by L. Danvers
With a sinister gleam in his eye, he lunged toward her. He was mid-air, arms outstretched to grasp her, when she recited a spell that made him freeze in place. The woman tilted her head back and laughed in amusement. Then she swiftly snapped his neck. He collapsed onto the fraying carpet.
Horrified, a primal scream escaped from my lungs, echoing out into the night. I took a step back, mind reeling as I worked out a plan. Xander was incapacitated—and if she could do that to him, who knew what she was capable of doing to me? I wanted to run to his side. To hug him and tell him I was sorry for arguing with him earlier. To tell him that he was one of my closest friends and that I knew that in his own way, he had only been trying to look out for me. But I didn’t dare move. My heartbeat was thrashing in my ears, and all I could think about was one burning question: why? “Why did you do that?” I asked, voice trembling. “Who are you?”
The woman’s eyes sparkled with amusement as her mouth curved into a satisfied smile. Ignoring my question, she snapped her fingers, and two men entered the bedroom. “You sure we can’t just kill him, Sofia?” the burlier of the two asked.
Disinterested, she smoothed down her lacy black top and plucked a leaf out of her hair. “No, he has plans for the Blood Heir, remember?”
“Who does?” I asked. I tried my best to sound assertive, but my voice came out shaky and uncertain. It didn’t matter. I might as well have been talking to myself. No one bothered to respond.
Following Sofia’s orders, the men flung Xander’s arms over their shoulders and carried him out into the hall. The tips of Xander’s shoes scraped across the carpet behind him, then thump thump thumped as the men dragged him down the stairs.
“What are you doing with him?” I demanded. Xander and I had run into our fair share of trouble in recent years, but nothing this bad. Had these people been following us? And if so, what did they want?
The witch’s green eyes narrowed, and she stalked toward me. She held her chin high as she gave me the once over, sizing me up. “That’s none of your concern, little witch.”
Everything in me wanted to fight, but this Sofia woman had just taken out a Blood Heir—one of the world’s original vampires. How could I ever hope to take her on myself?
I wished there was someone I could call for help. The police were out of the question. After the war, it became illegal to openly use magic. And yet, there was only so much the authorities could do about it. If anything, I’d only be putting them at risk.
I could call Ben, maybe? He was Xander’s uncle... or descendent, technically. He would want to help, but he was a human. He had his magical objects, but I wasn’t sure they’d be enough to take Sofia down. And anyway, he was back in Maine. I needed help now.
And then there was Xander’s brother, Aiden. He was a former vampire (long story). He had to have some supernatural connections. Maybe he knew someone in New York who could get here quickly...
Despite knowing it was futile, I reached for my pocket. But Sofia shot me daggers with a look.
Heart pounding, I swallowed. “Are you going to kill me?”
“No, Grace.” Sofia’s mouth twisted in amusement. She placed her strong hand against my cheek, making me recoil. “You’re far too important for that.”
“Important to whom?” I demanded.
“You have a vital role to play in the plan. But not yet.” Not offering any further explanation, the witch retrieved a vial from her back pocket. Before I had the chance to ask her what it was, she dumped its contents—some sort of white powder—in her hand and blew it in my face.
I coughed uncontrollably at first, fanning away the gritty substance. But when the dust settled, I felt fine. Not just fine. Relaxed. “What’s going on?” I blinked.
“Vampires aren’t the only ones who can alter people’s memories,” she said matter-of-factly.
What was she talking about? “That’s impossible.” Could that powder alter my mind? Now that she mentioned it, my head did feel a little fuzzy.
She gripped my jaw between her long fingers and jerked my head, forcing me to look her in the eye. I tried to pull away, but Sofia was strong. Not just magically, but physically, too.
“Grace?” she asked. And for some reason, I couldn’t help but nod in response. She flashed a wicked smile. “Grace, you are going to forget that you are a witch. You are going to forget everything you know about the supernatural world. You are not going to look into your past. You are going to live a quiet life in Amber Falls. You’re a perfectly mediocre human. And that’s all you need to know.” She studied me for a bit, curious as to whether the mind-altering powder had worked. “Now, tell me who you are.”
