Page 2 of Heal Me (Immortal Vices and Virtues: All Hallows’ Eve #5)

There it was, the thing that made most people flinch and me dig my heels in: Styx’s sight.

Not fortune-teller flimflam, not coded riddles you could read six ways and blame on the moon.

She didn’t grandstand with it. She just said what was, what could be, and then stared down the river until it obeyed.

“I like my threads unknotted.”

“They already are,” she said softly.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I let the quiet fill with the ordinary: a drop fell from the hem of her jacket, hit the tile, shattered into a star. The stew popped and sighed. The wards settled, recognizing the stalemate.

The black envelope lay open on the counter, a little shimmer of invitation like a live coal. The serpent watched me without blinking.

I thought of the Crossroads market and the apothecary that smelled like bruised mint and dust. I’d stepped in for mugwort and a headache draught, paused at the door because the air inside had the particular thickness of spells that worked.

He’d been there, leaning on the counter as if it wouldn’t dare collapse under him.

Dark hair rumpled. A mouth made for trouble.

The scent hit first—vampire, sure as a blood-iron nail—rich and metallic under the softer layers of beeswax and spice.

It skated along my nerves like a blade, and my wolf rose up, curious and wary and wanting to pace.

I’d left. No purchase. No names. I could still feel the brush of cool air when the door closed behind me. Instinct saved lives. It had saved mine.

I folded the invite back into its envelope and set it down. “If I go, I choose the blade.”

“Obviously,” Styx said, as if I’d suggested shoes. “And you’ll like the dress.”

“Doubtful.”

“You’ll like what it does to other people.”

That earned her a look. “Isn’t that the problem? Other people?”

“Sometimes the problem is an answer,” she said, which was annoyingly Styx of her.

“Fine.” I snatched the garment bag and took the stairs two at a time.

My room breathed when I shut the door—wards sliding into place with a soft, satisfied click along my skin.

The quiet here was different. Not empty.

Intentional. The window overlooked the north lawn and the dark, patient line of the trees.

On the dresser: my kit, a tangle of necklaces I didn’t wear, the crystals collecting dust.

I set the garment bag on the bed and unzipped it.

Silk spilled out: blood-red, like the scarlet of a cut under moonlight and a promise you never intended to keep.

Cool under my fingers, it warmed almost instantly to my touch, the fabric slinking over my skin like it had been waiting.

The skirt was liquid, heavier than it looked, with a slit that meant I wouldn’t trip if this night turned ugly.

The bodice was sharp where the skirt was soft, boned and angled, a hint of armor masquerading as fashion.

Getting into it was a slow dance of tugging and twisting, the silk resisting just enough to make me mutter under my breath before it finally settled into place.

Someone had thought about knives. Someone had thought about me.

The thigh sheath vanished beneath the fabric like it had been designed for it.

The blade settled against my skin and my wolf settled with it.

The boning hugged my ribs in a way that made every breath feel measured, and when I shifted, the skirt whispered against my thighs—luxury with a blade hidden underneath.

My blonde hair fell in loose waves—half-tamed from the braid I’d worn earlier, not wild enough to be defiant, not smooth enough to be court-polished.

I left it that way. Let them think I hadn’t tried too hard.

My blue eyes stood out sharper against the scarlet dress, and I dabbed a bit of color on my lips and cheeks to match before swiping just a touch of mascara on my lashes to make them pop.

My hands weren’t entirely steady while I worked, but it was the best I could do in the time crunch.

I didn’t linger in front of the mirror. Just long enough to check my teeth and flash myself a smile until my lips didn’t tremble. I wasn’t here to admire myself. The wolf paced behind my eyes. We agreed on one thing: if we went, we went armed.

Heels last—black, deadly, the kind you could drive through a sternum if cornered. I slid them on, lifted my chin, and unlocked the door.

Styx was where I’d left her, leaning a hip against my island like she had all the nights in the world to wait for me to decide. Her gaze swept once, head to heel, no commentary, no arch humor. Just assessment, then a small nod that did something quiet to my ribcage.

“You look like trouble,” she said.

“I am.”

She almost preened like a proud mother. “Good.”

“Don’t get smug.”

“Never.” The corner of her mouth curved. “Ready?”

“Not even remotely. Do we walk?”

“We don’t do anything. You portal.” She grabbed me by the hand and gently pulled me outside.

Then her fingers shaped the air, and a seam opened in the middle of the back lawn—silver-blue, edges rippling.

Beyond, a forest breathed: lanterns floating like captive stars, fog pooling low, the hush of old magic settling in my lungs like a second breath.

I stopped one step away from it. Instinct prickled my nape.

“Penny,” Styx said quietly.

“I know.” I rolled my shoulders, letting the wolf rise, not to fight but to fill. My voice didn’t shake. “I’ll make an appearance and leave.”

“Mm.” Not agreement. Not denial. A prediction kept gentle so I wouldn’t bite it.

“You’ll know if I need you, right?” I hated that my voice trembled. “You’ll know if this goes sideways?—”

“It won’t,” she said, and then, because she knew me, “and if it does, I’ll rain down on them so hard, they’ll wish they were never born.”

“Promise?”

She arched an eyebrow lethal enough to be classified as a weapon. “What happened the last time someone hurt a member of my family?”

Murder. Lots of it.

She nodded, likely reading the thought as easily as the weather. “Time to go, Penny. Try to have fun?”

The wards gathered like hands at my back, not pushing, just steadying. I took a breath that hurt going in and stepped forward.