Chapter 3: Girl On Fire

After a relatively early phone call to Luca Emond, Sasha learned that most supes in the city operated on a vampire schedule. To his deep aggravation, since she already had him in the phone, she arranged to meet with him at sundown.

By the time the late afternoon rolled around, Sasha was restless, more than ready to meet with the local coven. Now that she had Queen Salma's permission to be in the city and practice magic, there was no excuse to sit around on her hands and waste time. Sasha found that sitting around was the last thing she needed anyway; it only opened up her mind to intricate scenarios of all the ways her life could go wrong from here. It had occurred to her more than once, that despite it being a concrete jungle surrounded by water, there was still plenty to burn of New York City. When just the day before the view of the Park had been very attractive to her, the novelty had faded and was now a cause of anxiety.

And so, by the time she was waiting for Luca Emond at sundown on the sidewalk of her building, Sasha was a ball of nervous energy less concerned with what might happen to her and more with what she might inadvertently do. She had to have more trust in herself, she finally realized, but it was easier said than done.

As far as she could tell, he had arrived on foot, or that he had parked the car nearby. Parking in the city was a bitch she knew, and he'd told her over the phone they'd be taking a cab to their destination.

"You look great," greeted Emond when he stopped in front of her. He himself was back in his leather jacket and jeans combo, handsome as ever with a grey scarf wrapped around his throat. The heat wave had died down over the last day, and a nipping chill had returned to the city.

"I'm not going to sleep with you," Sasha said by way of greeting. She'd had plenty of time to think it over, and she'd decided that direct confrontation would be best. Eric insisted on using Emond, then fine. She needed to know she could trust him personally without secondhand trust.

His smile dropped, and he scowled at her.

"What did Northman say?" he asked.

"He said he'd been with your fiancé, and that you wanted to sleep with me to get back at him," said Sasha. "Is that untrue?"

Emond pursed his lips. Sasha could tell that his first instinct was to deny. Finally he shrugged. "It sounded less childish in my head,"

"Sure," said Sasha. "Look, whatever did or didn't happen is between you, Eric, and your fiancé—ex-fiancé I assume. I'm not involved, and I have bigger issues to focus on, so, okay?"

Emond nodded stiffly. She could tell that he didn't like being spoken to this way, but that he also knew he had little ground to stand on to argue otherwise. And with a face like that, Sasha was certain that he was used to getting his way—she felt a little satisfaction at being the one to dose him a big spoonful of NO.

"Anything you'd like to add? I know there's got to be more, whatever Eric says. The second we met you didn't like me. I didn't exactly vibe with you either,"

Emond sighed. He glanced at the street around them. Other than her doorman a little ways off, they were mostly alone. "All supes have a 'vibe', yes?"

"Sure," she agreed. "And?"

"And like you said, ours don't…mesh well," said Emond. "You set my alarm bells off,"

"You know I'm just a witch, right?" she said with a shrug. "I'm sure Eric told you as much,"

"Yes," he frowned. "But I very much doubt that's the whole truth,"

Could a part of him sense the Fire Affinity in her? Her skin twitched uncomfortably at the thought.

"Look, all that matters is this: if you're not comfortable or ready to perform what Eric hired you to do—be that personal vendetta against me or him—then just say it now. If you can, then great, and let's shake on it. I'm not here to make enemies,"

"I mean what I said, about the alarm bells," said Emond. "But I admit that you are preferable to Northman,"

"A compliment if I ever heard one," drawled Sasha.

He offered his hand. She shook it; even through her brown leather gloves, she felt a small spark between them. Emond was quick to snatch his hand away and shove it into his pockets.

"Still mum on what you are, huh?" said Sasha. "Maybe witches and whatever you are, maybe we're just natural enemies, like Weres and vamps,"

She meant it as a joke, but on second thought…

"We don't need to talk about what I am. I'll do my job," said Emond "Besides, I don't have a problem with witches. Well, only one,"

"Should that worry me? I'm trying to get on the witch's good side," said Sasha. She was getting skeptically about Luca Emond all over again.

"Like I said, only one," said Emond, turning from her to hail a cab. His tall frame combined with a raised, muscular arm was quick to draw the attention of a driver, and soon a cab pulled over for them.

Sasha was not surprised that Luca Emond took her to a bar to meet witches. Bars and clubs were among the most common types of establishments owned by supes, and so she did not bat an eye when the cab driver dropped them off in front of a tavern called Abracadabra.

Tacky, sure, but Sasha soon realized that it was a private joke, because like the Queen's block palace, the eyes of the mortals around them seemed to skip right over the bar front, from the Chinese restaurant on the left to the travel agency on the right.

"Any witch you want to find in the city—if they don't come through here regularly, someone in here will know how to get in touch with them," said Luca Emond. From conversation, Sasha learned that Eric had left it up to her what she told Emond, and she decided she did not want to tell him that the witch in question she sought out was Emmett Lafleur; despite her talk with him, she felt no inclination to share her entire life with the man. He was still sketchy as fuck.

"Good. There isn't like, a password or anything, right?" she asked.

"All supes are welcome," said Emond. "Well, I say all supes. Some more than others. Vampires and witches have a precarious relationship in this city. They collaborate, but they don't exactly share watering holes. These witches, they an be pretty tight knit, and I can tell you they probably won't like your relationship to Northman, but they'll hear you out,"

Not sure if that made her feel better or not, Sasha squared her shoulders and reached a hand into the pocket of her coat to thumb the small card there. Since she'd put it on, she had found some comfort from the little note written there.

Eric would probably verbally eviscerate her when he found out that she'd chosen to wear the coat that hung in the closet, especially when she told him that she had realized it was enchanted. But Sasha couldn't explain it; it didn't matter from who or what or where the coat was from: it was hers, and she knew as such because of the note. She was convinced it was something of a message for her. She'd worry more about that later. All she knew was that when she'd first put it on in her apartment, she'd only felt good, confident; not like she'd just been cursed or something.

"Okay. Let's do this,"

Unlike when she had walked into a palace of fangs, Sasha was nervous, and not in an excited sort of way. She had more than enough experience with vampires and even vampire royalty thanks to her unconventional upbringing, but she could not say the same about witches. For her, it was the witches that were the most dangerous and unpredictable, not matter that she was one herself. She would be at their mercy, because she was devoid of their culture.

Luca led the way. She decided to think of him as Luca because he'd be her only ally inside the bar, and she could use a friend, even one as sketchy as him.

