Page 7

7

HAILEY

The glossy sheen of the ancient daggers caught fragments of muted sunlight as I held my phone to my ear.

Beside me, Luke leaned in, his brow furrowed with the same apprehension that had my stomach twisting into knots.

The line crackled and then the unnervingly chipper voices of Avery and Allison, our baby sisters turned fledgling vampires, bubbled through the speaker.

"Hailey! Luke!" they chorused in unison, their glee at odds with the mysterious circumstances of their mandated stay at 'The Farm.'

"Hey, twincicles," I used my old teasing pet name, angling for some normalcy.

"How's life on the supernatural dude ranch?"

A beat of hesitation, then Avery's forced enthusiasm. "Oh, you know, just peachy! Lots of fresh air, good old fashioned hard work..."

"And what does this hard work entail exactly?" Luke had one eyebrow cocked, clearly not buying the 'summer camp' spin.

"Pfft, nothing major," Allison hedged. "Just your basic farming chores and, uh, interpersonal growth exercises."

I swapped a dubious glance with Luke. The twins' obfuscation was raising more red flags than a carnival tent. I strived for a casual, coaxing tone. "That's cool. Hey, have you two made any progress on your official sentences? I know the Council wasn't super clear on the rehabilitation details..."

Another too-long pause crackled across the line. Then Avery blurted, "Well, funny you should ask. There's been this whole investigation thingy happening since the Farm's second-in-command got sorta... decapitated?"

" What ?" Luke and I yelped in concert. A surge of adrenaline sharpened my vision and set my fangs on edge.

Allison rushed to fill the stunned silence. "No no, it's totally fine! They sewed her head right back on. Full recovery expected."

Luke gripped my forearm, his hazel eyes wide and incredulous.

I could practically see him envisioning the headlines: 'Vampire Newbies Embroiled in Gruesome Farm Fiasco.'

"Girls, I swear if you're in over your heads..." He let the big-brother-warning hang.

"Relax, bro, we've got this," Avery insisted.

"As soon as the victim stops doing her best Nearly Headless Nick impression, we'll crack this mystery wide open."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, summoning patience. Shifting gears, I asked, "Hey, how's Arric handling all this? He's not exactly known for his warm mentorship skills."

Avery snorted. "You'd think, right? But he's been like, aggressively protective of us. It's sweet. Annoying, but sweet."

"Yeah," Allison chimed in, "he's basically Ollie 2.0. Only hotter and with fangs."

Luke choked on air. My eyebrows shot up so high they levitated. "Wait. What? Are we talking about the same Arric 'I-Put-The-Grim-In-Grim-Reaper'?"

The twins giggled conspiratorially. Allison surmised, "Methinks the lady doth protest too much. Our broody Council rep has been in rare form, flirting and butting heads with the Farm's big boss, Blanche."

"Hold up," I sputtered, "Who is Blanche? I thought Arric was your..."

"Blanche White," Avery supplied.

"Yep, that's her real name. She's this badass fae queen who runs the joint. And the sparks flying between her, and Arric could power a small country."

Luke and I shared a nonplussed look, both mouthing 'What even?'

As if on cue, a cacophony of shouts and.

.

.

neighing?

.

.

.

exploded through the phone.

Allison swore under her breath.

"Oop, sorry guys, gotta jet! The Kelpie is trying to drown Arric again. Byeeee!"

The line went dead, leaving me blinking at my darkened screen.

Luke let out a low whistle.

"Well. That was..."

"Bizarre? Concerning? Frustratingly vague?" I supplied, tucking my phone away with a sigh.

"All of the above." He shook his head, lips pursed.

"You think we should..."

I pointed to the box with the daggers.

"We've got our own supernatural shitstorm to wrangle. The twincicles will have to handle the Farm's unique brand of crazy solo for now."

Luke hummed his pained agreement.

We both turned back to the inscrutable weapons, silently praying they'd crack open this case before our sisters landed in another decapitation-adjacent debacle. Just another day in the topsy-turvy world of the Philadelphia vampire-dragon PI.

The daggers sat on my coffee table, all menacing edges and ominous glints. They seemed to stare back at me, smug in their refusal to divulge any secrets. I squared my shoulders, cracked my knuckles, and dropped onto the sofa. Time to get metaphysical.

My fingertips traced the intricate engravings spiraling along each blade. Esoteric symbols and foreign scripts winked at me, incomprehensible messages from a different age. They prickled my skin, an itch of magic I couldn't quite scratch.

