Chapter 11
LIFE HASN’T BEEN KIND
CORA
Three days later, I’m in the neutral territory, not far from the place Sebastian and I first collided.
I’d invited Elliot to meet me here, at this quaint cafe, rather than the manor.
Everything—from the walls to the tables to the benches—is made of rough wood and black metal.
Whoever runs this place didn’t put much into its interior.
There aren’t paintings on the wall, nor are there curtains over the windows or even coverings on the tables.
It’s hard to care when I’m surrounded by warmth and the smell of freshly baked bread.
I sit in one of the back booths of the cafe, selected both for its privacy and its proximity to the wood burning stove.
The few other customers here are near the kitchen, their chatter barely audible through the crackling flames beside me.
I roll my sleeves to my elbows and settle my messenger bag onto the table. In it, there are a few vials of dead vampire blood and the supplies for today’s spell. I sort through it all, if only to keep myself busy.
He’s late.
By two minutes, but still. He’s late, and I’m stuck sitting here, alone and exposed.
This is the first time I’ve traveled to the neutral territory by myself, and it feels wrong.
Reckless, without a vampire guard to protect me.
Magical violence may be impossible here—it backfires, harming the attacker, rather than their intended victim—so it’s supposed to be safe.
It doesn’t matter. I know better than anyone that you don’t need magic to hurt someone.
I shouldn’t have come, but I did. Because of him.
Luckily, only Amelia knows where I am. When I told her, she’d grinned at me like we shared a juicy secret. It’s why I told her and not the others. Sebastian and Milas would’ve insisted on an entourage. Beatrice would’ve spied on us. She might’ve even taken a shot at Elliot.
Better Amelia assumes I’m having sex for the first time in my life than being surrounded by vampires. Nothing would scare Elliot off faster. Though, at this rate, that was an unnecessary worry.
He’s three minutes late now.
A human server delivers a steaming mug of green tea. It’s a different variety than I use, and it smells disappointingly weak. Still, I cup it toward my chest, breathing the scent deep into my lungs.
I’ll take one.
I frown at the dull brown mug, ignoring the server as she stands at the end of my table.
She’s asking if I want to order food, but I’m too busy thinking about Elliot.
He asked for green tea the last time we were together.
He hates green tea. He thinks it tastes like rotten grass.
At least, he did when he was fifteen. Maybe he grew out of his distaste for it.
My stomach twists as I wonder, not for the first time, just how much I’ve lost about Elliot. Maybe, somewhere in my bedroom, there’s a jar containing a memory of Elliot trying green tea and realizing he liked it after all. Or maybe, he realized it in the years since we’ve been apart.
I pinch my eyes. Force myself to decide it doesn’t matter.
By the time I open my eyes, the human server is gone. She must have returned to the kitchen.
The front door opens. Elliot hurries inside, bringing with him a rush of wind and the bright shades of autumn.
His hair is carefully styled, and his cheeks are tinged pink from the cold.
His shirt is orange today, buttoned except for the two nearest his neck.
He stands with hands loose at his sides, looking over the cafe.
Maybe he’s checking for potential witnesses.
Someone who could see him here, with me, and report back to his mama.
It’s risky, him coming here. And yet…
I look back to my tea, feigning disinterest. In all reality, I could stare at Elliot for hours on end. I used to, when we were kids. I’d study the way his mouth moves and the sound of his breathing. Now, it feels wrong to look at him, as if I’m stealing something that isn’t mine.
“I apologize,” he says as he reaches the table. The bench creaks as he pulls it out to sit. Even as he stares with blatant distrust, he nods his head in greeting. “This place is farther than I realized.”
“I assumed you’d prefer distance,” I say, arching an eyebrow. “We’re as far from Ochre as we can be within neutral territory.”
“As far from Ochre…and as close to the Night Realm as possible,” he says. I don’t miss the accusation in his tone.
“I’m not the one lying to my leader,” I say. Rather than waiting for his response, I take a long drink of tea. As I suspected, it’s weaker than I like. At least it’s warm. The heat spreads through my chest, settling pleasantly beneath my ribs. It steadies me somehow. Makes it easier to breathe.
There’s no reason to bicker with Elliot. Though he doesn’t realize it, we’re not enemies.
“Let’s focus,” I say. I clear my throat and dig into my dress pocket. I place a single vial of blood onto the table between us. “As promised, one vial of blood in exchange for one session.”