“My name is Grace Addington,” I said, pretending to be in an altered state just to mess with her. As soon as I saw that glimmer of satisfaction, I spat in her face. Whatever the consequences would be for that, they’d be worth it after what she’d done to Xander. “And your stupid powder didn’t work.”
My cheek was promptly met with a strike from the back of her hand.
Face burning, I stretched out my jaw. No longer caring about getting answers, I decided to fight back. I wasn’t as powerful as Sofia—I’d only come into my powers four years ago, and I was self-taught. But I was stronger than most. If I was going to go down, you’d better believe I was going to go down fighting.
I lifted my head and started casting another spell, but Sofia forcefully grabbed my face again. “One vial didn’t take.” She cocked her head to the side, examining me like I was some sort of lab rat in a twisted science experiment. “Interesting.”
Before I had the chance to finish my spell, she blew another handful of powder in my face.
This time, I felt different. Like I’d taken a few too many antihistamines and chased them down with a bottle of gin. Everything went woozy like I was floating in a dream. Something clawed at my mind, and I tried to remember what it was. But then, the thought was gone as quickly as it had come.
Sofia went over the whole spiel again. I tried to block out her instructions, but I wasn’t strong enough. And her voice seemed so soothing now. I wondered if she might be part siren...
Entranced by the rhythm of her voice, I hung on every word, nodding along as she went over her instructions.
I blinked.
Where am I? And who is this woman in front of me?
“Now,” the enigmatic woman said in an authoritative tone, “tell me who you are.”
Grace:
Weeks Later
“Would you like a glass of milk with that, too?” I asked, scribbling down the sweet old woman’s order. The question was more of a formality. She was one of the regulars at the Sunny Side Grille, and in addition to her coffee, she always asked for a glass of milk so she could take her morning pills.
The corner of the widow’s eyes crinkled, deepening her wrinkles. They were the lovely sort of wrinkles you got from a life well-lived—one filled with joy and laughter. “Yes, dear,” she answered in her usual gentle tone as she fished through her light pink purse for her pill organizer. “That would be lovely.”
“Sure thing, Mrs. Johnson.” I headed toward the kitchen to pass along her order, smiling to myself. There was something strangely comforting about seeing her every morning. She showed up for breakfast promptly at 7:00 a.m. every day without fail. In fact, she was the first customer I ever waited on when I first landed this job. Honestly, she was the most consistent person in my life.
I handed the order off to Madison, who promptly passed it along to someone else. More interested in chitchatting than working, Madison adjusted her pink 50s-style waitress uniform. “Ugh, these things are so lame.” She wasn’t wrong. Aside from being comically hideous, the material was itchy and bothered my skin. Madison propped an elbow on the counter and mindlessly curled her highlighted hair around her finger, her mind somewhere else. Finally, with a sigh, she said, “I can’t wait to get all dressed up tonight.”
“Uh,” I started, not quite onboard for the plans Ma
dison had in store, “about that...”
She held up a hand to silence me. “Don’t even start with me, Grace Addington. Tonight is your twenty-first birthday, and we are going to celebrate.” Her voice was getting shriller by the second. She may not have taken her job all that seriously, but you’d better believe Madison Kent took partying seriously. “We’re going to find a nice bar, take way too many shots and flirt with strangers. Then we’ll go dancing. And then... who knows?” She winked with her thick, spider-like lashes. “Got it?”
I pressed my lips and nodded, knowing trying to talk my way out of this was useless. Shortly after I’d started working here, Madison had invited me to go as her plus-one to one of her friend’s birthday celebrations. I’d seen her in action, so I knew what to expect. I’d tried telling Madison I never made a big deal out of my birthday—I couldn’t even remember doing anything for the last several of them. But when Madison made her mind up about something, there was no arguing with her. And in her head, birthdays were of the utmost importance. I didn’t even like dancing, but I didn’t bother objecting any further. It wasn’t like I had any other plans.
