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HARPER

Harper Nightingale had to escape his coven. Everything was stacked against him, but he had to get out. Another second longer, and he might implode.

Harper closed the door to his studio apartment and locked it, risking a glance down the hall. The witch spying on him was nowhere in sight, but there was always someone. Adjusting his backpack, Harper walked away as if it were a perfectly normal morning.

He wouldn’t be here by the time next weekend rolled around. No matter what. Things were about to get so much worse.

He put one foot in front of the other.

Just get to the library. Pretend today is the same as every other Saturday .

Harper forced a carefully bored expression as he descended the stairs, clenching his fist so he wouldn’t reach for the potion in his pocket. He knew it was there. There was no need to check and risk drawing attention.

He exited the apartment complex on the outskirts of Shearwater Landing. When Harper was first sent to the city by the sea, his father told him he’d be living there alone.

He bit the inside of his cheek. How had he ever been gullible enough to believe that?

Harper let out a measured breath. It didn’t matter. He would never fall for one of Arthur Nightingale’s lies again.

His skin itched as he made his way down the quiet street. The witch following him wasn’t far behind, his magical presence looming in the back of Harper’s mind.

Now that Harper knew to look out for someone tailing him, he always checked. One of Arthur’s men stalked him everywhere he went, and at least half a dozen of them lived in the apartment complex with him.

When he’d first arrived in the city a year ago on his mission to hunt the Hounds of Hell, he hadn’t noticed anything amiss. Stupid. He was so stupid for believing his father trusted him and was giving him a chance to improve his rank. Harper clenched his fist harder and pushed the regret away. There was no changing the past.

But he hadn’t even discovered his stalkers on his own. It was as embarrassing as being duped in the first place. He’d believed he was beyond his coven’s reach, and when he’d taken the chance to go out to a club one night, a familiar witch had appeared seemingly out of nowhere and stopped him.

Why had his father bothered pretending to give Harper a longer leash, only to reassert his complete control? Was it just to fuck with him? Demoralize him? The witch had dragged Harper back to his apartment, spouting Arthur’s familiar homophobic bullshit and ranting about Harper’s “questionable” behavior.

He was never beyond his father’s reach.

Harper’s blood boiled at the memory, but he kept his pace even as he walked past shops and a small park toward the nearest subway station.

After that night, Harper’s coven kept up the illusion he was on his own, never letting him catch a glimpse of them around the complex or town, but everywhere Harper went, someone followed, their presence detectable through their magic.

Except for one witch, who seemed uninterested in participating in Arthur’s mind games. That, or the witch was lazy. Harper caught him following all the time, and he’d take advantage of the witch’s apparent apathy toward his task. At last.

After months of careful planning and preparation, Harper was going to disappear. And not a moment too soon.

He reached the subway station and waited for a train, idly scrolling on his phone and pretending his stomach wasn’t in knots. He was too tall to be inconspicuous, but he’d gotten over that a long time ago.

Harper was lean and lanky. He looked like a nondescript office worker in drab slacks and a button-down that washed out his pale skin, but dressing how he wanted wasn’t a luxury he’d ever had.

When he’d first been sent on his mission, he’d wondered why his father had him living in one of the city’s outermost suburbs since he had to travel into the heart of Shearwater Landing to make any progress with his hunt. Once he’d realized his building was infested with coven members, he suspected he’d been placed in the suburbs to isolate him and make him easier to keep track of because he had to get on the train to go anywhere of consequence.

An unpleasant chill prickled down Harper’s spine. Focus .

He boarded a train headed for downtown Shearwater Landing. The car jolted forward, the motion turning his knotted stomach. He breathed through his mouth, trying not to smell the stale air, and willed time to speed up .

Harper’s stomach roiled as he rode into the city. His palms prickled with sweat, begging to be wiped on his slacks. He held them still, better to not give away his nerves. He couldn’t risk anything tipping off his tail. The witch had to think today was like any other day.

