mouth. Close it. Swallow.
‘It’s… him. The vampire,’ I say finally. ‘Valentin Moretti.’
She stills.
The silence sharpens, brittle enough to cut.
‘What about him?’ she asks after a long moment. ‘You must have done something foolish if you’re asking for double strength. You young ones always think you can bend the rules without paying the blood-price. Is that what you’ve done, child?’
‘No,’ I snap, too fast.
She stares back at me in judgy silence.
‘He’s… he’s summoned me. Through the agency. For my services.’
I grimace at how she makes me feel like I’m five and caught with my hand wedged firmly in the cookie jar, even though I’ve done nothing wrong.
Her head turns slowly in an eerie, owl-like tilt. ‘And you were stupid enough to answer?’
‘I haven’t,’ I say. ‘Not yet.’
‘A simple no will solve the first dozen of your issues.’
I exhale through my nose, anger flaring hot and useless. ‘Because the agency is forcing my hand. Because refusing him is starting to cost me things I can’t afford to lose.’
She snorts. ‘Jobs are meaningless if you’re dead, girl. Or worse. And believe me there’s always a worse.’
That lands harder than it should, both for the scouring bitterness in her voice and the searing truth of it.
I look away, jaw tightening.
For the most part, I accept my fate. I let it sink to the bottom of my daily fight for survival and anonymity.
But at times like these, when Selphine stares at me like I’m the stupidest thing she’s ever encountered, I feel… not calm.
‘Why do I have to choose?’ I demand, pacing despite knowing she hates it. ‘Why is it always survival or everything else? The ward worked. Your potion worked. I paid you more than generously for both and I’ve stayed hidden for years. So what’s the problem now?’
Selphine studies me like a cheap puzzle she’s tired of solving. One she’s contemplating throwing into the fire roaring in the hearth that was cold and lifeless three seconds ago.
Before I met her, I’d only been peripherally aware of beings beyond vampires. Sure, I knew of shifters, humanoid and otherwise. But absurdly, I hadn’t believed in witches and spells and potions.
Selphine Rousseau, a witch of indeterminate age and indescribable power, changed all that.
Which begs the question of why she’s holed up in this hovel, drinking tea, or whatever is in that ugly as fuck mug, and ripping into undeserving patrons like me.
A few years ago, I made the mistake of hinting we were friends.
She disabused me of that by charging me triple for a spelled knife and tossing me out of her shop before I could blink.
My gaze darts again to the ominous dark door.
‘Because you know proximity matters, or you wouldn’t have been avoiding being in his realm all these years,’ she snaps. Predictably. ‘Because magic, even the most powerful, has limits. Which is why you’re here, requesting double strength.’
The words send a ripple through me that I ruthlessly ignore.
Proximity. Limits.
‘He doesn’t know,’ I say. ‘He won’t know.’
Her mouth twists. ‘You are very sure for someone who once came to me shaking and half-feral, begging me to make you invisible to the one creature in this world who could tear you apart by breathing too close.’
I glare, despising the reminder of my younger, weaker self. ‘I was a child back then. And it was raining.’
‘You’re still a child. And he was ancient, even then,’ she shoots back. ‘And powerful. His kind only gain more power with time. And he’s intent on marking and holding you to a fate you still don’t want. And yet you’re putting yourself squarely into his crosshairs.’
We stare at each other, tension tightening until it hums.
Finally, I break first.
‘Please,’ I say, and I hate the way the word scrapes out of me. Hate that, after all this time, my safety still depends on a crotchety witch and a powerful vampire. ‘I need this to hold. Just a little longer.’
Something shifts in her expression.
Recognition, maybe. The tiniest hairline softening.
‘You’re the only woman I have ever charged double without apology,’ Selphine says. ‘And you are asking for more.’
‘I’ll pay,’ I say instantly.
Earning enough to take far-flung jobs and stay hidden is one reason I chose this profession. That and the constant training I need to defend myself against one of the most powerful vampires in existence.
The vampire whose summons I can’t refuse without risking even more scrutiny.
She huffs. ‘Of course you will. You always do.’
She turns away, muttering under her breath as she reaches for a case locked with old magic. She opens it, revealing three small vials filled with liquid the colour of dusk.
‘Double strength,’ she says. ‘Three doses. Three months. No more.’
‘You knew I was going to ask for this,’ I mutter, not sure why anything Selphine Rousseau does surprises me any more.
‘Yes,’ she replies simply. ‘Your life isn’t as unpredictable as you like to believe. And I also know you’re going to pretend to be outraged about it.’
With the wind knocked out of my indignation, I watch as she pours a measure into a crystal cup, her hands steady despite her scowl.
‘Precautions,’ she adds sharply. ‘You do not spill your blood in his presence. Not one drop. Not even in the same building if you can help it. You do not let him touch your bare throat for more than five heartbeats. And if you’re foolish enough to let him get that close, use a collar to mute it.
Your pulse lies and he will read you in one second.
You do not linger and you do not let your guard down because he smiles like he’s imagining you undone. ’
I frown. ‘You make him sound almost charming.’
A loud pop breaks a smouldering log in two. And I know it wasn’t natural.
‘Charm is a powerful weapon, especially with idiots like you.’
‘What? I deeply resent—’
‘The potion will protect you from his glamour and from his probing of your mind but only for a short time,’ she carries on, ignoring my outraged outburst.
I accept the cup, fingers brushing hers.
‘He is a monster,’ she says flatly. ‘And worse. He is a monster who believes he deserves more than his fair share of power and destiny. And for whatever reason, he’s decided you’re one of the tools to achieving that end.’
For the first time in years, pure fear snakes through me.
I shake it away and lift the cup.
Then pause.
‘Wait, when you say for a short time, how short are we talking?’
Selphine huffs. ‘Long enough for you to get into trouble if you forget yourself, short enough that you don’t start believing you’ve beaten fate.
’ She leans in then, voice dropping, vicious and precise.
‘And short enough that if you spill even a whisper of blood in his presence, I won’t be able to save you from what happens next. ’
That tells me fuck all, but okay.
I bring the cup closer. The liquid smells wrong.
Old.
Necessary.
‘To staying hidden,’ I murmur, and drink. ‘And to fucking up vampires who dare too close.’
The potion burns all the way down, sinking into me like it’s rewriting something fundamental. I grit my teeth and force myself to breathe until the sensation tightens, then settles. Until I can no longer feel the hum under my skin where my scent used to live.
Selphine watches closely, then nods once. ‘It’s holding.’
‘Good,’ I say, voice rough. ‘Because I don’t intend to lose everything now.’
She sniffs. ‘Brave words for someone about to walk into the devil’s den. Now pay me and be gone, girl.’
Three Days Later
I stand on the sidewalk in New York, craning my neck to look up at the black glass cutting the sky in half.
Umbra Tower. The heart of Valentin Moretti’s power.
Six years ago, I ran from a vampire who claimed me for a debt I knew would cost more than my soul.
Tonight, I walk back to him as someone else entirely.
Because of Valentin Moretti’s claim, I left my family and identity behind. Changed my name, my body, and the shape of my soul to elude him.
Forgot I was ever Lyra Hannigan.
Today I test whether hiding from fate is ever truly possible.