Page 20
I can hear him whisper my name, low and desperate.
My eyes close. I’m taken back into that dark spare room of Nora’s when he first kissed me, and holy fuck was it one hell of a kiss. That mouth of his isn’t fair. Something that can be so cruel, so wicked, should not feel so damn good. My chest aches and my hand splays over it to rub soothingly. This shouldn’t feel like a breakup. It’s not a breakup. It’s a parting from a brief acquaintance. Our threesome didn’t even include penetration.
It still hurts. Like the masochist I am, I open my eyes to finish the last few lines.
It doesn’t matter how much I adore you, or how much I find myself dreaming of you, I can never have you. It’s a cruel fate that I loathe, but it’s the fate I choose.
I will remember that night, our night, together for all the years of my long life.
Hate me if it will make it easier.
–V
I blink. The letter crackles as I flip it back and forth. That’s it? No apology whatsoever for anything?
I snarl, “Fuck your letter, you asshole piece of blueblood shit!”
I crumple and throw the paper, but it’s not enough. The paper is too small and the impact of it into the trash too dissatisfying. My chest pumps and my fists curl. I want to throttle him. That coward. Unbelievable.
I don’t know what I expected. An apology is clearly asking too much from the arrogant dick. Maybe an explanation of why he tried to take Tori but leave me behind, though I doubt anything he could say could mend that rift he tore between us. I almost wish he told me he used me just to have sex with Tori again. At least then I’d just feel stupid for believing he could have felt anything for me. This? This is torture.
“Cruel, heartless bastard,” I grumble, grabbing my flat cap and storming from my small apartment. The door slams behind me and I stomp down the hall. Because of him, I’m even later to breakfast with Nora.
The front door screeches when I yank it open, and I stumble back. Holy fuck, it’s unbearably hot. Tori’s magic within my jacket shifts and my upper body cools, but my legs and face immediately begin sweating. I weave through the few pedestrians who braved the streets, their feet dragging and fans waving.
Two blocks down, I take a right and stumble into a torrential downpour. I pause, arms out in bewilderment. Lightning forks across the dark sky and thunder claps so hard that I feel it in my chest. I take two steps back, and the sun blazes down on me with its insufferable heat. There are no clouds in the sky, but the pedestrians before me are drenched, newspapers splayed over their heads. Shadows of falling rain shift in and out of focus.
My clothes are completely dry, but when I step forward, they soak again. I sigh hard and trot down the sidewalk. I can handle illusioned rain. What I can’t handle is—
Snow.
I stumble, arms waving to keep my balance as my legs sink knee-deep into a thick wintery wonderland straight from my nightmares. I huff and grit my teeth, pulling my cap down and buttoning up my jacket. My southern blood is too thin for this. My teeth rattle, and my rings glow. Threads wind around me to form a shield. It helps, but I don’t want to push it too hard and attract unwanted attention. My threads are endlessly useful, but way too easy for Dimitar to recognize.
Although… my head swivels. I don’t see a Magistrate officer pair in sight. They were practically crawling the streets with the Guild last night trying to figure out what to do with all the clashing storms.
The door to Café Francesca jingles, and I stomp my boots clear of snow, but there’s no need. All the ice shimmers away, leaving my khakis dry like I didn’t just fight my way through rain and snow to get here.
The quaint little café is near deserted, though it’s usually jam-packed at this hour. Only a few brave enough to venture out are huddled together at little tables. The soft white and pink pastel paneling along the walls hurts my teeth, but they sell the best coffee and pastries in the city.
I frown when I don’t spot Nora. Am I early? I check the large, ticking clock on the wall behind the front counter. No, definitely late. Perhaps she didn’t feel like waiting for me.
I saunter closer to the counter, head on a swivel as I go.
The front door bangs open, several patrons jumping in their seats. Nora Estrella, magician and apothecary extraordinaire, poses backlit in the doorway to make the grandest of entrances, one hand high on the frame as she cocks her hip, her professional black waist dress and pleated white blouse immaculate as always.
She flicks her wand and the powerful shield that encases her pops like a bubble. The torrent of frosty air blowing in carries Nora’s signature scent of dried herbs and ashy smoke throughout the café. She strokes back a few loose curls from her twist and cries, “Francesca, tell me there’s whisky in the coffee this morning. I beg of you to save me from this misery.”
Francesca is already busy at work prepping Nora’s usual. The older woman chuckles, her gray hair tamed in a bun. “I’ll see what I can do, love.”
“Bless you. I’ll have your arthritis ease ready by tomorrow. So sorry it’s delayed. I was pulled away from my cauldrons.” The door clangs shut loudly, and Nora struts in, her boots clicking on the colorful tiles. She tucks her wand haphazardly back into her twist on top of her head. Only Nora would carry around something so irreplaceable in her hair. I find myself beaming as Nora approaches and tugs me into a tight hug. “Hello, my wayward friend. Forgive me for being late to our Thursday morning coffee. I am utterly exhausted and have only a moment to spare you.”
I keep my hand affectionately on her elbow. “I was about to say the same.”
“Wonderful, we shall both be terrible together. Francesca! Breakfast to go this morning, please.” She turns back to me. “Get me off my feet. It’s been a night!”
She leads the way to the booth in the corner, the one we always sit in on Thursday mornings when I’m in town. The pistachio green velvet seats are the most comfortable in the shop, and the soft pink sconce glows with an electrical bulb. I raise my brow. It was a crystal last time we were here a few weeks ago, though it might as well have been a lifetime for how much has happened.
Nora collapses heavily down on her side. I ease into my seat with more control while scanning the café, noting the patrons, exits, and snow-covered windows. Silk-thin threads slither out of my rings, running along my hands, up my body, to slip out from the cuffs of my khakis. They weave between the tiles, searching for any magical signatures, brushing against the shoes of the other patrons to ensure there’s no magician token hidden on them.
