by May Dawson
I slid my hand up Tristan’s rock-hard chest with one hand as I tried the door with the other.
Tristan shifted impatiently, but the door swung open under my palm.
“It worked,” I said.
“You sound surprised.”
I wasn’t going to dignify that with a response. I moved ahead of him into the store, then stopped short in wonder.
We had stepped into something from another world. Massive wooden bookshelves were everywhere, filled with ancient-looking texts. An entire wall in this enormous room was an apothecary cabinet, with all kinds of herbs in hundreds of drawers that went all the way up to the ceiling. There was a ladder on caster wheels so shoppers could climb up fifteen feet to get the herbs they needed.
“Can I help you?” A woman stepped forward, smiling but brisk, as she left the counter. “What are you looking for?”
“I’m looking for Jonathan Truby,” I said.
Shock and horror passed across her face, just for a second. Then, as in any other customer service industry, she smiled.
“We serve all who use magic here,” she said. “But I don’t know anything about Truby’s coven or its business. I’m sorry I can’t help you with that. Perhaps a potion?”
“Yes, please. I have an ingredients list.” I hoped this would be easier, but instead, we’d use a spell to find my father.
That is, if he doesn’t find me first, now that I’m nosing around looking for him. It might be easier if he found me, but I’d rather get the jump on him first.
“Do you have a workroom?” I asked as we paid for our purchases.
Her face looked pinched—she would rather we went elsewhere—but the store didn’t take sides. “For a small fee. And there’s a damage deposit, in case of accidents.”
An hour later, Tristan and I were winding up our spell in a wooden carrel, one in a series located in a room across the concrete hallway.
I rolled up my sleeve so I could nick the back of my arm. I wasn’t cutting my hand—I needed my hands strong to hold a blade.
“Here.” Tristan put his foot up on a chair, pulled his knife out, and flipped it in his hand to offer me the hilt.
It was a small, nondescript black dagger, two inches long with a wickedly sharp blade. I bit my lip as I passed it over my skin, but it was so sharp I barely felt the blade before a droplet of my blood trickled down my arm.
I swept the blood up with my fingertips and anointed the compass we had already enchanted. “Blood of mine, find blood of mine.”
Tristan gave me a sympathetic look. “Does part of you hope that it won’t work? That it doesn’t lead you to him?”
If it had been someone else—anyone else—I might not have answered that question.
“Yes,” I said quietly.
I wanted it to be a lie. But the story of Truby’s violence against my mother was so ugly, it seemed like it had to be the truth.
The compass swung around, dizzyingly fast. There was no doubt something supernatural was happening.
Then it suddenly came to a stop. The needle vibrated for a second, then paused. No matter which way I turned with the compass, it kept pointing that way.
Dread settled in my stomach.
“Let’s go find some bad guys,” Tristan said cheerfully.
Chapter Nineteen
Deidra
Tristan and I seemed to be chasing a moving target. Following it took us across the city, and we find ourselves standing on the front steps of a small theater.
“This is more culture than we usually get,” Tristan said.
“We’re lurking outside like stalkers.”
“My point stands.”
It was true our classes at the academy were not exactly the traditional academic fare. We weren’t taking any lit classes, unless you counted deciphering what was myth and what was reality in ancient texts… for the sake of slaying the monsters that had been captured in storybooks.
The theater seemed abandoned at the moment, during the day. I tried the door handle expecting it to be locked, but it opened. As I pushed the door open, I gave Tris a worried look, and he gave it right back to me.
Maybe the door had opened because Truby was expecting me. Maybe it was magic like in the store.
Inside, the theater was eerily silent. Our footsteps echoed as we walked.
“Did you ever try out for theater in high school?” Tristan asked.
His voice seemed so loud in the quiet.
“Really?” I whispered. He was asking getting-to-know-each-other questions? Here?
He shrugged. “I always thought it would be fun.”
That didn’t really surprise me. Tristan was so outgoing and fun, he would probably have been a natural onstage.
“I’m sure you’ll get your chance to do some improv,” I said. “Why didn’t you do theater?”
“We were busy Hunting. All teenage Hunters have their after-school job locked-in.” He paused suddenly, cocking his head to one side. “Do you hear that?”
In the distance, there was a faint grunt, then a clash of metal.
We frowned at each other, then headed for the sound.
And when we found ourselves backstage, we walked into a fight.
“Ellis, duck!” A man yelled, his voice rough.
We’d walked into a mad house. Four men and a women were fighting in Hunting leathers, carrying swords, but I couldn’t see what they were fighting. Something was happening though. Things were flying around backstage. The curtain flew open and closed, and the lights were flickering on and off.
I gripped my compass tighter. This didn’t make any sense. The needle kept wobbling back and forth, tracking the movements of one man, a dark-haired, curly-headed guy with golden eyes. His sword was a blur when he fought.
A woman in her twenties, her hair in a long braid and a grin on her face, stopped abruptly when she saw us. The smile dropped away, but she still held her sword at the ready. “What are you doing back here? We’re rehearsing.”
“This is a rehearsal?” Didn’t those take place on the stage?
