Chapter 1
The scent of sandalwood wafted from the witch who had sidled in next to me as I stood next to my car on the cobblestone-paved circular driveway.
A dark-blue cap and an oversized white hoodie obscured his face.
When he adjusted his messenger bag, it offered a glimpse of the ink on his forearm, which I assumed was part of a sleeve of artwork.
I scanned his fingers for a coven ring. He wasn’t wearing one.
It wasn’t required for witches to wear them, just a courtesy I appreciated immensely.
There was a substantial benefit in knowing the type of witch I was dealing with.
“I was expecting someone else,” I said, breaking the silence and turning toward him. He glanced at me briefly before returning his attention to the house in front of us.
He shifted from side to side; I couldn’t tell if it was impatience or nerves.
“Sorry to disappoint,” his deep, graveled voice countered while he continued to look ahead, giving me a continuous view of his hoodie’s fabric.
This guy isn’t shady at all. Not even a little.
The witch canted his head, taking in the sleek angles of the imposing slate-gray modern home with hints of Gothic architecture: the keep of the House of Knight.
The framed arched black floor-to-ceiling privacy windows allowed the occupants to observe their surroundings while maintaining the privacy vampires desired more than anything.
If their ability to watch you without your knowledge didn’t instill a sense of foreboding, the fountain near the entrance, created specifically for the House of Knight and lit to showcase intricate details of the warped union of a gargoyle and serpent, did.
The house’s Elite had commissioned an artist to create the menacing creature that seemed symbolic of him and his creatively twisted violent tendencies.
The disturbing fountain rekindled my recurring question of whether the cities of Winnetka and Lake Forest had been chosen by the two largest vampire houses because they were close enough to Chicago for them to enjoy the activity of a major city but far enough to remove the eternal temptation to prey on humans for the pleasure of the hunt.
Despite the mask of sophistication vampires displayed, it was never wise to forget they were predators.
“Your coven?” I asked.
After several beats of uncomfortable silence, the witch provided in a low, reluctant mumble, “Nightshade.”
My gut told me that was a lie. Nightshade witches—despite most other witches viewing their predilection for gray magic and their history of dabbling in dark magic as dubious at best—wore their coven rings with pride.
If by some chance you happened to miss the ring, they took every opportunity to announce their coven affiliation.
It was mentioned so often it could easily be a drinking game that would ensure you’d be wasted by the end of the night.
If he was telling the truth, I couldn’t figure out why Corrine, the Elite of the House of Hollows, would hire a Nightshade witch for a simple oath-binding spell when any witch could do it.
All witches could perform protective wards, oath bindings, and grade-one spells such as variations of magical transportation of small objects.
Offensive and defensive magic were based on the type of magic they possessed.
Sending a witch skilled in gray magic for such a simple spell seemed excessive.
It was like hiring an electrician to change a light bulb.
Nightshades were known for their ability to perform compulsions, speak with the dead, and—in the cruelest of spells—age someone to death.
They circumvented the rule of it being considered dark magic or a curse by using the defense that age killed the victim, not their spell.
The only thing that kept them from being a complete menace was that they needed a connection, in the form of their target’s blood or hair with follicles, for the spell to be effective.
They couldn’t compel someone or age them to death without it.
Their necromancy skills were less restrictive and could be done from a source within the bloodline.
“You’re not wearing your coven ring,” I said.
“Does that offend you?” he asked in a curt and steeled tone.
If he’s going to be an ass, I might as well match his energy.
He startled when I stepped in front of him. “Remove the hoodie and cap. I need to see your face.”
In a swift, easy motion, he yanked his hood down and tore the cap from his head, his eyes never leaving mine in what seemed like a challenge.
The devilish smirk he flashed sharpened his hazel eyes.
His ivory skin couldn’t hide the flush of color that spread over the bridge of his nose.
He ran his fingers through his mussed chestnut waves that had highlights of muted gold.
