11. The Blood Heretics

"This is our pilsner." Violet tapped on the laminated cover above the lever with her pink polished fingernail. "It's the most common, especially around brunch, because it's light."

Naia slid the brewery's glass underneath the spout. Hesitantly, she gripped the wooden lever. "And you pull this down to fill it?"

Violet gave her a broad smile and an affirmative head nod. "Yep! You've got it."

The brewery was hardly busy on a Monday, which was the sole reason Naia conjured up enough courage to step out of her comfort zone and volunteer to help when she'd arrived in the early dawn hours with Ronin.

His excuse was meetings. He was sluggish and barely awake the entire drive as he chugged his coffee. It did not go unnoticed to her how he became livelier after the caffeine entered his bloodstream, asking her if she slept well, or if she had a good time at the jazz bar he'd taken her to.

She couldn't stop thinking about the night as she worked behind the counter with Violet. The dancing, the music, how freeing it felt to move her body. It had been such a fun night that Naia had forgotten about the potential threats of Marina and Solaris finding her. Even worse, her primary task at locating Finnian had gone mute.

Ronin's hands on her waist had consumed her thoughts, the hem of her tank top riding up and his fingers twitching against her skin. The flush of his cheeks as she guided him on how to dance, and the begrudging expression he wore when she laughed at him for stepping on her toes.

Ronin Kahale was clumsy, and she enjoyed every second of seeing that side of?—

No. Stop it.

Feelings towards the mortal she did not want flourished in her heart. Proof they had already rooted. She imagined plucking them free and tossing them out and then channeled her focus onto Avi approaching behind the counter.

Splotches of ketchup stained the front of his apron, the beige piece of material hiding his bright teal tank-top and white shorts. His copper strands lay tousled, like he hadn't had time to shower before his shift.

Naia sat on a stool beside Violet, watching her eat a sandwich Noah had made in the kitchen. He had surfaced into the taproom once to steal the whole milk kept in the mini fridge beneath the bar, acknowledging Violet with a subtle head nod and a sharp glance towards Naia. She didn't know how to read Noah, but she respected the clear desire he gave off to ignore each other.

"Two hours, ladies, and we're done for the day!" Avi pumped one of his massive, tattooed arms in the air to emphasize his excitement while holding onto dirty plates with his other hand.

"Whoop! Whoop!" Violet gave a chipper fist bump in the air as a response, her mouth full of Monte Cristo.

Avi disappeared around the adjacent wall into the kitchen. When he reemerged, a towel was tossed into Naia's lap.

She looked up.

"Come help me wipe down tables?" His voice was gentle with the request. He was already making his way around the bar to the dining area of the room.

Naia hopped off her stool and slowly followed.

"Did you have fun last night?" Avi casually asked as he sprayed a purple concoction on the glossy surface of a table, littered with crumbs and fingerprints.

Naia held the towel between her knees and worked her long strands up. She took out Wren from her pocket and stuck the sharp hairpin through her bun. "Yes. I love dancing."

Avi laughed. "I can't believe you got Ronin to dance. Don't worry, Damian secured a few good videos to taunt him with, if you want a way to remember the night."

She picked up the bottle, gave the next table a few good sprays, and mirrored the large circles Avi made with his arm to wipe down the surface. "What did Damian mean when he asked if I was from Roseland Street?"

Avi laughed, a small, awkward sound out. "Oh, uh. Well, he was being an asshole. Roseland is… Um, well…"

Naia straightened and turned to face him, intrigued by his stammering. He moved down a table, spraying and scrubbing.

"Roseland is…?" Naia waited for him to fill in the sentence.

Avi stopped wiping. "Roseland Street is like a red-light district."

Naia studied him for a beat. "What is a red-light district?"

He fidgeted with his numerous earrings. "It's where people go to, uh, to like sate their pleasures."

"Oh, sort of how I like going to bakeries?" Naia beamed.

Avi stared at her with a pained expression, mouth opening and closing.

"Um, no, not really." He sighed. "It's more like where people pay money to other people for sexual intercourse."

Naia blinked at him.

I think you'd find a bit of business there. Damian's words from the previous night echoed through her mind.