The inside was warm and woodsy, modeled after an English pub. The ambience was light-hearted, lots of laughter and good-natured yelling. It was obvious that the patrons were regular; no one seemed too concerned with personal space, and witches and warlocks stopped to talk to each other her and there. She could at least tell that they were witches and warlocks, because if they had anything in common at all, it was an undercurrent of eccentricity in the way they did their hair and makeup or in the way that they dressed. It was a bit like being back at school; the arts and theatre kids were obviously distinguishable, and she had just stumbled upon them now.

She hoped the blue velvet coat she'd traded for her designer trench coat would help her blend in.

"Drink first, then talk," Emond—Luca said. Sasha shrugged; he knew local custom better.

They made their way to the bar, a sprawling piece of oak whose surface was inlaid with a layer of pennies for a coppery glimmer. Sasha admired it briefly, at least until the bartender came up to them.

"Well look at what the cat dragged in," said the witch behind the bar. She was a pretty Puerto Rican woman, as identified by her accent, with a headful of dark ringlets and red streaks and high plump cheeks. Her lips were very rosey, and she was dressed in flared jeans and a tight busty tank top. Luca smiled charmingly at her.

"Maria," he greeted, rolling his tongue with an unnecessary flourish. "You're as beautiful as ever,"

"And you're still full of shit," she shot back. "Who's your friend?"

Maria had picked Sasha out as a newcomer immediately—as had the rest of the bar. Although people carried on with their own business, she found that eyes occasionally drifted her way, and she felt more than just eyes; the probing sensation of magic was there too as creatures tried to get into her head. Maybe she imagined it, but her coat felt a little heavier, and then the pressure on her head was gone.

"Sasha," She didn't extend her hand; Maria didn't seem the type. "I'm new to the city,"

"And the first thing you do is strike up with this guy? You have shit luck," Maria informed her.
"Just one witch you're not popular with, huh?" asked Sasha, lifting an eyebrow in the direction of Luca. She turned to Maria.

"He's more of a tour guide than anything," she said. "Like I said, I'm new to the city, but I'm new to other things, too. And you witches don't have a website,"

Maria scrutinized her, if a little suspiciously, from the top of her curly hair down to her brown boots. She smacked a palm down on the bar top.

"What's your poison?"

"Bourbon," said Sasha. Maria looked at Luca expectantly, and he ordered a beer from her. Within seconds, both of their drinks were in front of them, and Maria moved down the bar to resume conversation with another patron. Sasha smiled as she took a sip of her drink; she had the feeling that she'd passed inspection, enough so at least that she wasn't getting kicked out of the bar.

"You're an absolute hit with women," observed Sasha as she took a sip of her drink.

"You have no idea," he muttered. That earned raised eyebrows, and so he smiled devilishly at her. "It is the gentlemen in me that keeps me from being too charming—trust me, there is such a thing. So I turn if off,"

More like turn me off, thought Sasha.

"You're telling me that for the good virtue and dignity of women everywhere you act like this?" Sasha asked skeptically.

"Like I said," he shrugged. "And besides, you are…different. My first instinct isn't to make you swoon," he frowned as he said this more to himself. He missed seeing Sasha's expression.

Sasha, on her part, was somewhat offended. It wasn't like she wanted Luca Emond to want her or anything, but geez.

Her drinking buddy was still very pensive next to her, and Sasha focused her eyes on the dirty mirror behind the bar, quietly observing the rest of the room from her position. She didn't like having her back to a roomful of unknown supes, but she had little choice, at least unless she wanted to come across as suspicious as fuck.

Her careful mirror gazing was why she saw the witch storming their way in the first place. Luca, engrossed as he was in his own thoughts, noticed his approach too, or perhaps he just sensed danger because his shoulders tensed beneath the leather of his jacket and his fingers curled tightly around his beer.

Sasha turned around in time to see that the man was tall, blond, and very angry. His eyes were fixed on Luca, and it was somehow reassuring; she was all too used to lately being the focus of an attack. Still, she stood her ground, hoping she still appeared casual enough as she turned her eyes on the witch.

"What the hell are you doing here, Emond?"

He had a crisp German accent, and eyes that seemed to burn only for Luca Emond—and not in a hypersexual, lustful way, either. Sasha, along with every other supe in the room, could feel the bristling energy around them, the impending sense of a fight.

"Last I checked, any dispute I had was with you, not your coven. I have every right to be here," Luca spoke quietly, calmly; and yet Sasha still got the sense that he would love nothing more than to rip off the German's head.

"I would not go as far as saying that," said the German. His chest puffed out a bit, and his hands curled a little at his side. This was what Sasha feared; if this witch decided to use magic against them, Sasha was helpless to defend them.

Would she even step in to defend Emond? Whatever was going on between them, it sounded personal, and Sasha didn't want it to taint her chances with the witches. Honestly, what had Eric been thinking, setting her up with Emond? Serious misjudgment on that one.

"And what, you're going to make me leave?" asked Luca. Because that tone of voice had any hopes of diffusing the situation.

"Luca," Sasha said sharply, placing her hand on his forearm. As she did each time she touched him, she had that slight feeling of discomfort, but she overrode the desire to rip her hand away in favor of reminding him that he was working right now, and that she had no desire to have him fuck up her chances with the witches.

Luca looked down at her hand at the same time as the German did. The witch's green eyes found hers, scanning her over. A look of recognition flitted over his features, though Sasha couldn't say she felt the same. As far as she was concerned, she'd never seen the man in her life.

"And you, witch? What is your business here?" asked the German.

"I'm new to the city," Sasha said dryly. Her hand was still on Luca's arm. "I asked Luca to introduce me to the local friendly coven,"

"Is that so?" asked the German. His arms folded across his chest, and although she preferred to see his magic-fingers out of sight, his green t-shirt was now stretching tightly across his biceps; she didn't think he was trying to win her over, either. He was trying to intimidate her in a whole new way.

"Yes, it is so," said Sasha very clearly. She was very aware of the attention of the bar on the three of them. "Am I in the wrong place for what I'm looking for?"

"It depends," said the German, scowling at her. "You did not find what you were looking for yesterday?"

Sasha's eyes narrowed. There was only one thing he could mean—he meant her meeting with the Queen. She cared less that he knew about that and more that he knew anything about her at all—had he been following her? For how long?