His bluntly hewn face, squared jaw, and gently bowed lips that dipped into a stringent scowl made his appearance a mesh of contradictions.
“Have I satisfied you?” A playful glint sparked in his eyes.
Great, he’s not just shady but creepy, too. I really hit the jackpot today.
Returning his smile, I said, “You have, and with so little effort. Is low effort satisfaction your specialty?”
The mischievous glint in his eyes disappeared.
“Ready?” I asked, directing my attention to the messenger bag. He nodded, and I escorted him to the front door.
“Why did the House of Hollows recruit you for this?” I asked.
I had been expecting Rachel, an overly cheerful, no-nonsense alchemy witch from the Lunar Veil coven. She was the vetted witch the two vampire houses typically used. Alchemy witches were masterful spellcrafters and able to meet almost every magical need of the houses.
The switch without notice bothered me.
“It might be a question you should be asking the house’s Elite, Kara,” he offered, his voice overly cloying.
“I’ll do that, Jack,” I chirped.
He stopped mid-step, his brows drawn together. “I’m Jonah.”
At least I’d guessed the first letter correctly.
Taking his suggestion, I called Corrine, unsurprised when she didn’t answer. I knew the text I sent her would be ignored. Years of dealing with Corrine’s unpredictability and moods that were as mercurial as the Midwest weather remained a challenge.
She could have made the switch for a number of reasons.
Perhaps she was interested in the handsome witch, or was trying to cause the highest level of anxiety with this interaction, or it was simply a Tuesday.
Situations like this made my position as a liaison feel like a savvy way of calling me a well-compensated vampire babysitter.
How simple life would be if they could play nice and learn to refrain from homicide whenever they were within five feet of each other. But then I’d be out of a job.
It was still shocking how I’d managed to fail up or was at the right place at the wrong time and landed this job. Wrong place and wrong time and failing down with a medical and dental plan seemed more accurate.
“Jonah, you are aware of what’s needed? This binds the vampires of House of Knight to the stake of necri, excluding their bloodline from ever being a casualty of it.”
He nodded. “That seems to be the deal.” Shrugging, he walked briskly toward the mottled antique bronze front door adorned with intricate scrollwork, motifs, and flowers. It was a beautiful introduction to a home but was just as uninviting as the rest of the house.
The moment we stepped onto the landing, the door opened, and we were greeted by Fiora, the house manager.
Standing about five-four, she was two inches shorter than me.
Her pleasant round face usually displayed a wide smile that would have been bracketed by laugh lines on a woman in her late fifties.
But hers had been smoothed out during her vampire transition.
Despite her age, she’d only been a vampire for twenty years.
Her long silver-gray hair was the result of a good colorist, since the grays would have been lost when she became a vampire.
The dichotomy of her predatory coolness and her kind features was off-putting.
“Kara.” She greeted me with a slight bow, but the witch received a speculative glance and drawn-back lips that exposed her fangs.
Her hissing at him confirmed my initial thought: Something was off with him.
Fiora was more finely attuned to magic than I was.
Vampires preferred to use the services of alchemy witches, who all came from the Lunar Veil coven.
They’d established a reputation for being trustworthy and would never be without their coven ring.
“Your coven ring would have given you favor,” I whispered, ushering him past the vampire whose sharp gaze tracked his every movement. Expecting fear from him as I moved him forward, I was surprised when he turned toward the unwelcoming vampire and winked, then flashed her a wide smile.
Fiora readied herself to lunge at him, but I extended a protective hand, discouraging her with a shake of my head.
Her eyes immediately flicked to the bracelet denoting my position as the liaison for the House of Knight and the House of Hollows.
The symbol offered me unfathomable power and a modicum of prestige from many vampires who recognized my position as the go-between of the most powerful vampire houses in the world.
Other reactions to my position and the jewelry were jarring, ranging from fear and loathing, admiring consideration, and disdain.
The latter feeling was often hidden until I found myself in a hostile situation or was the recipient of an attempt on my life.