by Sage, May
Chloe’s eyes fell on a coat: an ugly thing, puffy and bright yellow. She stared at it longingly. She'd need to stretch her savings to purchase a real coat, at the very least, or she'd turn into an icicle by the end of winter.
"That's old Campbell's place,” Blair said, pulling her attention away from the window displays. “He owns the pub. His family has been here for longer than anyone who doesn’t live on the hill."
The houses were all detached and surrounded by little gardens, but the architecture varied from white rock countryside cottages to dry stone walls and thatched roof croft houses that seemed to be remnants from another era. Campbell owned a two-story brownstone that wouldn’t have looked out of place in NOLA.
“The houses are so different. At least I won’t get lost.”
Blair laughed. “Unlikely. Besides, the dorm is hard to miss.”
She wasn’t wrong.
At the edge of the village, near the surrounding woods, was one handsome Romanesque white hall that distinguished itself. The building would have been the perfect feature in an eighteenth-century romance novel—a Pemberley, standing out like a sore thumb here. It would have fit quite nicely on the hill, however.
Even in the darkening night, Chloe could tell that the homes perched up there were different from the rest of Adairford, closer to mansions than humble abodes.
"Who lives there?" she asked, eyes on the hill.
Blair sighed.
"The Drakes, the Helsings, the Belfords—you know."
She didn't. "Am I supposed to recognize the names?" Her brain catching up, she rectified, "Wait, did you say Helsing?"
That name she did know. From fiction and folklore.
Blair smiled and gestured toward the doors of the elegant hall. "Let’s go in, shall we? If I need to give you a history lesson, it might as well be with a hot chocolate in hand."
Her fingertips frozen, Chloe had never heard a better idea.
They crossed a lawn and entered the dorm. Inside, the floor was made of black and white checkered marble. Black columns stood on the right side, and white on the left.
"Come on through, this way," Blair said, walking straight toward a door on the left. "The other side is for the students who need a little more supervision."
"Minors?" Chloe guessed.
The Institute of Paranormal Studies was a university, but it wasn’t unheard of for kids to finish high school early.
Blair shook her head. "No, vampires, shifters, succubus. Those who might eat you if you catch them on a bad night. The rest of us can defend ourselves, but it's pretty hard for a simple witch—or a regular, for that matter—to take on an unstable werewolf, so they're secluded and warded off."
It made sense. Chloe should have felt safer knowing that they weren’t in the same section of the dorm, but the fact that she would be living with people even sups considered dangerous hit her right then.
And after giving it another second of thought, she shrugged it off. At least no one was actively trying to kill her. Right now, her mundane world held more perils.
Four weeks ago
* * *
The great thing about being the only regular human working the midnight shift at Sucker Punch was that no one else hogged the fan in the break room. Shifters and vampires never really seemed to be affected by the change of weather, nor was Margaret, the witch waitress who’d started around the same time as Chloe. A breeze seemed to follow her wherever she went. Lucky bitch. Chloe might have asked her to perform the same charm on her, but it would probably cost her an unborn child or something like that. If the locals knew anything about NOLA’s covens, it was that magic always cost more than it was worth.
Chloe had only moved south five years ago, in her effort to run far from the drama attached to her name. When she failed to find a place where no one knew about her, she instead looked for one where no one cared. NOLA fit the bill. The city harbored more sups than anywhere else in the United States. The locals were used to freaks and paranormal attacks, and when they woke up with a strange rash in uncomfortable cracks, they just filed a complaint with the head of the covens rather than waste their time and money at the ER.
It wasn't a home, but it was the closest thing Chloe had to one.
"Hey, blondie. Some tourists turned up en masse," Margaret told her, grimacing. "Bachelorette party. Do you mind cutting your break ten minutes short? You can catch a breather during my break."
"Of course."
She regretfully relinquished the coveted spot near the large commercial fan and headed out of the employees' break room, toward the club.
Like all of the establishments belonging to Charles, the most notorious vampire in New Orleans, Sucker Punch was always packed, and twice as much on a Saturday.
Chloe's eyes widened as she got to the bar. In addition to the two bartenders on shift today, a tall, handsome, and incredibly fast vampire was mixing drinks. Charles himself. It was rare that the boss picked up an apron.
"Is this one going next?" she asked, pointing to the tray of drinks in front of her.
Some bartenders placed the most urgent order on the right side of the bar, and others on the left; it got pretty confusing when righties and lefties were working at the same time.
"Who knows," Margaret said with a shrug. "Charles just shoves them wherever he wants."
She took the tray, glancing at the table number on the receipt. The drinks were headed to one of the alcoves on the second floor. Chloe groaned. Businessmen.
Some people complained about tourists, frat boys, or even werewolves, but Chloe didn't think anyone was quite as rude as successful guys in expensive suits. They believed they owned the world, and everyone in it.
Plastering a smile on her lips because she needed tips, she placed their order on the middle of their table, doing her best to ignore their obnoxious conversation.
"All I'm saying is only one percent of sups go to high school, not even university. They're all brawn and no brain. Have you ever heard of a sup scientist, or astronaut? Vamps are rich as fuck, but only because they live long enough to amass their wealth. We're really the superior species."