But before they could really get into it, the doors blew open and the attention was gone from them very quickly, to what was automatically perceived to be the bigger threat: two vampires were entering the establishment, and if Sasha thought she and Luca were unwelcome, it was nothing to the reception the pair received.

The first vampire was a petite woman with pale blonde hair so fine Sasha had half a mind it should be floating around her. Her dark eyes skimmed over every face in the bar searchingly. With her was a tall Korean boy, looking as anxious as his companion did severe—which was to say, very. His dark hair was mussed all about his face, and Sasha felt a pang in her heart as she realized he reminded her of Jack, Jack who she hadn't spoken to in weeks.

"Can I help you fine fangs with anything?" barked out Maria from the bar, watching the pair expectantly. She sounded like she wasn't up to doing much more than help them find the door; the silver-tipped bat suddenly placed on the bar top really communicated that desire to service them.

The blonde vampire glanced at her briefly, then at the bat, disinterestedly.

"I am looking for the one called Teddy," said the vampire.

Teddy, it turned out, was a boy no older than nineteen. He rose from a table off to the side and, though he trembled slightly, he walked forward to the vampires. He was a tall, handsome boy, with dark features and marked cheekbones. But his eyes rarely rested on the blonde; he seemed most concerned with the vampire that trailed after her.

Oh, thought Sasha. They're lovers.

The witches seemed too move, if minutely, to stand in solidarity with their young coven member, standing at his back as he stopped well before the vampire. Luca took a step closer to her; the action drew the German's keen eyes their way.

"I—I'm Teddy," he said. He was putting on a brave front, but they could all tell he was terrified. Sasha, like the rest of the room, braced herself. She wasn't sure what was about to happen or what she could even do, but she was ready.

"My quarrel is not with you, warlock," said the vampire. "But with my own progeny. Damien has proved to me time and again that he is incapable of obedience. He refuses to stop seeing you,"

So quickly a ripple went through the ocean of tension in the room, the vampire had her progeny, Damien, kneeling before Teddy, a hand gripping the vampire's jaw tightly.

Vampire and witch lover did not break eye contact, even as whispers swirled about the room. It seemed the relationship had not been common knowledge.

"The simplest course of action for me to insure your removal from my progeny's life would be your death," said the vampire. Magic crackled in the air, and the vampire's nose twitched. She looked around, as though she was only now considering that she was threatening a young witch at the heart of his own coven. Still she continued. "As that option is unavailable to me, I leave his fate up to you, warlock," To her vampire, she said, "Fangs,"

The vampire jerked her progeny's mouth up, squeezing until his mouth fell open. When she reached a hand in to grasp a fang, Sasha's mouth fell open. She moved forward, but Luca stopped her, setting an arm in front of her to stop her.

"But she's going to—"

"Not your place," hissed Luca.

And it wasn't. Sasha, like the rest of the bar, could only look on in horror as the vampire ripped out her progeny's left fang. Damien cried out as she did, and a fountain of blood sprayed out across the floor until a single clink! The fang had fallen to the floor.

Teddy looked shocked, his mouth twitching as he tried to form words.

"See him again and I will remove the other fang. Contact him and I will remove his tongue—that or another part of him you seem so very fond of. Am I clear, warlock?"

The poor witch could only nod tearfully, so grief stricken was he over his lover.

"Pick yourself up, Damien, and your fang too. We're leaving," said the vampire.

And then the two vampires did just that, and they were gone as quickly as they had come.

It was one of the worst things Sasha had ever seen, and she'd seen a lot, especially lately. But watching a vampire stripped of something so inherently—well, vampire!—was so atrociously wrong! She couldn't help but think of the fangs that Eric had had made into earrings for her, or the time that he had told her that, had she died by her fault, Eric would have had Pam's fangs. Had he really meant that? Because that was, that was just awful.

The warlock Teddy left soon after, distraught and unwilling to speak to any of his fellow witches. The bar was filled with talk of the vampire and the revelation of the relationship—it hadn't only been unknown, but now Sasha realized also very frowned upon.

The German, at least, didn't do much ore than shoot a look at Luca—the sort that said this isn't over—and then walked out of the bar, talking rapidly on the phone as he went. Sasha looked around the tavern at all the gossiping witches (she was hardly interesting to any of them anymore, at least) and sighed.

She was out the door in seconds. Luca caught up with her a few blocks over, grumbling that he'd paid for their drinks.

"Home is that way," he told her, pointing in the opposite direction of where she was walking. "I'll get you a cab. You can try with the witches another, less exciting night,"

"Not going home," she told him, standing on the tiptoes of her boots to look over the heads of the crowded sidewalk. There! She saw spotted a blur of burgundy up ahead, the same as the jacket that Teddy had been wearing.

"Listen, you can go be free or whatever. I'll call you if I need you," said Sasha. She took off at a jog, ignoring Luca's cry from somewhere behind her.

"Teddy!" she called as he reached him. The young warlock looked surprised to see her, frowning when he did not recognize her.

"Do I know you?" he asked distractedly.

"Uh, no," she said, smiling awkwardly. "I was back at that bar,"

"Look, just leave me alone," said Teddy, trying to sidestep her. "Whatever you want from me, if you wanna lecture me—"

"I just wanted to see if you're okay," said Sasha.

He looked doubtfully at her, giving her a once over. "You're a witch, right?"

"Right,"

"So then you must know what they all know back there," said Teddy, pointing the way they'd walked. "That I'm a fool, that I can't possibly think I had a future with someone that had fangs, that I'm damn lucky I'm still in one piece,"

"I think you're a fool if you think you can sneak around with that Damien vampire and not get caught," said Sasha. "But I don't think you're a fool for being in love with a vampire,"

Teddy cocked his head to the side, studying her carefully. "Who did you say were again?"

"I guess I didn't. Say who I am, I mean," said Sasha. "I'm Sasha Buckley. Do you want to get a cup of coffee?"

Teddy didn't like coffee. And so twenty minutes later, Sasha found herself sitting in a vinyl booth in the back of a milkshake bar. The place had an impressive display of self-serve milkshakes with dozens of flavor choices and even more toppings, and she found herself loading up on all the sweet treats she typically would have stayed away from: chocolate and caramel sauce and sprinkles and a whole mess of whipped cream, along with too many maraschino cherries.

Across from her, Teddy was working on a similarly loaded up milkshake. She thought she may as well as break the ice with him now. After all, she'd been privy to his vampire boyfriend behind defanged by his own maker—what really was too personal, at this point?

