Page 9 of Until the Heart Stops (The Oylen City #1)

T he next evening a beautiful box appeared on my counter when I’d stepped inside Adrienne’s parlor for a moment.

As was the theme, the parcel was silver and larger than I’d been expecting, but instead of a scroll, a folded piece of parchment was adhered to the top with the same black seal.

I peeled off the letter, inspecting the wax for any insignia which might give me a clue as to the identity of my mysterious patron , but there was nothing.

Mademoiselle Searah,

Forgive me for my boldness. Or perhaps do not.

I might like punishment if it came from you.

Sincerely,

Your ever faithful servant

I chuckled at the note before frowning at the brevity of it, even turning the parchment over to see if anything was written on the back. But there was nothing else. Tucking it inside my ledger so the wind didn’t blow it away, I opened the beautiful box.

The quills were extraordinary. Three black feathers lined up in a row, complete with silver tips that would take quite a while to dull. But it was what they rested on that had my brows rising.

Black like the feathers, the shawl was perfectly folded inside the box, with gorgeous black stitching across the edges.

When it caught the light, illuminated snakes slithered across the seams. I took my time placing the quills in a holder beneath the counter before withdrawing the shawl, weighing the thick fabric in my hands.

Unlike the necklace, this did not hum with a sort of unknown magic.

But it was warm and, when I brought it to my face, it carried the faint scent of spice and crisp apples.

Perhaps it was the scent of the shop, but I thought better of it.

This had to be the scent of the male who lavished gifts on me for reasons I could not understand.

He had not given me a way to respond and, as I did not know if I would see any of our mutual friends, I did not bother to write a reply.

I did, however, throw the shawl over my shoulders.

The dress I wore was one of my warmest, but it still left something to be desired, especially with how old my cloak had become.

“I’m going to get going,” Adrienne murmured, peeking her head out from the curtain.

I sighed, chin dropping to my chest. Though it was only midnight, Eamon had asked yesterday if I could spare Adrienne for an event he was hosting at his home.

Our nights were getting slower and slower, so I had acquiesced, especially when he offered to pay for her time as he would if he’d come to visit .

“Whatever he gives you, keep it,” I said, continuing the argument that we’d held on and off since yesterday.

Her eyes flashed as she tied her cloak tighter around her throat. “I don’t want it. You can have all of it.”

Taking a deep breath, I tried to fight the bone-aching tiredness I never seemed to shake. “It doesn’t feel right for me to take any of it, especially when he’s not even coming to the market.”

The corners of her lips tipped down. This was not the first time we’d had this argument. I fought it at every turn, even when we’d spent a month hiding the coin purse in each other’s belongings back and forth until she finally gave up.

“If you don’t accept, I’ll find a way to stick the oyistas to your petticoat,” she threatened.

I tilted my head back and forth as if weighing the idea. “Sounds festive.”

Adrienne threw her hands up in exasperation. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re going to be late,” I countered, checking the cracked watch I kept within the waistband of my skirts.

Another heavy sigh slipped through her lips before she leaned down to press a kiss to the top of my head. But when she pulled back, she paused, running a hand over the shawl. “What’s this?”

I shrugged. “The mysterious patron decided to give me more than quills.”

“Merciful goddess!” she squealed, wrapping her arms around me and squeezing tight. “I’m so happy for you, Lils. If anyone deserves this, it’s you.”

“I don’t even know what this is,” I muttered, returning her hug before leaning back to smooth the flyaways from her twist.

She touched a knuckle beneath my chin. “This is a small bit of kindness in a world that has been nothing but cruel.”

Without another word she bounded off into the crowd and toward Eamon’s approaching form. I didn’t watch the way they greeted each other, the stilted and formal curtsey Adrienne would use or Eamon’s expression, hungry for more than just her blood.

Instead, I closed the ledger and withdrew one quill and a fresh sheet of parchment.

Sir,

You spoil me. I’m afraid if you’re not careful I might get used to these sorts of delights, not that I would ever admit to such a thing.

My inclination is not to deliver punishment, but rather a deep gratitude for your presence, regardless of my fear of what might be to come. My friend called it “a small bit of kindness” and I hope that is the truth.

Regardless, thank you for yours.

Mlle Searah

I rolled the parchment up and sealed it with my blood, tucked it into the pockets of my skirts and packed the rest of my belongings up.

Liam, our other blood giver, had sent word this afternoon that he was ill. There was no point keeping the stall open if I had nothing to offer. So I pulled the silver dagger from its holster, stepped over the ward line, and dragged the point across my palm to close up for the night.

I was tired enough I should have taken the opportunity to rest while the apartment was empty.

There were a few books I’d traded with Liam I was eager to begin.

But the idea of returning to our tiny home alone twisted my stomach until it hurt.

So instead, I walked, nodding at the vendors I’d grown up with and ignoring the bustling blood dens with their lines of vampires spilling out the doors.

Eventually I found my way toward the Rachay River where the new market now sat with its mouthwatering stalls of roasted meat and pastries.

