Page 27

LUCIAN

T he heart of my labs was the brewing room, right off the main hall. Almost all of my inventions, at one point or another, needed some sort of a potion to anchor, strengthen, or permanently fix whatever spell I worked through the materials.

The potion room was as outwardly untidy as usual, by virtue of the hundreds of things I had on the go at any given time. Today, large pots worked on the permanence spells that I applied to most fabric, while Callie simmered, brewing Ronan’s potion—the wolfsbane mix to ease kids’ first shifts.

Ronan’s family owned several businesses, including the largest school in the underside. He’d taken up a permanent academic position there, serving as both a researcher and advisor. It kept him busy and out of his parents’ way: neither of them cared about the school.

At the last board meeting, a nurse working in the high school brought up issues with teenage shifters going through their first transitions, and Ronan asked me for input.

The first few changes could be excruciating for kids not yet one with their inner beasts—and sometimes, even adults who never learned.

Everyone had dismissed the problem as “something every shifter has to deal with themselves,” but that wasn’t my vibe, or Ronan’s.

I would normally have taken over, but given my previous commitments at the Guard, he worked on it until I was available.

Ronan had the brains and skills to recreate any existing spells, but didn’t excel at changing things.

There were a number of existing brews meant for shifters, but most had harmful intent: potions to stop them from shifting altogether, or return them to their human form.

It was handy against bloodthirsty rogues, useless for hormonal teens who could shift on impulse.

I checked on Callie, who blew happy little bubbles at my approach.

“Good work,” I told her, making her hop a little on her floating flame.

By the looks of it, this batch might just be the one.

His formula only needed a few tweaks—including the hemlock drop suggested by my mother.

The trick was to calm down the beast eager to get out so it could emerge gently, all the while handling the kid’s anxieties.

A few ingredients against pain topped it all off. I’d try it later.

“This place feels like pure magic,” Kleos said reverently. “Like it has seen a billion kinds of spells.”

That was accurate enough.

My traitor of a demon cat still in her arms, she inched towards the labelled shelves.

“I’m glad Gideon’s gone,” I said, smiling as I imagined the great idiot in this room.

Not only would he be like a bull in a china shop, he’d also want to try everything. Come to think of it, he would have been a good test subject for Callie’s potion.

“Let me take a closer look at those runes.”

I was glad she had the shawl on. I purposely had prevented myself from staring at her shoulders, because it pissed me off that someone had dared torture her, bent on worse intent.

Every time I thought of it, I could feel a dark, overwhelming anger that tingled, making me want to lash out.

These instincts needed to be firmly held in check.

Kleos set Zazel back down and removed the shawl.

“Sit here, if you please.” I patted the counter, turning on the bright light I used for delicate work.

I wanted to take my time, and I’d rather not have to bend over her.

She hopped onto it without question.

I brought my fingers to her skin, brushing over the runes softly to feel the depth of the cuts.

“The jumble of words—that’s on purpose, I think. Only a few of the runes might matter. There are a fair few which are carved much deeper, and infused with more magic, at first glance. I have an idea.” How did I even begin to tell her what I thought should be done here? “But you won’t like it.”

Kleos had no reason to trust me, and what I’d need to do demanded a tremendous level of trust.

“Shoot,” she invited me.

Here goes nothing…

“I need to carve new runes into you.”

Her eyes widened.

“You tried to remove these with spells, with potions? Nothing worked? That’s because runes are the words that shaped the fabric of the universe.

Spells are stronger when spoken. They’re infinitely more potent when written.

You have malicious magic carved into your flesh.

The only thing to counteract it is more words. ”

“I tried—almost immediately, I wrote some cleansing runes on myself. It failed.”

“Yeah, they would. The current runes need to be destroyed. I have to write over them.” I brought my hand to my hair, fingers brushing through it out of habit and stress.

“And this is exactly what someone who’d cursed you in the first place would say, isn’t it?

No wonder your little friend jumped me.”

Kleos laughed. “I know it’s not you.”

That was…fascinating.

“Why?” I had to ask. “You don’t know me. I mean, I didn’t do it. But there’s no reason why you should believe that.”