"Did you have his blood?" asked Sasha conversationally, as though she had asked how long they'd been in a relationship in.

Teddy's spoon clattered down loudly to the tabletop, causing her eyes to flit from the ice cream running over the sides of her milkshake (there were a couple scoops to top off the whole things). His eyes narrowed once more with suspicion as he gazed at her.

"Did my Uncle send you?" he asked accusingly. "Trying to what, butter me up with ice cream so that I'll just spill on all the details about my relationship? That's rich,"

"I suggested coffee," Sasha said calmly. "You suggested ice cream. And I don't know who your uncle is, so I think it's very unlikely that I know him. I was just making conversation,"

"That's making conversation?" he asked stonily. "That's private. Not that I'm saying it happened," he added hastily.

Sasha considered him for a moment, taking a big spoonful of chocolate and caramel. She savored it on her tongue for a moment, until it melted away.

"Is being with a vampire against coven rules? Vampire rules? Both?" she asked.

"I haven't seen you around Abra before," noted Teddy. "Where did you come from?"

"Louisiana," said Sasha.

"New Orleans coven?" he asked interestedly.

"Ah, no," said Sasha with a smile. "I'm coven-less. I'm not an active practitioner. But I want to be,"

Teddy nodded, working away at his milkshake for a while. Finally he sighed. "It's not against the rules, technically,"

She perked up at that bit of information—it would have been truly disastrous for her if vampire/witch love connections were against coven rules—not that what she had with Eric was a love connection, and not that she planned on joining any covens. But it would certainly give the witches reason to dislike her and maybe not want to help her if they thought she was in a relationship with a vampire.

"It's just…I've only lived here in the city all my life, so I can't say I've experienced how it is on the outside," said Teddy. "But I know we got a good deal out here. Our coven has a good deal the vamp's Queen, and it keeps us safe from other vampires—any other supes that might want to use us. But it doesn't necessarily mean we all get along,"

"I'm with you so far," said Sasha, gesturing that he continue.

"Damien's maker never liked that he was with a witch, and she told him to stop seeing me. He didn't," Teddy said flatly as he stated what she already knew. "At first I thought it was so romantic and shit, you know? He said he didn't care, cause he liked me too much. But I guess she really meant it. Why did you ask about the blood?"

"Oh, just curious," said Sasha, catching a stray trail of ice cream and sprinkles on the side of her glass with a finger. She looked at the collection of sugar there, and then grinned at Teddy. "A common side affect of drinking vampire blood is a sweet tooth—only what your body is actually craving is more vampire blood,"

When she winked at him and licked the ice cream off her finger, his eyes widened in shock.

"Wait, you mean you—wow," Teddy looked at her in a way he hadn't all night: like he was warming up to her, and like he was impressed. Excitedly he asked, "I've never met another witch that had done it. Who's your vamp? Someone I know, a local?"

"He's not a local," said Sasha. "He's back in Louisiana,"

"Is that why you came to talk to me? Because you know what it's like?" he asked in confusion.

"I guess, sort of," nodded Sasha. "And, that vampire was a total bitch,"

"You're telling me," said Teddy, shaking his head. "The worst part is, she cares about him and thinks she's doing him good. Can you believe that? Thinking that I'm more harmful to him than what she did to him?"

"That's the thing about vampires. They can be so level headed and logical—to a fault, when they don't react to the same things that we react to, don't cry or get scared or angry when we do—and then there's times when they just blow things out of proportion, just because they can be immortal dickheads," said Sasha. Then, more gently, "It'll grow back, you know,"

"It will?" Teddy asked hopefully. "He was my first—vampire," he added quickly, looking embarrassed. "So I didn't really know all that much about them. Still don't, really," he said with a half laugh. "The city ain't that big, but we don't mix that much,"

"It'll be a while, but yes it will grow back," said Sasha. "And I know it sucks—don't give me that look—but you probably really should stay away for a while. I don't think she was kidding about what she said, and body parts take a lot longer to grow back,"

"Oh, she does," Teddy said darkly. "It's so unfair! How can she get away with it? Can she really keep us apart like that? For no reason?"

"You'd have to petition her superior," said Sasha, scraping the bottom of her tall milkshake glass with a spoon to get the last of it. "Which as far as I'm aware would be the Queen, since I don't think Manhattan has a Sheriff, at least not in the traditional sense. It would be up her at that point. Or her maker, I guess,"

"That sounds messy," Teddy said worriedly. "Did you have a similar experience with your vampire?"

"Actually, yes. Only it was the other way around," said Sasha. "His progeny didn't like me, so she tried having me killed,"

"Holy shit. What happened after that?"

"I made her go bald," Sasha said proudly. At his expression, she explained. "With a spell. It was only supposed to turn her hair a really ugly green, but…"

"Shit," Teddy said again. Then he smirked. "If I could make Juliette's hair go green…"

They shared a laugh at that.

"So you're in town to learn from the coven?" asked Teddy. "I could help you out, if you want. I'm been practicing for a while now, and I've gotten good. And my Uncle would help you, too,"

"Thanks, Teddy," smiled Sasha. "Maybe you can help me with something else. I'm looking for a specific witch. His name is Emmett de Fleur. You know where I can find him?"
"Uh, my house," said Teddy. "He's my Uncle,"

"Seriously?" asked Sasha. "Oh, well that's fantastic! When can you take me to meet Emmett?"

"There's no need, Miss Buckley. I'm standing right here,"

Sasha was startled; she hadn't seen him approach, but a tall man that vaguely resembled Teddy was now standing over their table. At his shoulder was the German witch from Abracadabra; Sasha remembered seeing him walking out on the phone. She had a good guess who was on the other side of the call now.

"Teddy, what is this I hear about you causing trouble with vampires?" asked Emmett, directing his attention to his nephew. His voice was smooth like melted chocolate, warm like jazz. Yet despite his words and attention being directed at his nephew, Sasha had the feeling she was the one being sized up.

She did some sizing up of her own. Emmett de Fleur was the most well-dressed man in the establishment. Where as his companion was in jeans and a jacket, he wore a suit in wine-red and a silky green tie. His coat was a slightly darker purple. On his fingers was a collection of gold rings. He had a flare of quiet power about him.

Teddy wasn't having any of it. He threw a dirty look at the German, then stood up, reaching for his wallet. He tossed down some bills to cover both their milkshakes. He nodded at Sasha, offering her a tight smile.
"Thanks for the talk, Sasha. I'll see you around,"

And then he was stalking away.