Elliot visibly swallows, staring at the vial, rather than me. I’ve realized there’s a lot I don’t know about this man. So much has happened in the years we’ve been apart, and so much more exists in my bedroom, locked away for my own sanity.
It was easy to ignore the memory jars when I didn’t have to look at Elliot. But now, I’m desperate to remember. I want to know why Elliot drinks green tea now, and it’s killing me that I may already have the answer.
“How does it work?” he asks, drawing me from my thoughts. “The sunwalker spell, I mean. There’s obviously no literature on it, so I presume…”
He trails off. For reasons I won’t explore, I want him to acknowledge the simple truth. I want him to be impressed that I created the spell on my own, without a team of brilliant healers or endless resources. It was just me, a scrawny and traumatized fifteen-year-old, against his mama’s curse.
When Elliot doesn’t continue, I pull a well-worn piece of parchment from my pocket. It’s my original theory. A few ingredients have changed, and the final ritual is vastly different. It would be easier if he knew exactly how the spell works, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
While Elliot may be mine to protect, he’s not mine to trust. Not anymore. I’d be a fool to give him the true formula. For all I know, this is an intricate plan with his mama to undo years of my work.
“It’s not overly complicated,” I say. I smooth out the paper, twisting it to face him, rather than me. “I have all the ingredients, and I should be able to perform the ritual without you. This is where I need your help the most.”
Elliot looks over the parchment, then back at me. His eyebrow arches in an almost bemused expression.
“A protection spell?” he asks. “You need help casting a protection spell? On what? Surely you can—”
He breaks off as I rummage through my messenger bag.
From it, I remove a small white stone, a splintered piece of metal, and a twig blackened with smoke.
They’re the simple ingredients for a protection spell, and Elliot doesn’t look impressed.
It’s only when I remove the final item that his brows furrow.
I hold the tiny vial toward him, and he takes it, removing the cork. He peers inside before hesitantly sniffing the opening.
“It’s…empty,” he says.
“Yes,” I say. “It’s the only way this works. If I attach it to anything, it dissolves during the ritual. The spell doesn’t work, and the person I think I’ve saved bursts into flame. It’s rather disappointing.”
Elliot looks at me like he’s trying to decide whether I’m kidding.
I’m not. Three of my first attempts ended this way, all because I couldn’t figure out where the spell was failing. Three people, dead at my hand. My only consolation was that they had agreed to be test subjects. Not exactly murder.
“I don’t understand,” he says. He sets the vial on the table, and I organize the remaining items into a triangle around it. “How do we protect nothing?”
“It takes a lot of magic,” I admit. “It can be painful. I’m hoping between the two of us, it won’t be as intense.”
Elliot nods, silently looking over the items.
“And you plan to make how many?” he asks. He lays his hands on the edge of the table, fingers tapping restlessly against the cheap wood. “These sunwalker spells of yours. When will you have enough?”
“When every vampire has one,” I say. Elliot gapes at me, and I sigh. “These spells don’t undo your mama’s curse, you know. They allow the vampires to be in the sun, but not as true vampires. They’re weaker. Slower. Softer. They’re mortal, basically harmless.”
Elliot doesn’t look convinced. He’s scrutinizing my face, searching for something he won’t find.
But his stare is too intense. Before long, I’m not worrying whether he believes me.
I’m only wondering who he sees, and whether he likes her.
When we were teenagers, he thought I was pretty.
This stunning, perfect man used to think I was pretty.
I doubt he does anymore. Life hasn’t been kind to me, and these past years have been filled with stress and more work than any one person should have. I’ve spent so long in survival mode, I’m not sure I’ll ever escape it.
He must think I’m hideous. That’s what everyone else thinks, what they’ve always thought. It shouldn’t bother me that he thinks it now. It’s better actually. Yes, it’s a good thing—
“Show me what to do,” he says.
So I do, relieved to think of something other than our lost past.
Two hours later, we’ve made less progress than I hoped. Elliot is bent over the table, breathing hard. Exhaustion flushes his cheeks, and his eyelids droop with fatigue. We’ve been at this too long. I’d suggested calling it twenty minutes ago, but he insisted he could do another round.
“One more,” he says now. Even gasping, even struggling, he looks more determined now than he did when we first began.