These daggers represented a maddening dead end in my increasingly desperate investigation.

A set of ritually significant weapons, drenched in ancient power, discovered suspiciously close to a string of supernatural murders no one could solve.

It didn't take a Mensa membership to connect those dots. And yet, here I sat, no closer to answers than I'd been two frustrating weeks ago.

Blowing out a sharp breath, I centered myself and reached for my inner well of power.

The thrumming energy of my vampire-dragon nature swirled up to meet my call, a rush of heat and pressure waiting to be unleashed.

Carefully, deliberately, I pushed tendrils of my magic into the unyielding metal, seeking any chink in its defenses.

The daggers immediately pushed back, repelling my power like similar poles on stubborn magnets.

A staticky tingle raced up my arms, the blades' innate energy clashing with my own in discordant waves. Gritting my teeth, I leaned in harder, compressing my magic into a narrow, focused beam aimed at the heart of each hilt.

For a split second, I thought I sensed a flicker, an infinitesimal yield in the daggers' iron-clad auras.

A surge of excitement joined the torrent of my power - and then dissipated just as quickly as the weapons slammed their metaphysical doors in my face once more.

The backlash stung my palms and pride in equal measure.

"Fairy farts," I grumbled, glaring holes in the smirking blades.

Magical interference was par for the course with high-level artifacts, but this felt different.

Personal.

Like the daggers held a petulant grudge against my particular cocktail of supernatural energy.

I briefly entertained the petty fantasy of drop-kicking the glittering arseholes into the Schuylkill River.

With an aggrieved huff, I dragged my hands through my hair, tugging at blonde tangles.

Fine.

If the bastards wanted to play hard to get, I'd try a different approach. Kill 'em with kindness.

Marshaling my irritation into determination, I laid my palms flat on the blades once more.

I focused on my breathing, slow and even, imagining tranquility as a sweetly placid stream trickling through my veins.

Instead of pressing my magic out, I coaxed it to pool beneath my skin, a tempting offering for any receptive energies.

"All right, my pointy little friends," I murmured, keeping my tone coaxing.

"I'm not your enemy here. We both want the same thing - to stop the evil asshat who killed the dragons."

I concentrated on imbuing my power with pure, untarnished intent. No aggression, no demands, just an open channel begging to be filled with insight. My third eye pulsed behind my forehead as I compressed desire and need into shining mental bullets. Remember your wielder. Grant us clarity. Lend us your secrets to serve justice.

The blades remained as aloofly unimpressed as snooty cats. I cycled through every intention I could conjure - memory, history, revelation, power, purpose, truth. I focused until a headache bloomed behind my eyes, until sweat beaded my temples from the sheer force of my goodwill.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

The daggers' magical blockade didn't so much as quiver. I was wasting time and sanity trying to crack uncrackable nuts while a deadly mystery continued to bleed Philadelphia dry.

Despair, cold and clammy, slithered in my gut. For the first time since this case landed in my lap, I felt utterly out of my depth. No traction, no leads, no leverage. What kind of supernatural sheriff couldn't even wrench a single clue from her only piece of evidence?

"Hailey." Jax cut through my spiral. Lost in my own head, I hadn't sensed my mate enter the room. His large hand cupped my shoulder, kneading tension-bunched muscles with knowing fingers.

"You're pushing too hard again," he chided gently.

"Your aura is a mess of frustrated knots."

I sniffled, swiping at the moisture on my lashes before leaning into his touch.

"I have to push," I argued mulishly.

"These Ginsu rejects are our only hope at ending this thing."

"And we'll get there," he assured me. "But not by running ourselves into the ground." He spun my chair, forcing me to meet his gaze, green eyes soft with understanding. "You need a break, sweet. Let that big brain rest and reset."

I shook my head mutely, but it was a weak protest and we both knew it. Jax put the daggers back in their lead box and tugged me to my feet and into his arms. "The others are waiting for us at Catch and Release. We're gonna show Xander a good time Philly-style and forget about murder and mayhem for a couple of hours."

Folding myself into his embrace with a shuddering sigh, I let Jax's certainty bolster my own. Maybe he was right. Maybe stepping back from this impossible puzzle was the key to seeing its solution.

Or maybe I'd simply feel better about bashing my head against unbreakable magical walls after a round or three of O-neg shooters.