"Would you like me to go after him?" asked the German.

Kiss ass, thought Sasha.

"Thank you, Nikolas, but that will be unnecessary," said the witch known as Cousin Emmett. "I'll deal with him when he's had a chance to cool off."

Turning to Sasha, he said, "I hear you're looking for me,"

Sasha glanced between the two witches; she didn't like that they were both standing over her. She slipped a hand into her pocket and toyed with the note there.

Use it well.

Her eyes settled on Nikolas. "I guess I know who had me followed, then,"

"I like to know who's in my city," said Emmett.

"I thought it was the Queen's city," said Sasha. "The Queen you already know I met with; so go on, ask what you really want to ask,"

"Very well," said Nikolas. Again he crossed his arms—he either really liked intimidating her, or he was exceptionally proud of his biceps. "Why did you meet with the Vampire Queen?"

"I came to New York to meet with Emmett de Fleur," said Sasha, nodding to the warlock in question. She did not plan on lying, but she didn't plan on revealing her whole hand, either. "I need your help learning how to control the magic growing inside of me,"

"And how does this involve the Queen?" asked Nikolas. Emmett seemed content letting him ask the questions; he simply watched her through grave eyes. She felt that odd sensation on her once again, like she had at the bar—like someone was putting weight on her, and she saw Emmett flinch.

"She runs the city, she likes to control the number of supes in it," said Sasha, pretending she was oblivious to his attempts to either get into her head or otherwise enchant her. "I didn't want to create more problems than I needed by making it seem like I was trying to sneak into her city,"

"Yes, wise," said Nikolas, his green gaze unflinching. "But most do not know that—especially inexperienced witches. Why meet with the Queen before you met with us? We would have vouched for you as a coven,"

"Because I'm better versed in vampire etiquette than I am in witch protocol," said Sasha. "And I belong to a foreign vampire,"

Nikolas made no attempts in hiding that he looked disgusted. "I still do not understand why you chose to speak to the vampire's Queen first,"

Aha—the vampire's queen. Not my Queen, Sasha noted with interest.

"When a vampire crosses state—or Area, for that matter—lines, they must present themselves to that territories' leader, typically to gain permission. That applies to any of their pets," said Emmett, looking at Sasha as though to dare her to argue against his chosen word. "Unless that vampire wants to risk giving the impression that their pet is acting as an agent on their behalf,"

And oh, she dared.

"I'm not a pet," said Sasha. "I'm here because I want to be,"

"Sponsored, no doubt, by your vampire?" prompted Emmett. "I have no doubt that your vampire was very eager to finance your education in the area of magic—it's the ambition of so many vampires to have a witch under their thumb, though I have to say that yours didn't luck out so much. I can't detect a shred of power off you, girl, and if I were you I'd turn tail and run before your vampire realizes you won't be able to whore out anything more than what's between your legs,"

The sleeve of Emmett's jacket caught on fire. One second Sasha was glaring at it as she tried to reel in the very sudden burst of anger that he'd conjured and the next, she felt better, if only for a second, because the witch was on fire.

The witch was on fire.

Sasha leapt to her feet, looking around wildly for something, anything that might put the fire out. Nikolas too had yelped and sprung to his feet, his hands in front of him as he started to chant something; at which point Sasha realized that no one in the shake shop found it odd that a man had spontaneously combusted. Then she realized that they were wrapped up in some form of magical cloak or other, and that no one in the restaurant could see them.

She turned back just in time to see Emmett place a hand over the flame, as though he were squashing it: the flame died out.

Emmett, on his part, looked tranquil. But Sasha detected that beneath his calm exterior his thoughts were racing, and she couldn't blame him; she'd just set him on fire at a glance. Then again, he'd just called her a whore, so she didn't feel that bad.

"Was that…?" Nikolas trailed off.

"Was that what?" she asked. "That was me pissed off, if you hadn't noticed,"

"You are a Fire Affinity," said Emmett quietly, rising to his feet to come stand before her. He was looking at her through new eyes.

Nikolas exclaimed something in German. Her German was pretty rusty, but she understood that it meant shit!

"Yes, and maybe next time I'll lead with that," said Sasha uneasily. "That's why I came to find you. I need you to help me control it before I do a lot worse than what I just did to you. Again," she added as an afterthought.

Emmett and Nikolas exchanged a glance.

"How did you come to learn of me?" Emmett asked her. "Who directed you to me? A fang?"

"No, not a vampire. A witch. A dead one, actually. My grandmother's ghost," said Sasha. "Her name is Cookie Montgomery,"

The name seemed to have no effect on Nikolas, but the same did not hold true for Emmett de Fleur.

"Well shit,"

Until last night, Bill Compton's rebellion—or rather, the rebellion against—Bill Compton had worked in Eric's favor, if only to serve as a reminder of his true nature. His distaste for vampire politics was being challenged: the promise of an impending fight coupled with the unknown dangers of possible insurgencies kept him on his toes. He might not like getting embroiled so far into the politics of his kind that his ambitions grew beyond his current position of Sheriff, but being named the King's temporary enforcer had its benefits.

Namely, the benefit of having first kill.

Still, with thoughts of distance from the witch still present on his mind, Eric wondered if sending her off to New York had been a mistake. Eric didn't like games he wasn't in control of, and he had the terrible feeling that Sasha Buckley had stumbled upon a game he had not been invited too and, worse of all, one he did not know the rules of. When his mind wasn't consumed with the state of Louisiana, he pondered the suspicious circumstances of his Upper East Side apartment. There were only two possible explanations for the oddities Sasha had described, and one of them involved a vampire that had met the true death.

Eric's maker weighed heavily on his mind that night, no doubt summoned by his very own progeny. He had as little of a desire to dwell on Pamela's words as he had on suicide; despite what she thought, he was not so melancholy that he flirted with the idea of meeting the sun—not even when he'd walked into a burning building for Sasha Buckley. He'd known he'd survive; it had not even been a question in his mind. He'd trusted the witch would not let him burn, and she'd proven he wasn't a fool. After all, he'd walked out of that building without so much as a singed hair.

Had his maker been alive, Eric could only imagine what words Godric would have for him now. Certainly he'd caution him, as Pam attempted to, though ultimately Godric had always allowed him to learn from his own mistakes. Briefly he wondered what an interaction between his maker and his witch would have gone like, but he concluded it was impossible to say: both were unpredictable, even to him.

And because of course, Godric was dead.