Resigning myself to an evening of Madison’s version of how a birthday should be celebrated, I brought Mrs. Johnson’s coffee and milk out to her. By the time I did, her order was up. So, I brought her strawberry and whipped cream-topped pancakes out, too.
“So, what are you wearing tonight?” Madison called out.
Cheeks reddening, I shushed her as I headed back behind the counter.
“What’s the problem? Everyone knows it’s your birthday.”
“And how does everyone know?”
She gave a playful shrug. “I told them, of course.” Eyeing me, Madison frowned. “How do you not even care that it’s your birthday? Most people are counting down the days until they turn twenty-one. It’s like, the biggest, most important birthday ever.”
Mrs. Johnson chuckled to herself and offered a sympathetic grin.
Playfully rolling my eyes, I shook my head and headed back behind the counter. Honestly, though, I didn’t know how to answer Madison’s question. I just... hadn’t felt like myself lately. Weeks ago, I woke up in my apartment. My memories from the previous who-knew-how-many years were all a blur. The most recent memory I had was being with my family back in Portland. My first thought when I woke up that morning was to call my mom, but when I checked my phone, there were no contacts in it whatsoever. I must have gotten a new phone and forgotten to transfer over my contacts. Aside from the ID in my wallet—which, according to the date, had been renewed the day before—I felt like I didn’t know anything about myself. After taking a very short tour of my studio apartment, I’d found a pale pink waitress uniform laid out on my couch with a name tag and Sunny Side Grille embroidered in the upper corner. So, I showed up for work that morning. And I’d been here ever since.
Sometimes, I thought about looking into my past. But for whatever reason, I always decided against it. Perhaps it was best not to know. I didn’t know what had brought me to Amber Falls, but I’d ended up here for a reason. Even if that reason was getting up before dawn each morning and serving up pancakes to sweet old ladies.
“Well?” Madison pressed, her penciled-in eyebrows raising in expectation.
“I don’t know,” I said ambivalently. “There’s not much worth celebrating.” It was harsh but true. My life was incredibly boring. I’d been on this earth for twenty-one years, and what did I have to show for it? A boring job. An apartment that smelled like an old casserole. Not exactly celebration-worthy in my book.
Some of our other coworkers asked about the plans for the night—they were going to meet us later at a local nightclub. I forced a smile as they talked about how much they were looking forward to blowing off some steam tonight. It was what normal twenty-somethings did—go out and party after a long week of work. But that sort of thing just wasn’t my scene.
Desperate for an excuse to remove myself from the conversation, I checked on some of our other patrons. Then, realizing Mrs. Johnson had finished her meal, I brought out her bill. She was ready for me, waiting with her purse in her lap. She promptly handed over a wad of bills. I was headed for the register when I realized she’d accidentally handed me a hundred and fifty bucks. She was usually good about paying the right amount. I worried that maybe her mind was taking a turn for the worse. It broke my heart that she didn’t have anyone looking out for her...
I brought back her change—all one hundred and thirty-eight dollars and fifty-two cents. Mrs. Johnson looked mortified and grateful all at once.
When I came back later to clean up her table, I realized she’d left a generous tip, along with a sweet birthday message for me that she’d scribbled on a napkin. I smiled, making a mental note to thank her tomorrow.
I was busy scooping up her dishes when Madison came up behind me, startling me so much that I nearly dropped the ceramic mug. “Most people would have just pocketed it,” she observed, referring to Mrs. Johnson’s overpayment.
“I’m not going to steal from an old lady,” I said, eyeing her as I tried to determine if she would have.
Madison shrugged carelessly. “Anyway, I’ll pick you up around 8:00, okay?”
“Sounds good.”
“Oh, and Grace? I promise you—we’re going to make this a birthday to remember.”