She squeezed the towel, seething. "What a pig!"

Avi chuckled as he continued wiping down tables. "He's a total dick most days, but he's a good friend."

Naia looked over at him. His arms boasting a collage of elaborate tattoos as his muscles flexed while wiping caught her eyes. From this angle, she could only make out the dagger wrapped in briar along the bone of his forearm, the bird in the crook of his elbow, and the portrait of a woman, no bigger than the size of her fist, on the inside of his bicep.

An elegant posing woman with her hands tucked underneath her chin, head slightly positioned back, eyes closed, and blood covering her neck. Naia was sure of it. It was the same as the painting she'd seen outside of the café. The same she swore she had seen on Damian's arm the previous night.

The blood of our souls drench the city.

What did it mean?

She bit the tip of her tongue before the question fled from her mouth. She'd asked Avi about Ronin and himself being mages, and he'd unskillfully avoided the topic. He would surely do the same this time around.

The days that followed,Naia couldn't stop dwelling on the portrait and the tattoos.

Ronin took her to the café each morning, and before going in, she'd analyze the painting on the brick for clues. No matter how hard she stared at it, she couldn't decipher the enigmatic woman's features.

"Who painted it?" Naia asked Ronin as they walked out of the café with their coffees. They strolled down the sidewalk, through the misty morning, toward his car.

Ronin shrugged and tipped his head back to drink his brew. His hair was tied up and the movement lured her gaze down to the lone freckle and mysterious scar, inches below his ear on the side of his neck.

When he did not verbally reply after his drink, she rolled her eyes, cursing his regularly mute morning routine until his coffee kicked in.

"I have a few long meetings today," he said once they were halfway to the brewery. "It'll be Avi and Noah working since Tuesdays are never busy. If you need me, have Avi text me, okay?"

Since their night at the jazz bar, Naia caught herself more times than not resting her arm against his while they prepared dinner in his kitchen, or laying her head on his shoulder, feigning tiredness, as they watched a movie on his couch. Those small progressions came with Ronin tugging on the end of her hair in moments of playfulness, or reading a book from his shelf, distracted by the kindling of her skin, only to look up and find his twinkling gaze on her from across the room.

For the past few days, their moments had been few and far between due to his busy schedule.

Naia picked at the plastic lid of her cup; the contents of her iced coffee close to being gone due to her lack of self-control. "I will be fine."

Throughout the day, Avi upgraded her from pouring beer to bussing tables. Tuesdays weren't busy for the brewery either, but still a steady stride of customers entered through the doors, accompanied by well-appreciated lulls.

Business picked up around dinnertime.

Naia moved in a repetitive routine requiring little thought as to what she did. Transfer dirty dishes to the tub. Spray cleaner. Wipe.

It became a habit to subtly scan the surrounding faces in the room. She made sure none resembled any familiar aura of unwelcomed deities.

At the brewery's front were two large windows. She gathered her tub and weaved between customers to pass by it, only to pause and peer out to the large city buildings, wondering if Finnian was anywhere nearby. Did he know she was here? Could he sense her? He was a High God. Surely, he…

Don't assume things.

If Finnian knew, he would've come to her already. She was sure of it.

When Friday night rolled around,she opted for a bathroom break, and snuck through the door she had seen Ronin consistently going in and out of all week.

The charity event was less than a day away, and she had a strong feeling the tattoo of the woman meant something.

Light on her feet, Naia paced down the long stretch of empty hallway. She came up to another large window providing a clear view of a large, metal building across a gravel patch of road. The pull-chain doors on the sides of the structure were open wide, and inside Naia could make out massive steel vats and several people strolling from one side of the warehouse to the other.

Avi had mentioned the taproom and offices were in one building, and the brew room and storage rooms were in the warehouse.

Naia came to an intersection in front of her—a staircase. She gauged right and then left, ultimately relying on the pull of her intuition to guide her.

She chose right.

As she ventured further from the taproom, doubts filled her mind. What if she couldn't find her way back? What if she?—

A door up ahead shot open, and she had to stop herself from plowing into it. She sealed her spine to the wall.