It had been Godric that had gifted him the Manhattan apartment. It had been something of a strange gift, given that he was able to spend very little time in Manhattan, but for all his infinite wisdom and patience, Godric had also been a vampire of passionate whims. In the more recent century, he'd taken an interest in interior design and restoration, and Eric had hardly been able to keep up with the dozens of properties his maker had bought, restored, and then flipped for profit. As Eric understood it, the Manhattan apartment had been one such property, until he'd fallen so in love with the outcome of his labor he'd decided to keep it and gift it to his progeny.

Eric had kept the apartment private, a possible bolthole in case he ever needed to seek the protection (and red tape) that only a territory like Manhattan could provide. He had considered fleeing there with Pam recently, after the debacle with Russell Edgington. Now it was the perfect place for his witch to reside, and though he did not doubt its safety—no vampire would be able to enter it now, regardless—he did have to wonder about the coat she'd found. He'd instructed her not to touch it, and though he knew there was some logical explanation for how the thing ended up in his closet, it still made him a little uneasy.

The second explanation was Sasha Buckley's vampires. Had Malachi, the King of California, played some role in securing her passage into the city? If he had, it did not please Eric. If the King had done so, it was with the likely intention of undermining Eric's claim over the witch, perhaps to show Sasha how even from the other side of the country, he was able to provide for her. The truth of the matter was, Eric did not trust Sasha's opinion on the King of California. She venerated him so obviously that he thought her judgment was clouded by her affection for him, so much so that Eric believed it forbade her from seeming Malachi's true intentions.

Therefore, Eric's money was on Malachi. Sasha did not need to know that just yet, because just the thought of her puffing up like an angry little kitten to come to the defense of the vampire king make Eric's eyes roll. Thanks to Sasha, Malachi had known of her travel to Manhattan, and as a King, he would have had an easier time of getting the Queen's attention than Eric, quickly and easily. He would have also had more than enough wealth in his coffers to pay the Queen off for letting Sasha reside in his city. Perhaps the coat in the apartment had been a message to Sasha, a reminder of his goodwill and beneficence—albeit not a very good one, as Sasha had been more freaked out by the finding than pleased.

His phone chimed; it was the witch herself.

Meeting with de Fleur. Wish me luck.

Eric noted the time of the message, and then sent a reply back suggesting that she send him a text every hour that she was out of the apartment just in case.

The matter of the witch settled for now, Eric dressed in one of the many dark outfits that he had packed away. He placed the cell phone in the inside breast pocket, set to vibrate so that he'd feel it, and after some mental maneuvering, he did something similar with the bond he had with the witch; her every emotion was set on the back burner, the channel between them open to only the more intense emotions she might feel: fear and anger, namely, as well pain.

The first stop on the tour de force was New Orleans, and that had been at Eric's own suggestion. Sophie-Ann's estate, though deserted, had never been properly dealt with as Bill had spent time restoring Compton Manor in Bon Temps. Eric suggested that they deal with that first. Though Bill Compton was not a complete idiot, the vampire had always been a follower rather than a leader, in matters of war and business. He had little experience managing such a concentration of vampires—to be fair, few did. But he was open to listening to Eric's advice, something Eric planned on using to his own advantage

The plan? Maneuver Bill fucking Compton out of Bon Temps and as far away as possible from to, say, New Orleans.

Eric found Bill in the former Queen's study, surrounded by a mess of papers and what appeared to be overdue bills. It seemed that even in true death, Queen Sophie-Ann was haunted by her finances.

"It is a wonder that Sophie-Ann was able to lead for as long as she did," said Bill, not bothering to look up as he moved a stack of papers from one side of a desk to another. "This is…even I had not realized how dire the situation was. There are debts here that did not die along with her; she tied her personal wealth and matters to the crown's treasuries,"

"It's a wonder that Sophie-Ann was in this situation at all," contradicted Eric delicately. He stepped up to the desk, scanning the topmost documents before shooting a sly smile at Bill. When Bill's grim expression said that no, he did not know what Eric was implying, Eric's smile widened.

"Sophie-Ann was a great many things, and in this century greedy and a voracious spender topped the list," said Eric. "Perhaps she was still young to fall to such pitfalls, but when a vampire crosses the five-hundred year mark and starts to approach my age…if they are not careful they are known to entrap themselves in those sins humans in their churches like to warn each other about. Traits like gluttony and greed have far greater consequences in a vampire,"

Eric tossed the bills he held in his hand down onto the desk, taking a careless position in the armchair across from Bill's desk.

"Most monarchs tend to still have a Sheriff beneath them, to run the day-to-day business that a monarch cannot or does not want to attend to," explained Eric. "Just as you have me to manage Area Five. But in her greed, Sophie-Ann wanted to cut out any middleman between her and this city's profits, and so she chose to oversee the Area entirely herself. Things started falling through the cracks, obviously,"

Here Eric made a sweeping gesture towards the desk. "She was smart enough to take New Orleans as her own; thanks to its status as vampire mecca," Eric rolled his eyes. "It rakes in as much profit as the first three Areas combined—well, when ran correctly,"

He fell quiet, watching as the cogs turned slowly in Bill's brain. Eric knew that thus far his reign had been consumed with pleasing the AVL (he owed them, for putting him in power after all) and therefore his primary concern had been in garnering public human support and putting on a good face as a wealthy Louisiana vampire with a propensity for human charity and vampire rights. That had also been about where he'd started to lose much of the faith of his own subjects.

Now that he was free to focus more on his own kingdom and desires, Eric knew that even a vampire like Bill Compton had to have a modicum of desire for enterprise. And Eric had just casually laid out an available opportunity to build a very wealthy empire.

"I see," said Bill.

"Therefore, that will be the most important decision for Sheriff you make," went on Eric. "The vampire that you place in this Area will see a significant change in wealth and even status. Sophie-Ann spent so long here that, even with her demise, the city's association in the vampire world remains that it is a seat of great power. You'll want to be sure the vampire you place here remains loyal to you and only you, and doesn't get any funny ideas about who's running Louisiana,"

Bill was digesting this information with a thoughtful expression, if one that was a bit startled. Clearly Eric had given him a lot to think about, things that he had yet to consider. Eric had to wonder; was Bill up to snuff?

"Thank you Eric," said Bill after a time, if a bit curtly. "I will keep that under consideration as I appoint new Sheriffs,"

"Excellent," said Eric. "What are your wishes, until then?"

