Page 18

She regarded a stoic Natalia like she was delivering a moving, one-woman stage performance. “Even the most powerful among us must balance many contradictions within the self. Our hopes and fears, confidence and doubt. The world may see only what we project, but we alone know the full truth.”

Natalia forced herself not to roll her eyes. Not to wear her you’re-so-full-of-shit expression. She thought about how much she loved her office instead. Remembered how much she loathed change.

“It’s a rare gift to be seen and known so completely. To lay oneself bare without fear of judgment. But when we find that person, it unlocks something within us.”

Natalia glanced up again, meeting Fortune’s earnest gaze. She should start packing Yerba Buena in her purse for occasions such as these. A little spiritual cleansing felt in order.

“The one who holds the key to our heart is always closer than we know,” Fortune said gently. “If we can find the courage to open the door.”

Just then, the elevator yawned open. Fortune’s smile was bordering on maniacal when she held the door for her. “Have faith, my dear. Trust in love’s power to transform us all.”

Natalia stared coldly at Silks, her gaze dripping with disdain. It was all she could take. Bamford’s unpredictability be dammed. “I don’t have time for your rambling philosophies,” she said icily. “Some of us have real work to do.”

Without another word, Natalia brushed past Silks, not sparing her so much as a glance. She could feel the woman’s bemused smile clinging to her back like an insect she longed to crush under her heel.

Stepping off the elevator, Natalia straightened her already pristine blazer, steeling herself. She despised aimless chitchat, especially first thing in the morning. And Silks’ spiritual mumbo-jumbo set her teeth on edge.

Natalia had no patience for whimsical notions about love or destiny. She dealt in facts, logic, business. Abstract concepts held no currency in her world. She strode into Dominion feeling more like herself and refused to let the rest of her day play out like a damn root canal.

CHAPTER 11

Palmetto Pride Books was about as much Sam’s home as her parents’ place in Westchester. Situated at the end of a strip mall next to a Chinese restaurant, the bookstore was open to all but had gotten gayer and gayer over the years.

A little bell that had been above the door since the Great Depression dinged after Sam put her shoulder into opening the glass door. It scraped against the laminate floor before finally spitting her into the shop.

Inside the small space, guests who had arrived too early for the reading milled around the tightly packed space. The front of the shop was split into two halves. LGBTQ+ romances of all varieties on one side and literary greats like Audre Lorde and Leslie Feinberg on the other. Covering the entire ceiling was the massive rainbow flag Sam’s mother had sewn for Blanca as a business-warming gift nearly fifteen years ago.

Her favorite part of the shop was the witchy corner, tucked away in a shadowy nook in the back next to where Blanca had set up a lounge for teens who needed a quirky place to keep them safe. The shelves were packed with spell-books — some modern paperbacks, others ancient leather-bounds. Crystals of every color glimmered in display cases. Incense sticks in exotic scents like dragon’s blood and white sage sat next to bundles of dried herbs.

Sam intended to slip in and make it to the back of the store before anyone spotted her, but a tall brunette with flawless skin and captivating eyes started toward her — the Lilith book tucked under her arm.

“Prof. Reyes,” the woman said, voice low and sultry and utterly enchanting. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” Her accent was mild and impossible to identify. Spanish? Portuguese? Catalan? Sam couldn’t pinpoint it.

Sam wanted to tell the woman standing before her in leather pants and a wicked gleam in her eye that she wasn’t her typical reader. There wasn’t a speck of academia’s pretentious dust on her. But she resisted making an assumption. Didn’t arrive at a conclusion without evidentiary support.

“Thank you so much for coming to the reading,” she replied cooly even as her pulse jumped in her throat while the woman neared. It wasn’t an attraction response. It was like coming to the end of a hiking trail and realizing that a momma bear had just spotted you standing too close to her young. It was exhilarating in an unnerving way.

“Unfortunately, I can’t stay,” she said, bright brown eyes verging on auburn and glinting dark red where the fluorescent lighting hit them. “I don’t love crowds.” She pulled out the book. The cover was worn, and the pages were adorned with sticky tabs. “I was hoping you could sign it for me.”

“Sure, of course.” Sam reached for the pen tucked in her blazer’s inside pocket.

The woman opened the book to the first page. Her fingernails were long, sharpened to terrifying points, and painted a red so dark it reminded Sam of pooling blood. Oxidized and sticky.

“Who should I make it out to?” Sam clicked her pen and took the book.

“Librada,” she replied with a feline purr.

“What an unusual name. It’s lovely.” Sam scrawled a dedication before signing at the bottom of the page.

Librada smiled, sending a chill straight down Sam’s spine and curling around her stomach. “Thank you. It’s old.” She moistened her lips like an archer nocking an arrow. “Very, very old.”

“Did you?—”

“Sam!” Blanca, long, dark curls bouncing, waved at her from behind the counter, cutting off Sam’s question and shattering the haze that had draped around her.

Librada reached for the book, leaning disquietingly close to Sam’s ear. “You got quite a lot right, Professor.”

“What do you mean?” Sam furrowed her brow. “What did I get wrong?” she half-joked, trying to find her balance in the odd exchange.