What the fuck were they doing at Sucker Punch if they were anti-sup? Charles's clientele was notorious for being mostly paranormals and tourists.
"Now, now," said Obnoxious Two, eyes cutting to her. "Sups are generally great company." His eyes roamed over her curves, making her want to puke.
Because she worked here, people often assumed she was a sup of some kind. It was no secret that shifters and vampires had a high libido, so that invited shit-tons of unwelcome demands from idiots. Idiots, because if she had been a vampire or shifter, she could have kicked their lecherous asses.
Tips, tips, tips, she reminded herself.
"Enjoy your drinks, gentlemen."
After making her way back to the bar, Chloe ran drinks to the bachelorette party, another alcove, the balcony, and a private party in the back. Eleven waitresses were working the floor tonight, and they managed to clear the orders relatively fast.
Chloe took a second to stretch her sore wrists while the three bartenders worked on the next rounds. She had just started cracking her neck when a pair of large hands circled her waist. She froze before turning around and slapping them away.
They belonged to a large, plastered tourist. He was drunk, and so high he might just fly away. Knowing there was no point in attempting to lecture someone as far gone as that guy, she just pointed away and shouted, "Move your fucking ass before I move it for you."
She said the words with so much authority the guy stumbled in the direction where she'd pointed without stopping to consider that a five-foot-five woman who hadn't stepped inside a gym since high school P.E. would have a hard time moving his two-hundred-pound ass anywhere.
When she returned to the bar, Charles was smiling at her.
Meow, he mouthed, extending his fingers in a catty gesture.
She laughed and mouthed a roar. Ancient vampire or not, the
boss was great fun.
"Is this order ready?" she yelled above the music.
"It is, but you're off the clock." He pointed to the clock hanging above the bar. "You're done at one."
She was supposed to be. "Do you need me to stay until Veronica turns up?"
Charles beamed. "You're sweet. But get your ass out of here. You need your beauty sleep."
She wasn't going to make him tell her twice. Chloe practically ran to the changing rooms at the back.
Charles let his waitresses wear whatever they wanted as long as the main color was black. She worked in jeans and tees, because they were cheap, easily replaceable, and cute enough for her to go out afterward without having to get changed. Chloe just grabbed her backpack and rushed out of doors.
She took one deep breath, inhaling the sweet and spicy scent of the city, and tilted her head at the sound of a footstep behind her. Then something hit the back of her head. Hard.
“Ouch! What the fuck, you psy—”
She didn't finish that sentence, because the assailant was dragging her backward with one hand while pulling her hair and wrapping a piece of fabric around her mouth with the other. Oh, shit. Someone was trying to abduct her. Her. Chloe Miller, twenty-five, seven hundred dollars in her checking account and under two thousand in her savings. It didn't make any fucking sense. Unless they wanted to sell her. Shit. Chloe lifted her hands, struggling against the muscular arms of the dude tying her mouth. At least she thought it was a dude. He smelled like one. Thinking fast, she threw her foot back as hard as she could.
"Ow!" Bingo. She'd hit his crotch. "You bitch!"
He loosened his grip, and she yelled as loud as she could, "Help! Somebody he—"
She wasn't even done pronouncing the last syllable when a shadow appeared, flying past her and launching itself at her aggressor.
Chloe didn’t have time to see it. She couldn’t tell who—or what—it was at all.
The next moment, Charles was walking up to her, flanked by Quincy, one of his security guys, and Victor, another bartender. He pushed the guy with so much strength his body crashed against the wall. Quincy's hand wrapped tight around the guy's throat, and he held him up effortlessly.
She'd never been so grateful for her coworkers’ inhuman speed.
"Are you all right?" Charles asked, holding her up by the forearm.
She was a little shaky.
"Yeah, I… He grabbed me. He just grabbed me, right here, from the back, and tried to gag me. There was someone—something—who pushed him away. I don't…"
"Do you know this man?"
She got a good look at the would-be kidnapper. She saw hundreds, if not thousands of people every day in this line of work, but she was certain she'd never seen him. He was the kind of man people remembered. Incredibly tall, muscular, and very handsome.
"No, I…"
"Victor, contact the Wolf's people. Tell them I need a track. Quincy, call everyone. I want all hands on deck. Your phone."
Charles didn't formulate any of his orders like a question. Quincy handed him his mobile phone without protest.
"Call with updates. Come on," he said to her now. "I'll take you home."
They walked in silence, Charles still holding her, half-carrying her. It took a while for her to regain her senses.
"What the hell? What did he want with me?"
"We'll find out."
Charles's lips were thin.
Seven Names
After a month, they still hadn’t found out. They didn’t know why that guy, or the others who’d attacked her since, had been after her. That they were hired hands was obvious. But who was pulling the strings? None of her father’s victims came from a family powerful or rich enough to have dozens of bounty hunters under their thumbs. It made no sense at all.
And now, she told herself, it didn’t matter. She was going to be grateful for the opportunities her misfortune had brought and look to the future. She was at the Institute. Her acceptance wasn’t conditional; even if—when—Charles dealt with her attackers, she’d still be an Institute student. It was a blessing.
