Page 9

Thorne dug into the container and pulled out a row of cleaning materials. “I can’t do anything about the exorcism right now. We need a witch—preferably a Ravenspell—for that. But we can do something about the mess.” She lifted two spray bottles. “Which do you want to tackle first? Walls or floors?”

“Walls,” I immediately said. Anything that didn’t require more kneeling.

We immediately set to work, scrubbing as hard as we could.

“I can’t believe you’ve been sleeping here,” Thorne said after a few minutes. “Are you sure you’re not secretly part ghoul?”

“It builds character,” I replied. “Or tetanus. Time will tell.”

She laughed, the sound bright against the gloom. “You’re tougher than you look, Laurent.”

We worked in companionable silence for a few minutes. The kind that wasn’t awkward or weighted, but easy. Strange, how natural it felt. The two of us, working together against mildew and demonic toilets and judgmental ghosts.

Eventually, we moved onto the furniture. Cleaning what we could, tossing the rest. The room was actually starting to look habitable, which shocked the hell out of me.

“So,” I said, “Lucien dropped by last night.”

Thorne paused mid-wipe and made a face. “Well, that didn’t take long. Did he flash his fangs at you? Order you to skip town before he ruins you? That’s usually how it starts.”

“None of that, actually.” I leaned against a crooked wall. “He was oddly polite.”

“Lucien St. Germain doesn’t do polite,” she said flatly, tossing the rag into the corner. “He does imposing. Cold. Vaguely threatening with a dash of aristocratic menace. He’s basically the personification of an expensive casket.”

“Well, someone must’ve swapped him out for a newer model, because he didn’t threaten me. He didn’t sneer. He barely blinked. He just listened as I chewed him out.”

Thorne turned and stared at me. “He listened while you chewed him out?”

“Yup, then he left. Didn’t insult me once—well, he tried, maybe? Something about me having claws and how he looks forward to seeing me use them. It might have been a compliment. But other than that, no power games.” I crossed my arms. “Honestly, I think I’m insulted.”

Thorne moved to the windowsill and leaned against it, staring at me like I’d grown a second head. “That’s weird.”

I nodded. “That’s what I said.”

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion, but in thought.

“What?” I asked, suddenly wary of her scrutiny.

Thorne shook her head slowly. “Nothing. Just trying to figure you vampires out.”

“You think his politeness was a move?”

“I actually don’t know what I’m thinking. Are you sure he didn’t threaten you at all? Maybe you just missed it.”

“Believe me, I’m used to veiled threats and vampiric games. He did nothing untoward.”

“Huh.” She stared at me a few more minutes, her head tilted. After a few moments, she turned back to her task at hand and lifted an old, rust-streaked mirror off the wall and set it upright against the wall. Her reflection stared back at her—dirt-smudged and fuzzy.

“You’re worried,” I stated.

“I am,” she admitted without hesitation. “Lucien always has a plan. Usually, I can suss it out. But what you’re describing, I’ve never heard of before. Which concerns me. What made him choose civility this time? He’s never civil. Especially not with newcomers who are encroaching his territory.”

She glanced at me again, this time with something closer to intrigue than analysis. “You either confused him or interested him. And honestly, I don’t know which is more dangerous.”

“That’s comforting.”

We fell back into the rhythm of scrubbing. Occasionally, we’d hear a creak, groan, or whispered obscenity from the bathroom, but overall, the spirits seemed marginally more cooperative now that I had white sage—and other tools—within striking distance.

But while cleaning, my mind kept returning to Lucien.

Not just to his cryptic calm or his suspicious civility, but to the way his presence filled the room without effort. He hadn’t tried to charm me. And somehow, that only made it worse. Because some part of me had noticed him .

And noticed hard.

When we finally stepped back to assess our work, the loft no longer resembled a crime scene.

It had graduated to “haunted fixer-upper with potential.” We’d stripped the space of anything upholstered in mold, tossed out every cursed chair, table, and armoire.

The only furniture I’d kept was the mattress, mirror, and a small table desk.

Then we’d scrubbed every inch of floor, wall, and ceiling until the air smelled more like citrus cleanser than slow decay.

We’d dusted the fixtures—some of them even gleamed—and we’d peeled back as much wallpaper as our patience (and fingernails) would allow without tools.

To my surprise, the loft was starting to look livable. Not exactly glamorous, not yet, but no longer actively hostile to the idea of occupancy.

Certainly not the ten-thousand-square-foot estate I once called home—no rose gardens, marble columns, or koi ponds here—but it had walls, a roof, and for now, a mattress that no longer screamed when I lay on it.

Progress.

Of course, there was still the matter of permits. And inspections. And the town council. And navigating supernatural politics with the most powerful vampire in the city watching my every move.

But for a single, fleeting moment, it didn’t feel impossible.

I glanced at Thorne, who was currently wrestling an ancient floorboard into submission, and a flicker of hope rose in my chest.

It was a foolish thing. Na?ve, even. Especially when Lucien was lurking in the wings with unknown intentions. Still, if reopening this bar was going to be a war, then at least I wouldn’t be waging it alone.

And for now?

That was enough.