The water glittered in the half moonlight, mixed with the string lights and flames that gave the world a warm glow.

It made my chest ache to imagine that this had once been what the Souzterain looked like: a glittering golden market on the edge of the river that gave our city life, the scent of cooking fires and perfumes combining into a heady mix.

But when the Covenant had outlawed drinking from a living source, they’d conducted raids on the Souzterain vendors.

Within weeks most of the business were shut down and many were killed.

My great-grandmère had been a seer and my family had survived the worst of it, setting up shop with the others in the magically expanded alley only steps from the river and warded from most harm.

The Covenant at the time had either no knowledge of it, or had allowed it to survive for other reasons—most likely to infiltrate later.

But I couldn’t help but wonder what it had been like when it wasn’t relegated to a back-alley black market.

I ducked beneath wreaths of dried flowers, nodding at the witch who weaved her small bit of protection magic into them.

“Mademoiselle Searah?”

Callum stood a few paces back, dressed in his usual dark velvet, hand wrapped around the silver-tipped walking stick.

“Lord Auguste,” I murmured, pressing my fingers to my lips and dropping into a curtsey that felt befitting of his station, knowing who his maker was now .

Before I could rise, he was there in front of me, hands curling around mine to draw me back to my feet. “Please, I’m not worthy of such an honor.”

Immediately he let me go and took a few steps back, running a hand through his hair, loosening the strands to fall around his face. I nodded, drawing the shawl closer around myself. Those eyes narrowed as they caught the movement.

“Oh, this was a gift.” I cleared my throat. “From our mutual friend.”

He hummed, attention sliding across the fabric as if it had offended him. A muscle in his temple twitched.

I started in remembrance, hand flying to my skirts. “In fact, would you mind very much delivering this to him?”

Callum stared at the letter for a long moment. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he took it and slipped it into the inside pocket of his waistcoat. Silence lengthened between us as his gray eyes flicked back and forth across my face.

“What are you doing here?” I asked when awkwardness seemed in danger of chewing me up.

He blinked before gesturing behind him. “There is a…proprietor here of a very specific blend of blood I prefer.”

“Ah,” was the only answer I could come up with.

Synthetic blood had been created over a century ago as an invention of the Covenant and a handful of loyal human witches in their service.

Over the years different vendors had been given the alchemy to create it, allowing them the opportunity to craft different blends like one might for wine.

But one had to apply for such a license and, to no one’s surprise, those who had owned blood dens previously were never given the honor.

I gave him another curtsey, though not as deep. “Well, I will not keep you, my lord. ”

With a sigh I turned away, only for his voice to stop me. “Is your shop not open tonight?”

Rolling my lips together, I paused. He had taken a step forward and I caught the movement of his arm dropping back to his side, as if he’d reached for me.

“No, I’ve closed it for the night and I…” I trailed off.

Callum took another step closer, the barest of furrows appearing between his brows. “And you…?”

I cleared my throat, letting my gaze wander over the stalls around us—the dried flowers, the gleaming phials of blood received my admiration rather than the perfection of his face. “And I did not want to be alone.”

My fingertips unconsciously touched the ruby clasped around my throat, dragging it back and forth across the chain. He was silent so long I wondered if I’d offended him with my honesty.

“I quite understand the feeling,” he finally replied so quietly I had to strain to hear him.

Nodding, I let the necklace fall when his attention fixed on it the same way it had upon the shawl.

But I did not want to ask him if he knew the gentleman who continued to send me things for fear it might ruin whatever tenuous understanding was growing between us.

For once, I contented myself to merely look at him as he did me.

It was not a stretch to assume Callum Auguste had been picked for his beauty when he’d been made.

Even without the perfection the blood created within its host, I could see an echo of the man he’d been before his transformation.

After all those centuries he retained a softness in the bow of his lips and a faint silvery scar sliced through his brow that must have been very deep when he’d been turned.

That, or it had been created after. But the only thing that could scar a vampire was venefica venom.

Again, I could not help but think of Amayah and her Deimos.

My heart ached for the goddess we all worshipped, though none as fervently as the vampires.

Here before me was a creature I could gaze upon but never touch, never allow myself to want.

I could understand why she had given up everything for a moment in his arms.

But I was not a goddess and I had nothing to offer but my life and my magic. It did not feel like enough.

We stared at each other for longer than was perhaps appropriate before his shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Would you allow me to accompany you?”

I scraped my teeth across my lower lip, weighing each word before I spoke it. “I am grateful for the offer, my lord, but I would not want to waste your time, as I wish to wander for a little longer before I walk home.”

Instead of giving me a quick bow and vanishing as he usually did, the corner of his mouth tugged up. His tiny fraction of a smile made my heart twist.

“Yes… Yes, I know,” he answered.

My mouth popped open in surprise. He had not been offering to accompany me home but through the market instead. I might have made a small sound of agreement, but I nodded all the same.

Callum extended a hand toward the direction I’d been heading.

“After you.”