Without a backward glance, a gentleman in a suit walked briskly in the opposite direction and disappeared around the corner.

Naia slumped against the wall and stared at the door he came out of.

She glanced the way she'd come before slipping inside.

The small flight of stairs indicated it was in the brewery's basement. They led into a high-rise room where two floors connected by a mezzanine, and opulent chandeliers dangled from the lofty ceilings.

On the lower floor was a pristine bar, glass shelves hovering over it along the wall sparkling with crystal bottles of liquor, and a central section partitioned with half walls to provide sectional seating. Behind the counter of the bar was a woman dressed in a black vest and white dress shirt underneath, glasses on the bridge of her nose, mixing a cocktail.

The state of the room was close to empty, except for one table blocked off by a half wall. Several heads came into view, with cigarettes perched between their lips, playing cards. Ties pulled loose. Tattoos marking up their necks. Black blazers strung over the back of their seats.

Cards levitated in front of them inches above the table, the same way the mugs and plates of food had at Madam Maeve's Café.

Magic. No, mages.

A cold sweat shot down Naia's nape.

I need to leave?—

A muffled shriek of agony pierced through the walls of the room.

Naia's body went rigid, and her eyes darted around to pinpoint the source of the noise. The bartender minded no attention to it, nor did the table of people.

"No, please, stop, I'll tell you!" Pained and ragged cries reverberated through the walls.

She felt the rise in her stomach, pushing her lunch into her esophagus. Her hand covered her mouth.

Another violent burst wailed from behind one of the many solid doors in the lounge, and Naia stumbled backwards until her heel smashed into the bottom stair.

By pure luck, she slipped away unnoticed, retracing her path back into the taproom. Sharp, pulsing terror jarred her system, urging her to put as much distance as she could between her and the mages as possible.

With two hoursleft until closing, two suit-clad individuals strolled across the taproom and out the door. Naia recognized them by their outfits and tattoos peeking over the hem of their collars.

Half-distracted, wiping remnants of chicken batter and fries from a table, her eyes strained through one of the windows, watching their figures through the dim light of the streetlamps.

Without question, they had an ominous vibe about them, but Naia's intuition wasn't screaming danger the way it did up against Marina or Mira.

What were mages doing on the non-magic side of the city, anyway?

No, what are mages doing in Ronin's brewery?

The answer became a battleground of indecisiveness. Naia weighed her safety, her next move, and the intentions of Ronin—a possible mage.If he was the one behind those tormented cries she'd overheard in the lounge, he was more dangerous than she thought.

And if he wasn't, he still needed to explain himself.

"You know who they are, right?" a customer asked.

Naia raised her head towards a young woman seated a few tables away, savoring a chicken's leg drenched in a brown sauce.

The stranger took a swig of her beer, then licked her lips. "Are you new? Sorry, I saw you staring at them, and I've never seen you here before."

"Yes. Just moved to the city." Naia stood up with the towel bunched in her fingers. "The people in the suits. Do you know who they are?"

The woman's glassy eyes flitted up from her beverage and around the room. Then, she leaned forward, and Naia involuntarily did the same, as if this stranger was about to let her in on a secret. "They are the Blood Heretics."

Naia's pulse echoed in her throat. "Who are the Blood Heretics?"

The woman rested back in her chair and took another long swig of her beer.

Naia clenched her jaw as she took her time. "Are they ma—witches?"

The woman sat her glass down and picked up her phone, lying beside her plate. "They are a notorious organization of them."

Naia shook her head. "But we are on the non-magical side of the city, right?"

The woman's eyes flickered around on her screen for a beat before stuffing it in her back pocket. "Magical folks rarely come on this side of the city, but I guess they had some sketchy business to attend to." She downed the rest of her beer in one large gulp, and then dug around in her purse, pulling out a bill and slipping it under her empty glass.

Naia twisted the towel around her fingers. "Hm, yeah, maybe."

Or their leader owns this brewery.

"They might enjoy a good glass of beer like the rest of us." The woman slid out of the booth and onto her feet. She tucked her short blonde strands behind her ear. "Well, anyway, thanks for the service. Have a good night."

The woman passed by her, heading down the row of tables towards the door.