A prop went sailing across the room and clipped a tall guy with powerful shoulders in the back. He cursed as he turned, dancing out of the way as it looped back around as if it were going to hit him again. He threw himself on top of it, knocking it to the ground as he shouted a word in Latin.
“Yes,” she said, her face bland. “We’re rehearsing the new Poltergeist musical.”
“That can’t possibly be a real thing,” I muttered.
Tristan shrugged. “Anything is possible in New York City.”
“You can’t be here,” she said firmly. “You don’t belong here, and you could get hurt.”
I stared over her shoulder at the guy with the curls, and she looked down at the compass in my hands.
“Whatever you’re looking for, I hope you find it,” she said firmly, ushering us out of the theater. She followed us all the way to the steps. “Just not today.”
She slammed the door shut.
“That was not my father,” I said, still thinking of that man with the dark curls and the eerie eyes. “A cousin? A… brother?”
My heart stuttered on the words. I wanted a family so badly. I’d always been an only child, and most of my life, an orphan too. Having a brother would change everything.
Or at least, I wished it would.
It was probably a cousin. It could be someone on my mom’s side. It could be another Hunter.
That was why they were fighting ghosts in there, no matter the lies they told.
“We shouldn’t have left,” I said, trying the door, which didn’t budge now. “Those were Hunters. We could’ve just explained what we were doing—”
“Those were, luckily for us, distracted Hunters, who will have received the magical APB to keep an eye out for your face,” Tristan reminded me. “We’ll come back and see who he is later. For now, we’ve got to keep moving. Stay free, find Truby.”
I nodded reluctantly, even though the thought of walking
away made me ache. “You’re right.”
“Sorry.” Tristan slung his arm over my shoulder as the two of us headed down the street. “I’d be curious too.”
I felt more than curious. I knew it was probably a ticket to disappointment, but excitement flared in my stomach at the possibility of finding someone who would be part of my family.
Not excitement, exactly.
Longing. That was it. I bit my lower lip, afraid of what that feeling could do to me. Just because someone was some degree of blood relation didn’t mean they wanted anything to do with me. Truby’s daughter. A witch. Maybe the handsome boy with the dark curls could come after me just like the Hunters who found Nix and I had. Maybe he wouldn’t hesitate to stand over me, his golden eyes alight with some kind of mad glee that Nix found in fighting, and cut my throat with his blade.
No longing allowed.
I didn’t need anyone.
There was a sound of tires squealing behind us, as if a car was racing dangerously fast on the city streets.
We stopped and turned, only to watch the truck come to an abrupt stop. The back door flew open, and four men piled out, wearing masks across their faces.
“Ah,” Tristan said, not missing a beat. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Fear tightened my stomach and my heart suddenly pounded as they stormed toward us.
Hunters?
Or was that our ticket to find Truby?
“Might not be anywhere good,” Tristan said, half-to-himself. “I’m not sure that’s our ride, D.”
He reached out and grabbed my arm. “Run!”
The two of us were flying down the street when I heard the first gun go off behind me. The bullet zinged past me, burying itself in a brick wall.
“What the hell are you doing?” It was a familiar feminine voice, the one from the theater.
I looked back over my shoulder to see the Hunters from the theater fighting the Hunters who had just come after us. The guy with the dark curls wrenched the gun away from the man who’d fired that stray shot, dropping him to the ground. His pair of blond-haired friends held swords at the throats of two of the others, warning them from trying another shot.
“Let’s all calm down,” said a green-eyed guy with tousled dark hair, as he folded his arms across his chest. “Whatever you think the girl did, it hardly warrants shooting up New York City.”
His gaze found us, at the end of the street. There was a mischievous lilt to his lips, and he looked at us as if he found this whole thing delightful.
“Come on back.” The girl called, gesturing to us. “We’ll figure out what’s going on.”
The blond followed her gaze. “They’re going to run, Ellis.”
“The Council wants them,” one of the men said, glowering at Ellis. “You just interfered with Council orders.”
“I’m terrible at checking my texts.” Ellis shrugged.
“Hunters,” Tristan said urgently. His gaze met mine, and then he said, “Another day, Deidra. You’ll get another day.”
I hesitated, but when he grabbed my hand, I ran with him.
Chapter Twenty
Tristan
If I have to bring Deidra somewhere dangerous, at least there’s dancing.
The Dark Apple is a dance-club-slash-front for the New York City coven. From the outside, it doesn’t look like much.
But from what I’ve heard, the inside is lavish. And black tie.
“Time for makeover number two for you,” I teased her as we headed into a boutique dress store. “I think I can do a little better than Nix.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Why does everyone want to make me over?”
She was teasing me—as if she thought we all really saw something wrong with her black nails and her colorfully-tipped hair—but I stopped dead, still holding the glass door open for her.
Sales women surrounded us—I had an appointment, thanks to old connections—but I ignored them as I stared at her.
“I don’t,” I said. “The job’s the job, but there’s nothing I like better than the way you look right now. You look like you.”
She smiled—the most uncertain smile I’d seen from my confident girl—and I let the door slam shut behind me as I crossed the lush carpet to her.