I FELT LIKE A BARBIE doll. Madison wasn’t confident in my abilities to put together a proper birthday outfit, so when she dropped by my apartment to pick me up, she came prepared—with a suitcase in tow. I rummaged through the pieces of clothing, trying to find the tamest outfit I could put together—and believe me, that was not easy. I finally settled on a sequined skirt and black tank top. I hated that the tank top showed the tattoo on my shoulder, though, so I covered it up with my leather jacket. It wasn’t so much that I was against tattoos. But I had no idea where it had come from. And every time I started thinking about what could have compelled me to get a tattoo, I was overcome with the urge to stop thinking about it. So, that’s exactly what I did.
It was 8:45 by the time we reached Shaken & Stirred. It was the newest bar in Amber Falls, and Madison’s older brother was a part-owner of the place. “So, what should I try first?” I pointed to the liquor bottles of varying colors stacked up in neat rows. They were tiered against the arched mirror, which reflected the glittering yellow tones of the chandeliers behind us.
“Actually,” Madison said, half paying attention as she scanned the massive room, “I need to run to the restroom first. Go check out the drink menu, and we’ll order something when I get back.”
Off she went, so I found an empty seat at the bar. The place smelled of leather and beer, but that was to be expected. Feeling profoundly out of place, I fiddled with the hem of my skirt for a bit. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. Maybe I just wasn’t one of those people who could confidently sit alone.
Looking for a distraction, I began flipping through the tabletop cocktail menu when a man slid into the seat beside me. He lifted a sausage-like finger to get the bartender’s attention.
“Back for more?” the bartender asked.
“Another Budweiser,” the guy answered with a nod. I caught him sliding his gaze toward me.
I flipped through the pages, trying to make myself look busy. But something about the guy’s crooked smile was giving me the heebie-jeebies. Ignore him, and he’ll leave you alone. Madison will be back any minute.
I could feel the creep giving me the once over, so I turned slightly away from him. I purposefully adjusted my top to make sure it wasn’t dipping too low, not wanting to give him a show. I wished Madison would hurry up.
“Hey, blue eyes,” the guy finally said, craning his head toward me and giving me a cheesy tip of his yellowed baseball cap.
I swallowed. I chose to ignore him, pretending to still be flipping through the menu.
“Are you f-f-from around here?”
Seriously? What did I need to do? P
ut a “not interested” stamp on my forehead?
I quickly scanned the area to see if there was another seat I could find, but they were all taken. That’s what I got for coming to the most popular bar in the city. Whatever. It’d be fine. Madison would be out in a second, and then we could find some other place to go. I was sure her brother would understand.
“What’s wrong?” the guy said, sliding closer toward me, even going so far as to put his hand on top of mine. He reeked of alcohol, and I was betting this wasn’t his second—or even third—drink tonight. “Don’t you want to talk to me?”
I snatched my hand out from under his. “No. I don’t,” I spat. “Leave me alone.”
“Do we have a problem over here?” another man said in a raspy voice, coming up behind me. Startled by the much-appreciated interruption, I turned around. The man was looking past me, his focus solely on the creep. His striking hazel eyes were narrowed, his jaw set. Waiting for a response, he leaned his head back a bit as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket, which hugged his impressive frame. The fabric of his gray button-down lay flat against his broad chest. His shirt was tucked neatly into dark jeans. Please tell me this isn’t Madison’s brother.
“N-n-no, man,” the guy said, slurring his words now. He began to sway, even though he was still sitting down. “There’s no problem. This pretty little thing and I were just talking.” He offered a toothy smile.
“I believe this woman asked you to leave her alone.”
“Oh yeah?” the drunk guy said, standing up now, puffing out his chest. I noticed then that other patrons were staring at us. Great. Totally not embarrassing. I pressed my fingers to my brow, cheeks reddening, wishing I could turn invisible.
My rescuer lifted his chin, unblinking. His shoulders were squared, his posture strong. “Yeah.”
The drunk guy shoved him. “And who do you think you are?”