"I wish to ascertain the full amount of Sophie-Ann's spending, see what debts of hers the monarchy must now absorb. The IRS is still after her, and the humans still do not know that she is dead. I want to come up with my own plan to pay off any debts Louisiana owes, and to see if there is a way to rework her taxation. It occurs to me now that so many vampires and so many of Louisiana's Sheriffs might have felt disloyal to Sophie-Ann on account of her taxes. They seem quite high, yes?"

"Some of the highest in the country," said Eric, not bothering to hide his distaste. "I assure you so from personal experience. I'd go so far as to say that it was part of the reason we saw such a low influx of vampires arriving, and so many choosing to leave the state,"

"I thought so," Bill nodded. "This will be an important step in securing the trust of the Louisiana vampires—that I won't use my kingship to bleed them try,"

The vampires shared a smirk at his expression.

Emmett de Fleur lived in Harlem—and, Sasha noted, as far as physically possible from the royal palace of the Vampire Queen of Manhattan. Coincidence? She did not make mention of this during the cramped cab ride over, sitting quietly instead between the two tall men, the German and Cousin Emmett. It was not the most comfortable car ride.

Sasha wasn't sure if it was the revelation that she was a Fire Affinity, or that she was related to Collette Montgomery, but Emmett had been quick to spirit them all away from the Milkshake Shack Shop and into a cab heading towards Upper Manhattan.

Emmett lived in an old apartment building that had seen plenty of renovations on the inside, so that past the lobby it resembled a boarding house. Emmett explained that his apartments were on the topmost floor, and that the rest of the building housed witches; some permanently, others when they needed a place to crash. Community outreach, Nikolas said proudly, was one of the coven's mandates (magical community, that was) and so they helped locate young or unknown witches in the city and in some cases, explain what they were when some had no idea they'd been born magical.

A few curious heads glanced their way when they walked through the lobby; it looked more like a cozy common room at a fancy boarding school than an apartment complex. A few witches went so far as twisting around in their armchairs to get a good look as she was ushered to the elevator.

There was no tour of the expansive apartment, no idle chitchat; although Sasha did learn that Emmett had an affinity for velvet and dark cherry wood simply from the walk from the elevator to his office. The office, like the hall and the peek she'd caught of a living room, was a space decorated in rich velvets and dark cherry wood. Gold accents on the picture frames and lamps weighed down the overall décor; this was not a modest warlock. Most interesting in the room, aside from the wall of books behind the enormous desk was the stack of shelves behind the chair Emmett had taken. Each was carefully lined with candles.

"You'll excuse my words from earlier, I hope," said Emmett, dragging her attention away from her surroundings. "But I was curious to see how you'd react,"

"Excuse you because you didn't mean what you said, or excuse you because you meant what you said but weren't sure how else to provoke me?" Sasha asked tersely.

Emmett said nothing at first; instead her waved a careless hand over his shoulder, and the candles along the shelf behind him all lit. Having the soft glow of the combined candles through him into a little darkness. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

It was hard to get intimidating by a little trick like that; she'd lit her whole house on fire in her sleep, and then subsequently burned two vampires alive. The only thing Sasha truly feared these days was herself, and for the first time she realized the leverage that fact lent her.

"Trust is very hard to come by these days, Sasha Buckley," said Emmett de Fleur. "And my coven places a great deal of it in me. I lead them you see, and I am therefore responsible for them. The vampire queen might have given you her permission to reside in her territory, but it is me you have to convince before any witch or warlock in the city will aid you in your quest,"

"I understand," said Sasha. "And?"

"And you'll also understand why I am very weary of you. Nothing about you makes sense to me," said Emmett with a shrug as he leaned back in his seat. "Here you are, supposedly the granddaughter of a sworn vampire hater, yet you belong to a vampire. Here you are, sent by a fellow witch, yet she is dead. And here you are, saying you have no knowledge of the craft, and yet you wear protection spells so complex they require a mastery of the craft,"

If Emmett had not been looking right at her, Sasha would have smiled triumphantly. But she thought that might appear somewhat suspicious, and so she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from varying, and instead smooth her hands down the lapels of her velvet coat.

"I didn't enchant this," said Sasha. "It was a gift,"

Not that she knew who it was from, anyway. But now her suspicions about the sort of magic that was on the coat were confirmed at least; it was an enchanted item, protecting her as she wore it. Emmett didn't need to know all that, and hopefully he would assume that it was a gift from her vampire.

She was right.

"An expensive gift. Such powerful witchcraft would fetch for a high price. Then again," and here his eyes swept over her. "You seem very comfortable in designer threads,"

If he was trying to insinuate something—that perhaps her relationship with a vampire wasn't entirely one-sided, she decided she would play dumb. Sasha thought it best to keep her relationship with Eric (or lack there of) as vague as possible.

"A girl likes to shop," Sasha said with a shrug. "Did you really bring me across the city to ask where I got my shoes?"

Emmett flashed her a pearly white smile; the gold rings on his fingers glinted in the candle light as he held his hands up in concession. "So you didn't enchant the jacket. The other things I mentioned?"

"My grandmother is Cookie Montgomery," said Sasha. "But I only met her recently or at least, only recently met her ghost."

"Ah. I was unaware she was still with us as a spirit," said Emmett. Sasha could tell that he did not like being in the dark. "And she knows about your vampire?"

"She doesn't like it. And I understand why any witch would be weary of a relationship with a vampire," Sasha shrugged. "I don't live my life as an example for others. I do what works for me; this arrangement works for me,"

"And yet something still doesn't sit well with me," said Emmett, shaking his head. "This vampire of yours, does he—he?—yes does he know you are a Fire Affinity?"

"He didn't at first," Sasha admitted. "I myself didn't know until recently, until Cookie tested me. The vampire, Eric, found out when I burned my house down to the ground,"

"I see…" Emmett de Fleur grew quiet, staring off for a long moment. "A vampire in control of a Fire Affinity…you can see why I'm weary of such a thing,"

"What, exactly, are you so afraid of? Queen Salma authorized my presence here in the city—so that clearly means she doesn't view me as a threat to her territory. You reside in her territory, and so your concerns would be shared. If the Queen doesn't think a foreign vampire is trying to raise a Fire Affinity to use against her in a claim for her throne, just what are you so afraid of?" asked Sasha curiously.

Emmett clicked his nails on the wooden armrest of his chair. "One can never be too careful, Miss Sasha. Tell me, does the Queen know of your affinity?"