“Believe me,” I said. I longed to kiss her—those soft pink lips of hers seemed to call me—but this wasn’t the time or the place.
Still, I was sure if I kissed her, she’d believe me. I was wild for her. I couldn’t be more drawn to her than I was, just the way she was.
She stared up at me, a long, searching look. I ached to sweep her off her feet and kiss her until her doubts fell away. But regardless, her face suddenly relaxed.
She believed me.
“Let’s find a dress,” she said, catching my hand and drawing me with her. “It’s on the Hunters’ dime, right?”
“The one perk,” I said. “Because we get paid shit.”
She stopped dead. “I never really thought about that.”
“You’ve had other things on your mind.” Deidra hasn’t had time to worry about what happens after graduation. It’s four years away.
We’ve got a lot of ground to cover between now and then.
I said, “Bring the lady something expensive.”
The smiling sales lady asked Deidra what kind of dress she wanted.
“Black,” she said.
Well, here’s my surprised face.
“Is there any particular style you’re drawn to?” The saleslady asked.
Deidra looked back at her with her lips parting and uncertainty written across her face. She looked far more comfortable with a sword in her hand.
“I think maybe a halter or a sleeveless dress with a slender silhouette,” I said. “She’s not really a puffy ball gown kind of girl.”
The saleslady smiled at that.
“Red,” I said. “Try red too.”
Deidra looked at me, her brows arching. “I thought you weren’t trying to make me over.”
“Trust me,” I said.
If I didn’t have a referral from a big name actress who had been a friend of my mom’s—her house was once haunted—I had no doubt they never would have let a ragged pair like Deidra and I through the doors. But instead, they gave us both glasses of champagne and led me to a long tufted felt couch in front of a dressing room. I leaned back, crossing my leg at the knee, and took a long sip of champagne.
Meanwhile, Deidra watched the procession of Prada and Chanel being carried into the dressing room. Then she downed her entire glass.
“Easy there, champ,” I told her, and she shot me a dark look.
“You’re enjoying this,” she accused.
“Immensely.”
She dumped her leather jacket and her weapons into my lap, and I covered her handgun and her knives with the jacket.
We definitely didn’t belong here.
Or maybe as Hunters, we belonged wherever the hell we felt like.
Deidra tried on dress after dress. She came out barefoot, her dyed hair pulled back in a ponytail, no makeup, but she still looked like a vision. At first she had the same dour I do my job but I don’t have to like it look fixed on her face. Then she seemed to soften. She twirled in front of the mirror, her long satin skirt flaring out in a circle, then stopped and pursed her lips at me, as if to say, you never saw that.
I laughed out loud. It was just fun to see Deidra in a light, relaxed moment.
We deserved a break sometimes too.
When she came out in a long, asymmetrical red dress, the deep red color brought out the fullness of her red lips and the vibrant color of her green eyes.
She twirled in front of the mirror again. Her eyes were bright when she studied herself, and then she popped her hands on her hips as she faced me. “I’ll never live it down if I tell you that you were right, will I?”
“You like it.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“When did I ever say a damn t
hing about what color dress you should wear?” I pretended to frown in confusion. “I’m a Hunter. I don’t know the first thing about anything girlie.”
“Mm-hmm.”
We picked up my tux, then checked into a nice hotel to take a shower and clean up.
There was no time to dye her hair back to its usual color, but she looked almost as sexy as a blond as she had with her own thick, gorgeous dark hair.
I helped her pin her hair back into a chignon. We watched a YouTube video, and there was a lot of cursing involved. But between her and me and twenty-seven Bobby pins, we eventually conquered the chignon.
“Almost perfect,” I said, gazing at her in the mirror that reflected the two of us back.
“Mm?” She pursed her lips.
“You just need some jewelry,” I said, and I slipped the box out of my pocket. I’d ordered it to be delivered to our room, and it had come while she was in the shower.
“Tris,” she said. “On the Hunters’ dime?”
The truth was, Cade and I had inherited our parents’ wealth. We didn’t need to Hunt. And none of this was on the Hunters’ dime.
We didn’t care about money. Neither of us did. We didn’t have a home, not really, without our parents. We just had the academy.
But I wanted her to have beautiful things.
For the rest of her life.
And I figured this was the only way she would accept ridiculous gifts.
“No,” I said. “But let me pick something up for you.”
I slipped the emerald-and-diamond necklace around her neck. The emeralds were the same color as her eyes.
She gasped, her fingertips rising to touch the large center stone. “It’s not real, is it?”
“You’re the one touching it, you know if it’s real or not, right?” I teased as I latched it, my fingers skimming the back of her delicate neck. Let her think it was costume jewelry.
She shook her head slowly. “Why are you so sweet to me, Tristan?”
“Because someone has to make up for my asshole brother?”
She grinned, then twisted so her back was to the mirror. She lifted herself up onto the edge of the countertop, and I found myself swaying between her legs. The two of us were close together, but not touching. Still, being this close to her alone made my breath hitch in a way that it never had with another woman.