Harper discreetly surveyed the train car. It wasn’t crowded, and his tail wasn’t in the car with him, but he knew exactly where Harper was. His coven tracked him via magic and his phone’s location.

It made disappearing complicated. Harper cursed his inability to use magic directly against his coven. It wasn’t fair. He hated how helpless it made him. If only he could knock his stalker out and run.

He was powerful in his own right, but blood loyalty to his family prevented him from using magic directly against any Nightingales who outranked him or any unrelated coven members who had been sworn in above him. Of course Harper held the lowest rank in his coven. He’d never win in a fight against any Nightingale, let alone his father, whose position as coven leader gave him power over everyone.

A phantom pain pulsed through Harper’s wrist and elbow, reminding him he couldn’t even defend himself against his father, let alone attack or challenge him. Harper’s stomach heaved and he swallowed back bile, focusing on the subway car floor until he blocked out the dark images looming in the back of his mind.

Finally, the train reached Harper’s stop, and he got off. His legs weren’t much steadier on the unmoving ground than in the rocky car. He stumbled and knocked into someone.

“Sorry.”

The man didn’t acknowledge him, and soon, he was out of sight.

People bushed past Harper in all directions, talking on phones and to one another. He climbed the stairs to street level and let the city sounds wash over him. Car horns, music, bikes whizzing past.

Cities were nothing like the remote mountain compound where Harper had grown up. They were full of distractions, keeping everything that lurked in his head at bay.

His back straight, Harper walked as casually as he could through the downtown shopping district toward Old Town. Tall buildings shaded the street, keeping the summer morning cool. Harper suppressed a shiver. He swore he could still feel the motion of the train car.

He was so close. His muscles ached with the urge to run, but that would give him away and ruin everything.

Patience was key. He could do this. He’d been sneaking around the city for more than half a year, and this was the last time he’d have to do it before he was free.

As he went, the buildings got smaller and less modern. The library was in one of the oldest parts of the city, an area he frequented as part of his hunt. Not that he’d had much success tracking the Hounds of Hell, a failure his father had punished him for repeatedly.

Harper ground his teeth. Don’t think about it.

The walk seemed to take forever. Harper’s heart pounded like he’d been running after all, sweat dampening the back of his neck.

At last, he arrived and ascended the many stone steps leading to the grand library. His tail never followed him inside the historic building. Or at least the sloppy man following him today never did.

Harper glanced behind him as he held the front door for an older woman, catching a glimpse of his stalker sitting outside a coffee shop across the open plaza.

He entered the library and returned the books he’d checked out previously, leaving his bag nearly empty. He hadn’t wanted to look suspicious leaving his apartment weighed down with too many things, but it wasn’t like he’d miss anything he left behind.

After the books were returned, Harper hurried down the building’s rear stairs, pulling his phone from his pocket and turning it off as he entered the basement. There were plenty of books down here, as well as a few reading rooms. Harper had turned off his phone every time he’d come into the basement over the last eight months, leading the men following him to believe he had no reception down here.

At first, when Harper had done this, he’d spent the entire day in the basement reading as a test to see what response the lost phone signal would receive. His more diligent stalkers had checked up on him when they’d lost sight of his phone’s location, but after weeks of them always finding Harper in the basement, they stopped checking.

The man at the coffee shop waiting for him certainly wouldn’t come to find him—he never had before—and this was key to giving Harper a head start.

He walked quickly through the stacks to a Staff Only door. After checking no one was around, he slipped through the door and into a narrow hallway, heading straight to a supply closet a few doors down.

Inside, he flipped on the light and shifted boxes of cleaning products around until he came to the one at the back where he’d stashed some things. Grabbing his bundle, he flicked off the light and hurried farther down the hall to the staff restroom.

Harper set his bundle on the restroom counter and shucked off his backpack. He stripped out of his ugly office clothes and pulled on the jeans and T-shirt he’d stashed, transferring the potion to his new pocket.

