Page 15 of Hunted

And I was never stupid enough to venture back there.

‘What do you want, child?’ Selphine asks without preamble.

I drag my gaze from the lacquer-black door. ‘I need the potion. Double strength.’

She takes her time crossing the room and settling into an armchair that’s seen better days. Another flick of her wrist and the mug on the table beside her steams.

She lifts the tea and peers at me over the rim. ‘I gathered that. It’s the reason you’ve been coming to me all these years. But why now, and why double? You’re not due your next normal potion for a few months yet.’

I open my mouth. Close it. Swallow.

‘It’s… him. The vampire,’ I say finally. ‘Valentin Moretti.’

She stills.

The silence sharpens, brittle enough to cut.

‘What about him?’ she asks after a long moment. ‘You must have done something foolish if you’re asking for double strength. You young ones always think you can bend the rules without paying the blood-price. Is that what you’ve done, child?’

‘No,’ I snap, too fast.

She stares back at me in judgy silence.

‘He’s… he’s summoned me. Through the agency. For my services.’

I grimace at how she makes me feel like I’m five and caught with my hand wedged firmly in the cookie jar, even though I’ve done nothing wrong.

Her head turns slowly in an eerie, owl-like tilt. ‘And you were stupid enough to answer?’

‘I haven’t,’ I say. ‘Not yet.’

‘A simple no will solve the first dozen of your issues.’

I exhale through my nose, anger flaring hot and useless. ‘Because the agency is forcing my hand. Because refusing him is starting to cost me things I can’t afford to lose.’

She snorts. ‘Jobs are meaningless if you’re dead, girl. Or worse. And believe me there’s always a worse.’

That lands harder than it should, both for the scouring bitterness in her voice and the searing truth of it.

I look away, jaw tightening.

For the most part, I accept my fate. I let it sink to the bottom of my daily fight for survival and anonymity.

But at times like these, when Selphine stares at me like I’m the stupidest thing she’s ever encountered, I feel… not calm.

‘Why do I have to choose?’ I demand, pacing despite knowing she hates it. ‘Why is it always survival or everything else? The ward worked. Your potion worked. I paid you more than generously for both and I’ve stayed hidden for years. So what’s the problem now?’

Selphine studies me like a cheap puzzle she’s tired of solving. One she’s contemplating throwing into the fire roaring in the hearth that was cold and lifeless three seconds ago.

Before I met her, I’d only been peripherally aware of beings beyond vampires. Sure, I knew of shifters, humanoid and otherwise. But absurdly, I hadn’t believed in witches and spells and potions.

Selphine Rousseau, a witch of indeterminate age and indescribable power, changed all that.

Which begs the question of why she’s holed up in this hovel, drinking tea, or whatever is in that ugly as fuck mug, and ripping into undeserving patrons like me.

A few years ago, I made the mistake of hinting we were friends.

She disabused me of that by charging me triple for a spelled knife and tossing me out of her shop before I could blink.