4. Cassandra

CASSANDRA

The Black Death Beanery is Eris’s favorite coffee shop. It’s owned by Darcelle, an open-minded witch. Because of that, the coffee shop is always filled with different supernatural species. Darcelle has a tolerance policy for rivalries in their shop and the witch is powerful enough to enforce it. Eris had been drawn to Darcelle the moment Darcelle had cocked a brow at the demon before warning her to keep her talons to herself and before immediately asking what her order was.

Over the years, Eris and the witch had grown close, and that relationship is what I’m hoping to draw on. My magic has never been as structured as a witch within a coven and while Darcelle does not flaunt it, they are a high-ranking member within the Barrow’s obscure coven. Ambrose has created a safe haven for supernatural creatures within the Barrows, including witches without covens. The coven is very insular, protecting its members from those who have grudges against covens.

Ashe follows me into the coffee shop, opening the door for me as if I’m just another duty he’s forced to attend. I want to beg him, yell at him, go crazy and make a scene if that’s what it takes to get him to actually look at me.

I spent so much time in the recesses of my body, trapped within my own mind, envisioning the day I’m able to be with Ashe again. I thought of all the different ways I could show him my love, my trust, and my sincere remorse at causing him so much pain. In every scenario, he’d listen to me—even if it meant releasing his carefully controlled temper. Never did I think he’d treat me with such indifference. Between the two of us in our relationship, I had always been the more reserved, the less willing to open myself to vulnerability.

The coffee shop is as eclectic as ever, with restored vintage and antique light fixtures, mismatched refurbished furniture, and bare brick walls. It should clash, with how everything is similar but not close enough to match, and yet just like the patrons sitting and working at the tables or booths, there’s a harmony here. No one pays us any attention as we walk up to the counter. It’s disconcerting, since the last time Ashe and I walked anywhere together, the townsfolk of Willow Creek couldn’t avoid staring.

“What can I get for you?” the cheerful young man behind the counter asks. He takes me in, and his friendly smile turns flirtatious. “If you have any questions, I’m more than happy to help you with anything you need.”

I blink rapidly, dumbfounded at the overt implication especially when he winks. And I’d thought Ashe had been scandalous when he would request me to allow him to see me safely home from the market. The young man—a shifter, if I read the natural predatorial glint in his eyes— leans forward, bracing his elbow on the modern cash register.

“I could tell you the things I like?” His voice is a rumble of a growl, and my cheeks go hot as my lips part in surprise.

Then he’s slammed flat against the counter, Ashe’s hand gripping the back of his neck as he snarls viciously.

“What the fuck!” the shifter shouts, his skin beginning to ripple as black fur sprouts.

“Ashe!” I say, shocked speechless at the encounter.

Ashe ignores me, tightening his grip on the shifter’s neck, uncaring that the male is half-wolf by this point. As he leans closer to the male, I catch sight of his red-hazed eyes, his fangs long enough to be visible as he speaks.

“That is my mate you’re flirting with.” The wolf-shifter freezes at Ashe’s words, delivered in a blood-chilling quiet. “Keep shifting, boy. Give me a reason to gut you.”

“Enough!” A sharp voice cracks through the stunned crowd. Darcelle marches up behind the counter, their crimson red dress flowing around their legs and the heavy blue eyeshadow doing nothing to soften the anger in their eyes. They storm up to Ashe without fear and put their fists on their hips. Ashe still hasn’t moved, snarling down at the shifter, who’s begun to shake.

Darcelle looks at me, taking me in with narrowed eyes. Their eyes give me an up and down and their eyes flash with realization. They turn back to Ashe and their employee with a huff.

“Ashe, let the pup go. He’s new and doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut,” Darcelle snaps, tapping their foot on the hardwood floors.

The customers collectively hold their breath, waiting to see what the Nightshade vampire will do. The wolf-shifter has returned to his human form, his eyes squeezed shut with terror.

With an annoyed huff, Ashe shoves the man into the counter as he straightens and releases him. Ashe meets Darcelle’s gaze with his own iron-filled eyes, the red retreating. “See that he learns quickly, witch.” Ashe adjusts his suit jacket cuffs, as if he weren’t just threatening to dismember someone seconds ago. “Cassandra and Eris have business with you. Take us to your office.”

Darcelle’s eyebrows shoot up at the order and I clear my throat, drawing the witch’s attention before they decide to curse Ashe for his impertinence.

“Please forgive the commotion,” I say, drawing on all the polite manners my parents and grandmother hammered into me. “It has been some time since I’ve been around other males, and so my mate is understandably on edge.”

“Considering what I know of Eris, it’s been a lot longer than some time.” Darcelle cocks their head at me. “Something tells me that you’ve got a story to tell. You can come with me to my office.”