"Wait!" Naia called out.

The woman stopped and slightly rotated, gesturing towards the money on the table. "There should be enough there to cover the bill and tip."

Naia disregarded that. She lapped the towel around her palm, gripping the end of the cloth tightly. "Are these Blood Heretics… good?"

The woman took a step closer to Naia. "I'll give you a tip since you are new here," she said, her voice low. "From one human to another." She glanced around their surroundings before continuing. "Stay away from the magical side of the city and their organizations. Especially the Blood Heretics. A few months ago, several bodies were found on Tempest Street—a street in their territory. All bodies were dismembered and marked with some freaky hex the police think caused their death."

Naia's lips parted, the brutal image churning the contents in her stomach. "And the law force and city founder permit this behavior? Murdering people?"

It was barbaric. She knew her brother. He wouldn't allow such ruthless activity under his nose.

The girl huffed out a laugh. "Lord Finnian keeps us safe from the Blood Heretics. Everyone knows he wants them dead."

Naia loathed wearingdresses from a young age.

They made her conscious of every move she made, as to avoid exposing areas of herself. Her legs felt claustrophobic because of the skirt's material.

She stood in front of a lengthy mirror atop a velvet platform, studying the elegant dress she wore—obsidian satin, one-sleeve, hugging the landscape of her curves, with a slit running up to the middle of her thigh. It was the first time she didn't mind wearing a gown. Content with her choice, opposed to a nuisance dripping with jewels and low-cut necklines forced upon her by Mira.

Clasping his matte black cufflinks, Ronin stood to the side of the platform.

They were in a dress shop. Ruffles of tulle and silky fabrics lined the walls on hangers. A mortal scurried around the store in search of what she'd claimed to be the perfect bracelet to match Naia's dress. Flute glasses of champagne sat in Naia's reach on a silver platter.

Every so often, she'd glance up at the shimmering ceiling tiles above them, wondering what possessed Ronin to bring her to such an expensive place when she would've been fine with dressing for the charity event in his minimalist bathroom.

"Tell me." She rotated her hips to get a better view of the backside of the dress. "Who are the Blood Heretics?"

Ronin slipped his hands in the pockets of his tailored trousers, hair in a sloppy half bun per usual, with pieces of his dark strands in his face. "Why do you want to know?"

Despite her uncertainty of his involvement in torture, she hated how much she trusted his judgment without proof. Even if he were torturing someone, she trusted in him not to do anything unnecessary to a person who did not deserve it.

"Curiosity, I suppose," she told him. "It seems many of them congregate at your brewery."

"They are an organization of witches who run a part of the magical side of the city. Everything from Tempest to the southern side." His nonchalance gave nothing away. "I guess they like my beer."

Unlike Naia's siblings, who inherited excellent deadpan expressions and mute emotions, Ronin differed in that he seemed bored, unfazed by the topic at hand.

She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. From her periphery, she glimpsed the owner of the shop digging through stocks of jewelry. Other than them, the place was empty.

"Who owns the other side of the magical part of the city?" Naia asked.

"Finnian."

Naia did not miss the way darkness brimmed his eyes as he spoke her brother's name. There was something Ronin was not telling her. "Finnian and these Blood Heretics don't get along?"

Ronin buttoned the middle button of his black suit jacket, creating a flattering appearance of his lithe waistline. "Rumor is they are constantly at war. Because of it, there is a divide among the city's witches. They either follow Finnian, or they follow the Blood Heretics."

"Is Avi a part of the organization?"

In the mirror, his hooded eyes met hers and a sudden tremor quivered in her stomach.

Being on the other end of his consuming gaze was nothing like being picked apart by Mira's, or even Marina's. It was invigorating—and terrifying—to be something of an idiosyncrasy to him. Someone intently determined to see past her walls. Centuries ago, she might've wished for a chance to be seen by another, but now, it was a risk. And suddenly, she regretted prying into matters that did not concern her.

"Why don't you ask him?"Ronin said after a long second.

"I am asking you. The picture of the woman drenched in blood. He has it tattooed on his arm, and from what I've gathered, it is an insignia for the Blood Heretics." She squared her jaw at him through the mirror. "Am I wrong?"

