Apart from being a little sketchy on details, Istabelle Bonham-Sackville was a great boss. After the grand disaster that had caused me to leave Logris, I’d become an embarrassment to my coven and a cautionary tale to others on the dangers of loving above one’s station.
Istabelle hadn’t cared that I’d made myself a public spectacle. She understood what it was like to be born without magic and live among supernatural beings.
I exhaled a sharp breath through my nostrils. We weren’t completely magicless, it was just that our power was neutral—completely unusable, which meant we appeared on the outside as humans, regardless of our actual supernatural race. Istabelle had even taken me as her apprentice and taught me crystal and herb healing.
Aunt Arianna said she was at least a century old, but Istabelle looked no older than sixty and traveled the world searching for magical objects. Her ability to sense power meant that she could also harness magical stones for basic protection and healing.
Istabelle even found me an apartment around the corner from the shop—something out of the reach of a twenty-four-year-old with zero family wealth.
Sure, it was tiny and consisted of one room, but it was in the heart of Mayfair and within walking distance of Hyde Park, Bond Street, and a whole host of other London attractions.
By now, the sun had risen, and pedestrians streamed down Upper Brook Street on their way to work. After lighting the incense sticks, I unlocked the cash register, replenished the smudge sticks, dusted the dream-catchers, and reached under the counter for the key to the basement, where Istabelle kept the grimoires and other ancient books. With two-and-a-half hours until opening time and no deliveries to unpack, that left plenty of time to catch up with my reading.
I turned toward the basement door, and a frantic banging on the glass sent my heart tightening with panic.
If that was my stalker… Shaking off those thoughts and putting my faith in the Dharma salt, I peered over my shoulder.
Beatrice stood in the doorway, her mahogany hair blown in all directions by the wind. Like me, she stood five-five, but unlike me, she had gorgeous, tanned skin and the curves to fill out a Dolce and Gabbana suit. I wasn’t so well-endowed, with nervous energy that kept me thin.
I jogged across the shop floor, darting around the stand of postcards and pamphlets. Beatrice was my best friend in London and knew nothing of the Supernatural World. We’d met in my first month here at a speed-dating Meetup and ended up finding each other more interesting than the men.
Beatrice beckoned at me to hurry. I glanced down at my watch and frowned. Seven-thirty? She worked for an international tax consultancy around the corner and didn’t start work until nine.
I unlocked the door and pulled it open, letting in a rush of cold air. Beatrice barrelled into the shop with a chuckle, and bumped her stilettos into the Dharma salt pillar I’d left at the entrance.
“What are you doing in Central London so early?” I asked.
“Oh. My. Aftershocks.” She raised her arms, wiggling her fingers in a jazz-hands movement.
I took in her flushed cheeks, sparkling brown eyes, rumpled shirt, and creased skirt. She’d worn that navy blue suit yesterday, and her hair looked like someone had backcombed it with large fingers.
“Did you work all night again?” I asked.
“I had a date with the most amazing man in Berkeley Square.” Beatrice stepped back and beamed. “Can I nip into your flat and change into a fresh suit?”
“Sure. But what happened last night?” Beatrice kept a few outfits at my place, which made going out after work easier. I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the keys.
“Thanks, love.” Beatrice plucked the keys from my hand and launched into her story.
She’d been swiping through one of those dating apps and got matched with a Swiss Banker called Christian. After swapping some pictures and chatting through the afternoon, he asked her out for coffee, which led to dinner at Hakkasan, an exclusive Chinese restaurant five minutes away.
My brows drew together. “How did Christian get reservations at such short notice?”
Beatrice waved my question away and went on to describe a steamy evening that made my eyes bulge and my cheeks turn hot.
It wasn’t like I was a virgin or a prude. I’d been with one person—once, and it had been the happiest and most pleasurable experience of my life. What happened hours after would forever make me link love to heartbreak.
My spirits plummeted, and I could no longer focus on Beatrice’s exciting tale of leather paddles and cuffs. The buzzing of her phone cut through my morbid thoughts, and she stopped talking to reach into the pocket of her laptop bag.
“Is that Christian?” I asked.
Beatrice glanced down at the screen of her smartphone and grinned. “Aw… He misses me already.” She texted something back and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Meet for lunch?”
“Okay.”
“My treat!” With a happy chuckle, she jogged through the shop, opened the door, and disappeared around the corner to cut across Grosvenor Square.
I scratched my head, marveling at Beatrice’s adventurous spirit. The woman was an accountant, but there was nothing prudent about her personality.
Beatrice said that life was short and the time she had to enjoy her youth was even shorter. Because of this, she seized every opportunity for happiness, no matter how brief or if it would end in disappointment or heartbreak.
My shoulders sagged, and I clicked the latch. I wish I could be free like Beatrice, but every time a man showed even the slightest bit of interest in me, my mind conjured up images of how things could go wrong. And thoughts like that sent me into a spiral of despair.
I clutched the amethyst pendant that was supposed to stop negative thoughts and felt for a pulse of power. Empty. No wonder I’d fallen into thinking about what had happened in Logris.
“Time to hit the books,” I muttered to myself. Next Monday, Istabelle would test me on the properties of somniferous herbs—plants like valerian root, lavender, and chamomile, which helped people sleep.
If I couldn’t answer her questions on their magical properties, she would be disappointed, and I couldn’t let her down after everything she’d done for me these three years.
As far as subterranean libraries went, Istabelle’s was pretty cozy. A little larger than my studio apartment, its walls consisted of mahogany shelves that extended from the white-tiled floors to its twelve-foot-high ceiling.
A pair of bright table lamps provided atmospheric light and were perched on a wooden desk that stood in the middle of the room. On either side of the workspace was a pair of the most comfortable battered leather armchairs.
As I reached the bottom of the mahogany spiral staircase, I inhaled the crisp scent of preserving crystals. Some of the items she kept down here were priceless, although I never got the chance to see them. Istabelle hadn’t yet given me access to the storeroom she secured beyond a hidden entrance in the shelves.
My fingers grazed the herbal compendiums, but the memory of this morning’s stalking had me drifting to the other side of the room, where Istabelle kept tomes about supernatural beings and a few ancient diaries she had amassed from probate sales.
Why would a vampire follow me across the square? After my final humiliating night in Logris, I was a joke within the supernatural community. None of them would waste their time tracking me to London just to watch me and do nothing.