They turn and I move to follow on the other side of the counter, going towards a narrow hall in the back. Ashe follows, but Darcelle stops at the hall entrance, whirling around with a pointed finger at the vampire. He stares down at them with a blank expression.

“Not you, vampire,” Darcelle bites out. “Your clan might run this city, but no vampires are entering my office. Especially not after that display. You can wait in the car for your mate.”

Ashe’s lip curls up in a snarl and I grab his arm, squeezing to get his attention. He turns his glare to me and I raise my chin. He knows better than to growl and bluster with me.

“You know this is the witch’s way,” I remind him. “Don’t you have a meeting to make? This will take some time, so go do your work for Ambrose. I’ll stay here within the wards.”

Ashe looks like he’s going to argue with me, but he looks away and my shoulders relax. He glares at Darcelle, who doesn’t back down. “If a single hair is harmed on her head, I will destroy this place brick by brick.”

“Ashe!” I gasp as Darcelle says, “Acknowledged. Now leave my shop before I kick you out.”

With one final pointed look at me, one filled with ice-rimmed flames, Ashe strides away. We watch him until he wrenches the front door open, the bells clanging as it slams into the wall. I wince at the display.

“I’m so sorry about him—” I begin to apologize and Darcelle lets out a low, deep laugh, waving away my concerns.

“I’m just proud of the boy for finally showing some emotion,” they say before heading down into the wall. “I’ve always thought Ashe was too contained. It’s not good on the stomach to bottle everything up like he does. Now, then, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

I roll my lips, considering Darcelle’s words about my mate. While Eris is in control of my body, I’m not completely unaware of what is happening around us but what Darcelle is describing is not the Ashe I know. My Ashe is passionate and tender and always trying to coax a smile or laugh from me. To hear that he’s now as bottled up as, say, Kasar makes my heart ache and guilt weighs down my shoulders.

Instead, I focus on explaining what I know happened when Eris and Ashe pursued the archangel Aeternaphiel from Wren’s gallery. The witch listens without comment as they open the door and we cross into their office, the buzz of their wards rippling over my skin with comforting familiarity. I stop just over the threshold, struck by the eclectic mix before me. I shouldn’t be, considering the decor of the coffee shop behind us.

An antique electric chandelier casts a warm glow over the space, the intricate designs juxtaposed against the exposed brick walls lined with shelves. The shelves themselves hold a dizzying collection of leather-bound tomes interspersed with modern plastic binders in different colors.

Aromas of freshly brewed coffee and exotic spices mingle in the air, drawing me deeper into the space. I close my eyes, breathing in the scents and feeling my own wild magic being soothed by the natural tones. I barely hear Darcelle shut the office door behind me before murmuring an incantation to ward the room from eavesdroppers.

They say nothing as my feet take me past the worn, wooden desk cluttered with papers, a computer, and a few empty white coffee mugs. I’m drawn to the heavy oak work bench pushed up against one wall, its surface meticulously clean compared to the desk.

A small standing shelf is atop it against the wall, and I trail my fingertips along the edge as I catalog the mortar and pestles, the small iron pots, glass vials and jars whose contents hum with wild magic.

“You’re a wild witch,” I breathe out, my heart fluttering. I think of my old mentor, Agnes—the witch who became my family when I left my coven behind. I blink back the tears as fond memories of the stern woman bring me back to that time. What I would give to have her counsel for my predicament. Not just with Eris and the archangel, but with Ashe as well.

She’d demand to know if I’ve gone soft over the years and forgotten that nearly every problem can be solved with good, hard work.

I clear my throat and turn back to Darcelle, who is watching me with sympathetic understanding. We consider each other for a long moment before Darcelle gestures for me to take the single wooden chair opposite their own in front of the desk. The witch mutters under their breath as they stack papers and shove them into a drawer before giving me an apologetic look as they move the empty coffee cups behind them onto a short filing cabinet that has different types of bagged coffee on top.

“Results of the trade,” they say with a grin. “I’m always trying to find new blends of coffee to share, which means I have the horrible burden of personally taste testing them.”

Remembering my own love of bitter teas, I share in their grin as I settle my skirts around my legs. “Oh, of course. I’m certain it must be a terrible strain on you.”

Darcelle gives a bark of a laugh, shaking their head as they head towards one of the shelves, tapping their long blue nail against their bottom lip. “No one appreciates teas and coffees like us wild witches. My magic is what helps me find the best roasted beans for the shop. I refuse to serve anything I haven’t fully tested. Ah!” They pluck a thin book off the shelf, the spine so thin to have nothing written on it. Darcelle returns to the desk, taking their own seat and setting the book down and flipping it open before I can try to read the gold script printed on the green cover. “Not too many books exist on angels, considering the opinions of humans in the world. This one is a copy of one of the earliest witch hunters clans, descending from the Beya clan from the Near East.”