He smirked.

"Be careful, Naia," he warned. "You're asking dangerous questions."

His intention must've been to spook her, and if it were anyone else she was in this position with, she might have shut up. However, Ronin did not frighten her. Not even a little. And it wasn't until the cryptic words left his mouth that she realized it was the opposite, in fact.

Mage or not, there was a safety in his presence she'd never experienced with anyone else before. She was unaware of how she knew, but she would bet on it with her freedom.

She smirked right back at him. "Luckily, I am no stranger to ruin."

He crossed his arms, pulling the shoulders of his blazer taut. Slowly, his eyes traced up and down the dress she wore, eliciting a fire beneath her skin.

"I am surprised." His voice was low, rich with approval. "You went with black."

It was clear he had no intention of answering her question. Skirting on the line of truths seemed to be their specialty—both equally stubborn and willing to give nothing away below the surface.

She would not give up so easily. "You did not answer my question."

Ronin stepped up onto the platform, a cloud of jasmine and sage engulfing her. Two scents embedded in the walls of his apartment from his fabric softener and incense, but lingering amidst them was a musky note of cologne—a braided fragrance of bergamot and neroli.

He kept his distance behind her. The material of his fitted jacket grazed the back of her exposed arm, her other arm covered by the long sleeve of her dress.

His presence hummed like electricity up her nape as he leaned in, pausing next to her ear. "You really want to exchange truths right now? I mean, I don't mind, but if I tell you my secrets, I'll expect you to do the same."

The vibrations of his vocal cords rumbled in her ribcage, and she pursed her lips to hide her pleasure from it.

The onyx-colored suit, paired with his dark eyes and hair, was a pleasant contrast to his light complexion. It gave him an ethereal quality she lacked, tempting her to remove her glamor.

"It matches your suit." It was her turn to evade the topic. "You seem fond of the color."

"Hm?"

"My dress," she said. "I chose black because it is the only color you ever wear."

"It's my favorite color," Ronin confessed.

I know.

She braced herself as his arm snaked around her waist. He was careful to maintain a safe distance of space between the inside of his arm and the side of her hip.

His palm hovered over her hand resting on her torso.

"May I?" he asked.

It was a genuine inquiry Naia could not resist.

The back of her knuckles met his open palm in response.His skin was remarkably chilled. As he had told her before, he was cold-natured.

Before she could turn her hand and embrace his fingers to warm them, his other arm came around her and slid a bracelet around her wrist. A black, dainty chain with a scarlet jewel in its center.It was beautiful, but Naia did not know how to express such sentiment without sounding too vulnerable.

"Since these are our last hours together, I thought I would leave you with something to remember me by," he said.

The mention of their limited time formed a knot in her chest. With all the thoughts revolving around his secrets and the Blood Heretics, she hadn't stopped to consider how she would feel when the time came to part ways with him.

Ronin went to pull away his hand, and she curled her fingers through his.

It was nonsensical to cling to him, but it was as if her body acted of its own accord. Disconnected to the part of her brain snarling, let go.

In the mirror, she watched as his eyes fell to their intertwined hands, then back up to search her gaze.

"Naia," he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

A shiver dashed up her spine.

She regarded him with the turn of her head, her heart thudding uncontrollably in the base of her throat.

Her eyes lowered to his parted lips as she swallowed. What would it feel like?

His breath smelled of champagne as it fanned against her mouth. She could taste it among the coffee he had downed during the drive to the dress shop.

The inkling of affection he had formed for her was apparent, and it was the ultimate catalyst in her decision to pull away. Tender slivers of light, joy, never lasted in her world.

"We need to go," she said, stepping away from him.

Ronin tightened his hold on her hand when she went to slip it free.

She looked up at him.

"Answer one thing for me." He brought her long, delicate fingers up to his lips, roving them softly over her knuckles as he spoke. "If I take you to Finnian, will that make you happy?"

No.

Yes.

A sharp pang cracked through her heart at the thought of never reuniting with Finnian, as well as leaving Ronin behind.

With clenched teeth, she pulled her hand free, unable to answer him.