Either way, a night of distraction sounded heavenly.

The thrum of music and chatter washed over me as we entered Catch and Release, inviting as a hot bath on a cold night.

After the whirlwind of supernatural disasters lately, normalcy tasted like a vintage I hadn't sipped in years. Even if "normal" was an elite vampire nightclub.

Red and white lights sliced through the hazy air, flashing over the lithe bodies gyrating on the dance floor. I inhaled the mingled scents of incense, liquor, and blood, so familiar they almost stung with nostalgia. Beside me, Jax squeezed my hand, his profile painted in crimson shadow. I squeezed back. He murmured in my ear, his words lost in the pulse of the bass, but I knew what he'd said.

Time to unwind.

We cut a path to our usual booth, the crowd parting for Jax like the Red Sea for Moses.

Perks of being the big boss.

Zara and Xander had beaten us here, heads bent together in animated conversation.

As we slid across from them, I caught the end of Zara's sentence.

"-telling you, Philly beats NYC any day."

"Please," Xander scoffed, but a smile tugged his lips. "NYC is the city that never sleeps for a reason. You can't beat that energy."

"You just like being in charge of the shiniest toy," Zara teased, green eyes sparkling. "Admit it, running NYC has made you soft. Lost your edge."

Xander clutched his chest in mock affront. "You wound me, Zara. I'm the sharpest fang in the canines."

She snorted into her drink, nearly spilling the crimson concoction. A genuine grin split Xander's face, crinkling the corners of his tired eyes.

I hadn't seen him this relaxed in, well, ever. Immortality was a bitch on the complexion, but he looked centuries younger bantering with Zara.

As they launched into another volley of city rivalry, I slid my gaze to the bar. Paige perched on a stool, nursing a vodka tonic and staring at Claudia with indiscreet adoration. Her mate was in her element, confidently directing the other bartenders as she mixed drinks with preternatural speed. She'd taken to undeath like a bat to night.

Paige's expression was so lovesick, I expected cartoon hearts to start bubbling from her head.

Jax's fingers threaded through mine on the seat between us, cool and strong.

I leaned into him, soaking up his solid presence.

Jax was a man of action, not flowery speeches, and I couldn't recall the last time he'd suggested a break.

Always handling the next crisis, unraveling the next intrigue.

But the tiny half smile on his lips as he watched Zara and Xander trade barbs told me he needed this as much as I did.

An escape from politics and prophecy, just for a night.

The server dropped off a fresh round of blood-laced drinks and Xander raised his glass.

"To new friends and fresh beginnings," he declared, clinking his tumbler against Zara's.

"To surviving immortality without going batty," she rejoined with a sly wink.

Jax groaned at the pun, but I saw the way Xander's eyes crinkled.

Zara had injected a shot of caffeinated enthusiasm into his usual jadedness, like a double espresso for the soul.

I'd never seen two people fall into friendship so fast, especially not an ancient master vampire and an impulsive baby fang.

As their voices rose in another friendly debate, Xander gesturing expansively with his free hand, I stole another glance at Claudia. She was watching us from behind the bar, polishing a glass and smiling softly at her mate's profile.

For a moment, her eyes met mine, and a current of understanding passed between us.

The loves of our unlives, finding unexpected connections.

Wonders never ceased.

I squeezed Jax's fingers, and he turned to me, eyebrow raised in silent question. "Nothing," I murmured, leaning close so he could hear me under the music. "Just happy."

His eyes warmed, twin candle flames in the dimness. He brushed his lips over my hair, the ghost of a kiss, there and gone. An immortal so powerful he could level cities, undone by a moment of normalcy. It kindled a warmth in my chest fiercer than any blaze.

I sipped my drink, letting the blood and vodka sing through my veins. Xander's laughter boomed across the table, prompted by something Zara had said.

Even Paige seemed to be shedding her academic pretensions, swaying slightly on her stool to the pulsing beat.

We were an odd coven - a patchwork of misfits knitted together by fate and bad jokes.

Fragile as spider-silk, but strong as steel.

But then, wasn't that the nature of immortality? You collected people like pins on a map, fragile human connections rusted by time. If you were lucky, some stuck. Looking around at the faces gilded in red, familiar and fond in the strobing light, I knew I was one lucky vampire. Prophecies and politics be damned. We'd always have nights like these, tiny eternities spun from laughter and blood.

And for now, that was enough.