Page 29 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

“Since I’m here, why not?”

She retrieved a set of keys from her skirt pocket and began to descend. He moved aside to make room, but the bottom landing was a narrow square barely large enough for him alone.

Her warmth reached him first, seeping through his layers. Then, her scent—clean, simple, unembellished. No cloying perfumes, no artificial oils. Just the faint trace of soap, warm skin, and something crisp, like a gingerbread biscuit one could snap cleanly between teeth. In order to reach the door, she had to stand practically pressed against him, and it was all he could do to keep breathing.

When she unlocked the door, a cool draft stirred the air between them, lifting the riot of curls from her shoulders and brushing them across his cheek.

Focus, he told himself, but his body had different ideas. He wanted to follow that hair, that scent. To close the distance, see if her skin was as soft and warm as it looked.

His belly clenched.

“Come inside, but be careful,” she told him, stepping forward into the darkness. “The steps are quite steep.”

Ark followed, his boots landing solidly against the worn wooden treads. The hostile sensation from before had vanished. Whatever had resisted him before no longer pressed against his senses. Still, his muscles stayed taut, his awareness sharp.

Cassia turned the light on, illuminating the low-ceilinged space. Shelves lined the walls, neatly stocked with preserves, pickled vegetables, biscuit tins, and fruits soaking in syrup. Burlap sacks of grain and flour were stacked in the corner. An old-style furnace sat at the far end, its iron frame blackened.

Ark exhaled slowly.

Ordinary—that was all it was. A perfectly ordinary storage room.

Then, why did his instinct scream otherwise?

Cassia walked him to the front entrance. Outside, the winter sun was just setting, the last light bleeding out of the sky at half past five. She pulled the door open, and the cool evening air was a relief. He hadn’t realized how heavy the house’s magic had pressed against his skin until it lifted altogether. His right hand, however, still throbbed.

She hesitated, studying him with a scrutiny that felt like a physical touch. He held still under it, letting her look her fill.

“Thank you for coming today,” she said.

“I was the one who asked to come, remember?”

Her grin flashed under the porch light, a brief, bright thing in the gloom. “What’s the next step?”

Investigating what lives in your basement. The thought surfaced. Poking at it could solve problems—or raise new ones, far more dangerous than what they were already facing. He filed the question away for later and adjusted his gloves instead, ensuring the leather fully covered the injury. From an inner pocket, he produced a matte-black card—Vesper Briony, Esq., and an address embossed in silver.

“The next step is due diligence.” He offered her the card. “This is our lawyer’s address. Send her everything related to Starlight’s property—the original lease, Agmon Group’s acquisition notices, all of it. Briony is exceptionally thorough, especially when it comes to real estate law. If a loophole exists, she will find it.”

Cassia took the card, her fingers brushing the fine paper. “It’s not far from here. I’ll drop off the documents on my way home.”

“Good.” He felt the faint tug of a smile—real this time, not the practiced mask he usually wore. She was a fighter. He’d thought as much from the moment she’d screamed Alderrath’s name in the club. “I’ll be in touch.”

He turned to leave, but her voice, now laced with wary amusement, stopped him. “So, while your lawyer looks for loopholes . . . What does my part of this bargain look like? Should I be practicing my besotted smile in the mirror?”

Ark glanced back at her. The porch light illuminated the soft, rounded curves of her face, highlighting the defiant curiosity there. “It won’t hurt to be ready.”

She chuckled, folding her arms. “Vague, ominous, and terribly dramatic. You’re checking all the boxes, aren’t you?”

He gave her a final nod. “Good evening, Cassia.”

“Good evening, Ark.”

With that, he turned and crossed the street, the gate closing softly behind him.

Yulefrost revelry noise hit him first—the festival in full swing, laughter and music and the smell of mulled cider—but none of it proved a sufficient distraction. His mind was still inside Starlight’s walls. When he reached the large fountain in Eldryn Gardens, its cascading water reflecting the golden glow of the city’s festivities, he stopped. Slowly, he pulled off his right glove.

The night air bit at the exposed flesh. His palm was a raw, ugly mess of red and blistering skin. It pulsed with a deep, aching burn that felt more like magical poisoning than a simple burn.

Whatever resided inside Starlight hadn’t merely resisted him. It had recognized him as a threat, and attacked.