“Well, I suspected it was about controlling me. My… body . Like you said. Subjugating me.” She rolled her eyes. “If you wanted me that badly, you would have asked me out, not resorted to spells.”

“Yes, dark rituals are generally not my opening move.” Her theory did lend a new layer to this mystery. “But speaking of, how many guys have you rejected?”

Perhaps if she wrote down the list of broken hearts in her wake, we’d find her attacker.

She flushed, looking down. “That’s…a little complicated.”

“That bad, huh?” I asked, amused, but unsurprised.

“My mother. She’s… traditional . She insists I should accept formal suitors. I might be a Valesco, but she’s a Pendros, and they still believe that sort of nonsense. I’m supposed to accept a date before I can say I’m not interested. So, hm. A few?”

It didn’t surprise me that the Pendros clan kept that outdated custom. It wasn’t unusual amongst the old families—and some of the founders. A list of men asked to be considered and were offered a date, after which the woman could accept or reject his suit.

“Go on, don’t be a tease,” I needled her, simply because she looked embarrassed. “Give me a number.”

“I…don’t know?”

I pressed. “A general ballpark?”

“I mean, about four dozen?” She cleared her throat. “So far this year, anyway.”

That made me laugh too; that was exactly what I would have guessed.

I knew Kore entertained herself by accepting suitors for a year or two. Kore also rejected a man every week until she stopped wasting her time. Guys who went about finding a partner that way rarely were after more than a formal alliance, and well, Saltzins didn’t need to climb ladders.

I could have told her that my cousin dealt just as many rejections to make her feel better, but her flush was too adorable, so instead, I kept teasing her. “I’m impressed, heartbreaker.”

“Their hearts were never involved,” she assured me. “They wanted my father’s money, or either of my parents’ social standing. But anyway, yeah, I have a date every week or so.”

I returned to the point. “Does anyone stand out? Too insistent, entitled, dejected?”

“I mean—sure. A few? But I don’t think they could be murderers .”

“I’m a murderer,” I reminded her gently.

“You know what I mean. You wouldn’t kill without a reason.”

“You’re unbearably na?ve, and desperately need my assistance. Luckily for you, I’m available this week.” Or rather, I had planned plenty of things, but none were pressing, so they’d wait until the immediate danger was out of the way. “First step: carving some nice runes out of you.”

Kleos grimaced. I was ready to explain my theory in detail, but to my surprise, her protests had nothing to do with the prospect of further cuts into her skin.

“I’ve heard about your consultant fees. I can’t afford you—not without asking my father for the money, and I’d rather not have to do that.

My mother would hear about it, and that wouldn’t be good. ”

I found it adorable that she thought I’d charge her. The very idea was ludicrous.

Yes, I did take piles, mountains of golds from strangers, particularly valers with more money than sense. But I had, and would, never ask for money from people who actually needed me.

“We can make other arrangements.”

“What?” she gasped, wide-eyed.

There was no mistaking her blush.

“Fuck you very much for even thinking that.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m not desperate to fill my bed, believe it or not.”

She had the sense to look abashed. “So, what’s your price? Not firstborns, I hope. I’m fresh out of those.”

“I don’t do children, love. Too chewy.” I winked at her. “With you, I’ll trade my services for an unnamed favor of equal value, how’s that?”

“Sounds like making a deal with the devil,” she told me.

“Welcome to the underside. That’s the only kind of deal you’ll find down here.”

First, I retrieved a pot filled with a black-as-night liquid, and then, I rifled through my stores of finished potions for the right brews: two vials, already portioned into individual doses. One was silver, the other, green.

I handed her the silver one.

“A healing drought?”

I nodded, unsurprised she’d identify it. “Specialized anesthesia. You won’t feel any pain for a while. Well, you won’t feel anything , really. The second potion will counteract the effects, and I’ll give it to you as soon as it’s done. You’re safe .”

How could she feel safe? She was going to be completely helpless with a stranger.

“I know. And what’s this?” she asked, pointing to the pot.

“Just ink.”

The pure calligraphy ink had come in handy in an array of ways since I’d purchased it, often related to runes. But I’d never thought I’d actually use it on skin. That was a little barbaric for my taste.