The clothes were no more his style than what he’d been wearing, but at least they were casual. He pulled on a baseball cap and checked himself in the mirror. Most of his brown hair was covered. He’d let it grow long, and some of it stuck out around his ears, but it was good enough. The last touch was a pair of thick-framed glasses.

Harper opened his backpack and pulled at a loose thread in the lining, ripping the seam. When the hole was big enough, he reached his hand in and pulled out a leather bracelet and his secret debit card.

Stooping, he secured the bracelet around his ankle. The spell trapped in the leather tingled against his skin as it masked his magic from any witches he might pass on the street.

He’d tested the bracelet many times and was certain the man tailing him today wouldn’t notice the disappearance of his magic. He’d never acted like he’d noticed before, leading Harper to believe this guy didn’t track his magic closely.

The bracelet wasn’t foolproof. Anyone magical who thoroughly assessed him would be able to break past its enchantment, but it was good enough for this stage of the plan. He didn’t want anyone casually noticing a witch sneaking around when there was a chance it could get back to his coven.

Harper grabbed his ID and stuffed his discarded clothes and backpack—including his turned-off phone and wallet—into the trash can. He took the spare cell phone he’d stashed with the clothes, slipped it into his pocket with his ID, and carefully exited the restroom.

The hallway was still empty as he walked quickly to the employee exit at the end, where he’d snuck out before. He opened the door and stepped into an alley, resisting the urge to glance at the single security camera. It was unlikely to catch his face with the hat on.

Harper measured his steps as he walked, shoes scuffing the old paving stones. It was less of a risk to run now, but it would be smarter to act normal—draw no attention—he had to be smart in order to not screw this up.

More sweat prickled his skin and a wave of nausea made him glad he’d skipped breakfast. Almost there. He just had to stay calm and get through this. Which was easy. This was the last time he’d have to sneak out of the library. Everything was fine.

Exiting the alley, Harper turned in the opposite direction he’d come from and headed down the street.

He’d debated leaving Shearwater Landing as soon as he disappeared, but the logistics were near impossible. He’d had to sever all connections with his coven, meaning he had no money—his money had been connected to his father—no job, and no support system.

Growing up isolated in the Nightingale Coven meant he had no friends and anyone he’d met while hunting demons in Shearwater Landing would have been noted by his stalkers, so he hadn’t bothered cultivating friendships. If Harper left the city, he would be unprepared to live wherever he ended up, so he’d built something here—slowly and secretly.

Every Saturday the lazy man followed him, Harper had slipped on his bracelet and left the library to create a new life.

He was a potions master. Mixing magic and earthly elements was where his greatest powers lay. It was why he’d been sent to hunt the Hounds of Hell, even though his father preferred to keep him close. Harper hadn’t met a potion he couldn’t brew, and so, on one of his reconnaissance missions through the city over six months ago, he’d used his potion skills to get himself a job.

Sort of.

Utilizing the empty drawers in his dresser, he’d brewed popular potions that sold easily in the magical market. Most humans didn’t believe in magic, but that didn’t mean witches and vampires didn’t have their own world hidden in plain sight. Harper had found a hole-in-the-wall apothecary in the Banks that sold potions and had approached the owner—disguised as a human with his leather bracelet—and sold his potions, pretending to be in the employ of a reclusive witch.

He’d done this repeatedly, slowly saving and depositing the money he earned into a bank account he’d opened without his father’s knowledge.

So Harper had an income, even though anything connected to the magical community carried the risk of being discovered by his coven. At least the owner of the apothecary was a lone witch, not associated with any coven, and extremely unlikely to cross paths with any of the Nightingales.

Staying in Shearwater Landing after his escape was likely foolish, but Harper would leave once he could afford it and had a job lined up elsewhere. It was a big city with a population of over a million people. Surely, he could slip into the crowd and, with magic on his side, never be found again.