"I got the sense that she knew more than I told her," said Sasha. "But I don't think she knew that particular. I'm sure she'll find out sooner or later. My hope is that she finds out because your coven are terrible gossips, not because I've accidentally burnt down half of Central Park,"

The witch raised his eyebrows. "That a threat?"

Oops. Time to change tactics.

"Hardly. As I said before, I'm concerned. I'm not here because a vampire wants to make a power play—of course Eric wants to have a trained witch on retainer. Fully trained, I'd be very valuable to him, and being valuable to a vampire like him can be very valuable to someone like me. I'm a covenless witch, an untrained one at that. I know that makes me a vulnerable to all sorts of threats. The world is getting smaller; I don't even know that its vampires that are the biggest threat looming on the horizon,"

"My first priority isn't even witchcraft—right now I'm mostly worried about the Fire. It's…I don't know another Fire Affinity, so I have no one to compare notes with, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to hear a fire speak,"

He'd shown less of a reaction when she'd lit his sleeve on fire at the milkshake shop. Emmett was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his cool broken for the first time since they'd sat down. "You heard Fire?"

Sasha nodded; had she been wrong to share that bit of information.

Emmett murmured a few words, and a candle flew off the shelf to float between them. He gestured to it.

"Can you hear anything now?"

Sasha squinted at the tiny flame for a moment. "Unless it's giggling at me, all I hear is crackling,"

He nodded, and then leaned forward to blow the candle out. "Light this,"

"Does this mean you're going to help me?" asked Sasha.

"This means I'm going to assess you," said Emmett. "And we'll see from there,"

Sasha glanced back to the blackened candlewick, weighing his words. It didn't really seem like she had a choice. Then again, what had she been expecting? Hogwarts? Where she could just sign up for different classes, make a few friends, solve a couple of mysteries while she was at it?

Sucking in a deep breath (she was pretty sure the ouroboros tattoo had encircled her waist, and was quite possibly tickling her ribcage in response to her growing anxiety) Sasha stared hard at the candlewick. The last thing she wanted to do was start a fire, and it showed. She could squint her eyes and wiggle her ears and twitch her nose all she wanted, but the wick stayed blackened and unlit.

"I can't," said Sasha. Emmett's eyes narrowed.

"You can't or you won't?"

Sasha sighed. She didn't like this Emmett character all that much, and she wondered how someone she couldn't even get along with was supposed to help her mellow out enough to get control over her Affinity—hell, she was even starting to miss Cookie's lessons, and Emmett hadn't even formally begun his yet!

"I don't know, maybe both," said Sasha. "Look, the last time I got a fire going—and I don't mean that little one back at the milkshake place—it was really, really bad. And I had no control over it,"

"Explain,"

And so she did—sort of. Sasha glossed over a lot of details—such as the fact that she had killed two vampires in the warehouse, and that Alcide Herveaux, a very handsome and very kind werewolf, had been involved. She didn't mention Pam's abduction either. She also conveniently left out that Eric had rushed in to talk her down, and that he too had been unharmed.

"And you were unharmed?" asked Emmett. His expression had darkened somewhat, like he didn't like what he was hearing at all.

"Uh, no," said Sasha. "But I mean, I guess that makes sense, right? Since we're Fire Affinities?"

"A Water Affinity will still drown, just as an Earth Affinity cannot withstand poison. A Fire Affinity can still burn," said Emmett gravely. "Cleverness and a firm command of their power can prevent their deaths at the hand of either, but not the mere state of being,"

Standing this time, Emmett walked over to the wall of candles. He grabbed another candle—this one in a tin container, with a taller flame, and brought it back to her seat. He touched the candle, wincing as his finger made contact with the flame. When he pulled it away, a blister had already begun to form.

"Now you try," said Emmett.

Sasha lifted an eyebrow at him; had the man lost his mind? Sasha didn't care what superpower type of shit she'd been on that night in the warehouse—she was pretty sure that touching this fire now would burn her. Even a minor burn was annoying and painful, and she didn't see the point in proving what she already knew. She'd burn.

Eric walked into that warehouse, thought Sasha. He walked in trusting you would not allow him to burn. Why don't you trust yourself as much as he trusts you?

Feeling a surge of confidence, Sasha reached forward, placing her hand on the open flame. She kept waiting for the inevitable stinging pain of her burning palm—but it never came.

"Oh!" she exclaimed excitedly. But her excitement seemed to be the very literal spark, and soon her whole hand was wrapped up in fire. "Shit!"
Emmett snapped his fingers, and Sasha wondered just what the hell that was supposed to do to help. But she was more preoccupied with the flame that was climbing up her arm—whether because of her own magic or the enchantments in the fabric, her coat remained unharmed. The same could not be said for the chair she sat in. The leather was melting away, the wood arm rests scorching.

Just as had happened that night in the warehouse, a word came to the tip of her tongue. She didn't stop to think about it—where the word have come from, much less what it meant as she shouted it at the fire twisting up her arm and shoulder.

"Arsálu!"

The fire died insantly.

"What was that? That thing you said?" Emmett said quickly. He was hovering over her, his hand raised high and poised like he was going to snap his fingers again.

Gee, thanks for the help! Sasha thought to herself. Instead she pushed her curly hair out of her face. Sweat had collected at her forehead, and she suddenly wished she had thought to put a stick of deodorant on her purse. "What did I say?"

"That language you spoke, just now, to make the fire stop," said Emmett.

"Language—what language?" Sasha asked, dumbfounded. "I think I would know if I'd spoken another language,"

"Arslu, Arsaloo?" Emmett said. "Something like that,"

She was saved answering by her phone vibrating in her pocket. Sasha took it out simply to avoid having to meet Emmett's gaze, and she found that she'd missed three calls in the last minute. Eric.

Straightening up and wiping a few wisps of hair that had clung to her lipgloss with the little dignity she had left, she announced, "I have to take this call,"

Even Emmett looked a little frazzled. He straightened his tie, nodding slowly.

"I'll do it. I'll help you find control over your power," said Emmett. "We host gatherings, here, too. If you come Monday night at sundown, I'll introduce you to Marion. She leads our novices,"

Still clutching her vibrating phone, Sasha smiled half-heartedly, jutting her chin towards the ruined chair. "Sorry about the furniture,"

Emmett chuckled. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Hi guys! Unfortunately it seems that I've lost a lot of reviewers, despite the fact that there are still readers. My Christmas wish is that y'all start talking to me again lol