And she had nothing to lose anyway.
"Common room." Blair gestured to the cozy open space in front of them, stating the obvious. The room contained warm sofas, dark wooden coffee tables, thick carpets over the marble, a large TV screen, and two open fireplaces.
A small group was watching a movie she recognized.
"People!" Blair yelled over the surround sound. "Meet Chloe."
Some waved their hands, others turned and smiled, and two or three, engrossed by the movie or working on their laptop, ignored her entirely.
They walked to the end of the common room, and Blair pointed to a curved staircase carved behind one fireplace. "Up to the bedrooms, down to the study and the gym." There was one door in front of them and a second farther along the wall, closer to the windows. Gesturing to the first, Blair said, "This leads to the back garden and out to the forest. Don't go alone, ever." She led them through the second door and into a large beige and blue kitchen.
"The kitchen is filled with the basics, purchased as part of the meal package, but if you see anything labeled in the fridge or cupboards, it means it belongs to someone. It's not worth getting your paws on it, regardless of how delicious it sounds. Trust me when I say that they'll find out you took it. Locator spells are taught freshman year."
As she spoke, Blair filled a screaming kettle and put it on the hob before opening cupboards and drawers until she'd assembled all the necessities for making a decadent hot chocolate, mini marshmallows and all.
Chloe moaned as she wrapped her frozen fingers around the mug.
Blair said, "So, the hill. It's called Night Hill, and its history goes back two thousand years. Are you taking Paranormal Intro?"
"Definitely," Chloe replied. She'd just started realizing how ignorant she was about this world.
"Good. It should help overall, but you won't hear the deets about this area in that class. It’s only covered in Advanced Immortal History. Basically, over two thousand years ago, a higher being went crazy and started murdering everything in its path. That wasn't unusual in that period, because many immortals were killed or banished from this world."
Chloe nodded like she had totally known that. She definitely hadn't. Shit, where was her notepad?
Blair carried on. "But that one’s antics were particularly gruesome. We're talking dismembered bodies and blood—a lot of blood."
"Charming."
Chloe grimaced. Then she took a sip of the heavenly concoction and found that she didn't mind hearing about dismemberment and blood after all.
"Well, she wasn't."
"She?" Chloe repeated.
Blair rolled her eyes. "No interruptions. Questions after, if you please."
Her voice had changed, adopting a layer of authority. Chloe remembered that Blair wanted to be a teacher. It might actually suit her.
"Sorry." She pinched her fingers together and moved them in front of her mouth in a shushing motion. "Not a word."
"Why thank you. Anyway, as regulars do, they sent a bunch of soldiers, knights, and heroes to take her out. Which was super stupid, because the bitch was badass. But something happened the day they cornered her. One of the soldiers bit her hard enough to draw blood."
Chloe was dying to fill the dramatic pause with a thousand questions, but she prevented herself.
"The soldier was seriously wounded and should have died."
"But he didn't."
"He did, for a time," Blair corrected. "The next night, he rose again as something different. Now, there are a lot of theories as to what vampires actually are, but we do know they were made by this immortal creature, Ariadne. Legend says she was Dionysus's wife, and it's hard to say where mythology ends and history starts in paranormal studies. What we do know is that she calmed down after making the first vampire. No more massacres are attributed to her. She realized she was capable of creating companions for herself, an
d she did so, exactly seven times. Drakes, Helsings, Beauforts, De Villiers, Rosedeans, and Stormhales. Those are the families who own the houses on the hill—the heirs of the first vampires, made by a goddess. They're paranormal royalty. Literally. The Drakes are kings of the American vampires. The Beauforts and De Villiers rule most of Europe…"
"Wait," Chloe interrupted her, going back on her word. "You said Ariadne made seven families. That's six names."
Blair's furtive glance went to the open door behind them. The common room was oddly silent.
"Yeah…I don't like to talk about the seventh here. It gives me nightmares."
A flash of annoyance needled Chloe. She felt like she was missing something big—something she should know.
That said, Blair had been nothing but charming to her, and the subject obviously made her uncomfortable. She wasn't going to push the boundaries of her first acquaintance in a new place just because curiosity was her fatal flaw.
"Right. So, where's my room?"
Perspective
Whatever she imagined college dorm rooms to be, this wasn't it. The small, second-floor room at the end of the right wing was charming and comfortable but stripped of bedding and decoration. The bare walls were painted purple and had wooden beams, and a four-poster single bed in the corner matched the furnishings.
"That's amazing. Everyone has a room like that?"
"Not quite. Undergrads have to share rooms on the first floor, and we PhD folks have bigger quarters upstairs. Still, the master’s students have it good. You have an en-suite," she said, pointing to a door tucked on the opposite side of the bed, "and a small fridge, but if you want to cook something, that's downstairs. We try to avoid setting the place on fire more than a couple of times per year.”
Somehow, Chloe doubted Blair was joking.
“The walls can be painted, and you're free to hang whatever you want. There's a service room on the first floor with a bunch of stuff you might need—carpets, lights, that kind of stuff. You should have bedding in the wardrobe."