A chill trickles through my veins and I remind myself that there are no hunters in the streets preparing to burn down the building with us trapped inside.

Darcelle doesn’t notice my struggles, scanning the page quickly before flipping to the next. “They believed all creatures of magic were to be eliminated, and certainly didn’t believe angels were the soldiers of some deity. Fortunately, some of their collected writings were saved from being burned. I could have sworn I’ve read something similar to what you described back when the demons were causing a ruckus in the city and Ambrose needed to explore his options.”

I snort at Darcelle’s description of the war that nearly broke out between the Nightshades and demons. Eris refused to assist Ambrose, and after Ambrose exiled Ezra from the clan, I supported Eris’s stance. Ezra had been one of the first Nightshades to accept me, seeing as he too was considered different. Ezra’s father was a demon, and his mother was human. It was when a vampire turned the woman without realizing that she was pregnant, which resulted in Ezra’s mixed natures. His duality always challenged him, pulled between different urges, yet he was always eager to destroy. I once accused Ambrose of only ever seeing Ezra as a weapon, and Ezra shocked me by claiming that’s exactly what he was.

He’d never taken a mortal soul until the conflict a few decades ago, something Ambrose had explicitly forbidden within the boundaries of the Nightshade territory. I know Ezra. He wouldn’t have given in to his demonic nature to bargain for a mortal’s soul, but the male refused to name the human whose soul he’d taken. The punishment for the mortal was death, to force any bargain between them and the demon to be void. Ambrose had exiled Ezra, banished him from the clan and told the rest of us Ezra was fortunate to be alive. It had driven Eris away, which meant I left the Barrows too, for some time.

She had never trusted Ambrose, it wasn’t in her nature. But from that moment, she never considered him anything more than an employer.

When we’d finally returned, I learned that not only did we lose Ezra but Rhys left as well. The vampire had considered Ezra closer than any brother or best friend, and to lose Ezra was a loss too great. Rhys hadn’t abandoned the Nightshades, but instead begged Ambrose to allow him to wander until he was ready to return. Eris and I had both been surprised that Ambrose agreed, until we learned that the king of vampires had given Rhys the duty similar to a diplomat and spy. Ambrose is never altruistic. He saw the opportunity to expand his empire through Rhys and took full advantage.

Rhys has never returned to the Barrows, that I know of, since.

“Here we go,” Darcelle says, yanking me from my contemplation. “From your description of the blade being summoned with bright light and Eris being essentially sucked out of you like a vacuum...” The witch trails off, their brow furrowing. They flip to the next page, then back again to reread it.

“What?” I jump up, coming around to Darcelle’s side to read over their shoulder. Fortunately the copy was printed in English. I peer closer, rereading the passage. “This doesn’t make sense. Why would an archangel use a blade to siphon the essence of a demon into them? I swear the idea isn’t even familiar to anything in Eris’s memory, and she was once an angelic soldier under direct command of Aeternaphiel. She would have known about this.”

Darcelle looks up at me, a grave expression on their face. “You said Ashe stabbed him with Eris’s celestial blade?”

I nod in confirmation. “It was melting, though, according to him. The archangel did something to it.”

Darcelle turns the page to the one they’d consulted after trailing off, tapping a passage with a sparkly blue nail. My eyes follow theirs, and I narrow my eyes. Darcelle speaks before I have a chance to comprehend what I read.

“Any being from the celestial realm would be immediately sent back from this plane if struck by a celestial blade. That was their main purpose here on Earth. Aeternaphiel should not have survived being struck.” Darcelle leans back in their chair, blowing out a breath. As for me, I stare at them dumbly, my mind unable to see what the witch is suggesting.

Darcelle must see how stupefied I am and takes pity on me. “Here in the Barrows, we deal with many different creatures and magical beings. The blade this book suggests Aeternaphiel used is nearly identical to what a sorcerer or a warlock uses to add to their power. And there is only one way I know of to separate the soul from a body that allows the person to continue living.”

I shake my head. “That can’t be it. Why would an archangel need to become a lich? Why would he remove his soul from his body?”

Darcelle scrunches their lips and shakes their head. “I can’t say why, but I do know that it means you’re right. You and Eris are running out of time. Eris wasn’t struck true by the blade, but enough has been cleaved from her that she’s dying. Not just dying, but being consumed. And because of how enmeshed your souls are, you will be consumed too. The only way to save either of you is to find the soul and destroy it.”

I stagger back around the desk and collapse back onto the chair. I stare, wide-eyed, at Darcelle and utter something more appropriate for Eris.

“Well. Shit.”