Page 41 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

Mrs. Tilly nodded sagely. “A love that begins with defiance? This must be fate.”

Cassia straightened, pulling away, and he missed her warmth immediately. He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to keep it close.

Her smile was serene when she looked at him, hands on her hips. “I’ll get your orders started.”

Then, turning to her friends, she gestured lightly between them. “You’ve met my protective customers. Now it’s time for you to meet the rest of my family: Aruna Lilibeth and Wren Opalina.”

She patted both women’s shoulders in a casual, affectionate gesture. “Take care of them, will you? And remember—they’re still paying customers.” She lowered her voice into a hush, just loud enough for Ark to hear. “So, go easy on them, please.”

With that, Cassia disappeared into the kitchen. Silence settled between them—thick, expectant. Ark watched the one named Lilibeth shift, watched her manicured fingers twist the lace at her sleeve. Her gaze flicked between him and his companions before landing on the table, as if she hoped it might swallow her whole.

Ark’s attention sharpened. An Amoret Demon—the small horns curving back from her temples and the slender tail curled around her ankle gave it away—but the warmth in her skin and the softness in her features spoke of something else beneath. Not full-blooded. Mixed—like Cassia.

His gaze moved to the evidence on her table—a plate of torte and a half-drunk pot of chocolate beside it, the faint sweetness of cocoa clinging to her like a second skin. The pieces fell into place. She’d found a more agreeable substitute for her kind’s usual sustenance. Clever. And telling.

The elf—Opalina—was her opposite in every way. A quiet, fair-haired storm of observation, poised and unshaken. Her jade-coloured eyes met his with a cool assessment, as if she were fitting him into a puzzle whose final shape had yet to be determined. A shape, her gaze implied, that was likely to be profoundly useless.

He couldn’t quite glean her story. Her surname—Wren, a single syllable in the way of the elven working class—suggested one thing. Her bearing suggested another.

But after knowing Rhodes and Caius, he understood not all struggles were visible.

“So . . .” Lilibeth hesitated, then exhaled as if bracing for impact. “Is this your first time in Little Mineola?”

Caius answered smoothly, “First time for a proper visit. But we passed by not too long ago, didn’t we?”

“We certainly did,” Ark murmured. They had driven through the village on the way to Halewick mansion, but he hadn’t thought much of it beyond the fact that Cassia’s bakery was here.

“Charming neighbourhood,” Rhodes commented lightly.

Lilibeth brightened at that, her posture relaxing, tail flicking. “Oh! It is, isn’t it?” For once, enthusiasm edged into her voice. “Little Mineola started as a lakeside outpost—just another stop between Angelene and the eastern trade routes. But over time, people who didn’t quite fit in Angelene settled here.”

Rhodes arched his brow. “A village for misfits, then?”

Opalina met his gaze and replied, calmly, “And we like it that way.”

Ark watched, a knuckle pressed to his chin. Most people didn’t have the spine to answer Rhodes directly. Opalina had just done it without blinking.

Lilibeth added, “Most shop owners here are mixed blood, so they bring in pieces of their cultures. Our market carries combinations you wouldn’t normally see anywhere else. Human textiles embroidered with elven silver thread. Witch-brewed tonics beside demon-forged trinkets. Some food stalls sell⁠—”

She looked around the table as her voice faded, realization dawning too late on just how much she’d spoken. A flush crept up her neck. She ducked her head, fingers curling into the lace at her sleeves. “So . . . well, yes. We survive by being a little bit of everything.”

Ark had seen the pattern before—people who spoke with ease when they had something worth saying, only to shrink the moment they realized they’d taken up too much space. It wasn’t hard to imagine what life might have been like for her. Not only was she not a full demon, but she’d also strayed from the customs of her people.

A misfit indeed.

“How lovely it is to know there’s a place to go,” he spoke at last, “when one doesn’t wish to be defined by their blood or those who came before them.”

Lilibeth’s gaze snapped up, startled, but he simply sipped his drink.

Caius, once again, smoothed over the moment with an effortless shift. “Do you both own businesses here as well?”

“I own a specialty bookstore a few doors down,” Lilibeth added.

“Specializing in what?” Rhodes asked.

“Food. Mostly the kind you can’t find in a normal cookbook.” She ticked off on her fingers. “Foraging guides. Rare ingredient lore. Histories of magical flora. A whole section on edible fungi. And, of course, the deeply researched, highly specific books about chocolate.”

Ark’s mouth twitched. “A whole section on chocolate, you say?”