A month ago, Harper found a room to rent in an apartment near the apothecary in the Banks, a less affluent part of the city by the river, near the Docks and all the old canneries.

Harper had never been to the Docks or the Banks as part of his hunt. He’d never been near the river or the port at its mouth. He hadn’t even been very far into the Arts District that separated the nicer part of the city from the rest.

He wasn’t planning on going anywhere near the neighborhoods he used to frequent or the ones he went to occasionally, like the upscale waterfront to the north, just to be safe. Harper might not leave his new apartment much at all, at least at first. Why risk it more than he had to?

He just wanted to be safe and free from his old life.

Harper left the library and Old Town behind and headed into the Arts District, passing the university. The back of his neck tingled from the sweat dampening his skin…but was it more than that? Was someone watching him, or was he being paranoid?

Glancing around, nothing caught his eye. He cast a detection spell, sending his magic out around him, looking for anyone else who possessed magic. There wasn’t even the faintest hint. There couldn’t be a witch following him and his father would never stoop to employing a human. Regarding humans as less than was despicable, but at least his father’s prejudice worked in Harper’s favor.

He was in the clear, the same as he had been every other time he’d snuck out of the library. Harper sped up, walking faster, neck prickling relentlessly.

He was further from his old life and closer to freedom than ever. Everything in his plan was falling into place. Everything he’d set up over the last half-year was paying off. So why was his heart pounding like it might all go wrong?

This moment was twenty-four years in the making. The most important thing he’d done in his life. He should be happy. Relieved.

He was sick to his stomach.

Harper ducked into a convenience store and went to the restroom. He heaved a breath and instantly regretted it. The air was foul. Fuck, he might actually be sick.

He doubled over, closed his eyes, and sucked breaths in and out through his mouth. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He was almost there. No one was following him. He shouldn’t be this much of a mess when nothing was going wrong.

Maybe he needed to complete the last step of his plan. Fuck, that better help, or he was going to bolt out of the restroom and do something stupid.

Harper straightened and pulled the potion from his pocket, his trick to truly disappearing. He unstopped the vial and swallowed its contents in one mouthful. The liquid fizzed all the way down his throat and he winced at the bitter taste.

But he didn’t throw up.

A chill coursed through Harper as the potion suppressed the magic in his blood. He would still be able to use magic, but while the suppressant flowed through his bloodstream, no one would be able to tell he was a witch, no matter how hard they inspected him. No one would be able to track him with magic either. Even someone with his hair or blood, like his father, couldn’t use magic to find him as long as the suppressant remained in his system.

The dose he’d taken would last twenty-four hours. He’d have to brew more potion and take it religiously to remain magically invisible. It was a complicated concoction, intricate and risky to mess up, considering how much power it took to create.

Thank Satan potions were his calling.

Harper left the convenience store and the fresh air hit him like a shot of coffee. His stomach settled and he continued toward the Banks, only slightly sweaty.

He was free.

They wouldn’t find him. He was nothing but another lone witch in the city by the sea. And he deserved this, dammit. Harper had gone through Hell to get here. Not literally, but his upbringing had to be comparable to the actual Realm of the Damned.

An unwanted memory popped into his head: his arms and legs tied down, his blood draining away before he was left alone, locked in the cold cellar all night. Nausea returned, but Harper stubbornly swallowed it.

He clenched his fist so tight his nails dug into his palm.

His father claimed their coven served Lucifer in everything they did and that every bit of suffering showed Satan their loyalty, but really, the coven served Arthur Nightingale, and Harper was done with all of it, Satan be damned.

Like he wasn’t already.

The only thing Harper wasn’t giving up was his hunt. He’d track down Lucifer’s Dogs, the Hounds of Hell, just like his father wanted, but he wasn’t doing it in the name of the Nightingale Coven or Lucifer. He never had been.

He had his own agenda.