Exiting the alley, Harper turned in the opposite direction he’d come from and headed down the street.
He’d debated leaving Shearwater Landing as soon as he disappeared, but the logistics were near impossible. He’d had to sever all connections with his coven, meaning he had no money—his money had been connected to his father—no job, and no support system.
Growing up isolated in the Nightingale Coven meant he had no friends and anyone he’d met while hunting demons in Shearwater Landing would have been noted by his stalkers, so he hadn’t bothered cultivating friendships. If Harper left the city, he would be unprepared to live wherever he ended up, so he’d built something here—slowly and secretly.
Every Saturday the lazy man followed him, Harper had slipped on his bracelet and left the library to create a new life.
He was a potions master. Mixing magic and earthly elements was where his greatest powers lay. It was why he’d been sent to hunt the Hounds of Hell, even though his father preferred to keep him close. Harper hadn’t met a potion he couldn’t brew, and so, on one of his reconnaissance missions through the city over six months ago, he’d used his potion skills to get himself a job.
Sort of.
Utilizing the empty drawers in his dresser, he’d brewed popular potions that sold easily in the magical market. Most humans didn’t believe in magic, but that didn’t mean witchesand vampires didn’t have their own world hidden in plain sight. Harper had found a hole-in-the-wall apothecary in the Banks that sold potions and had approached the owner—disguised as a human with his leather bracelet—and sold his potions, pretending to be in the employ of a reclusive witch.
He’d done this repeatedly, slowly saving and depositing the money he earned into a bank account he’d opened without his father’s knowledge.
So Harper had an income, even though anything connected to the magical community carried the risk of being discovered by his coven. At least the owner of the apothecary was a lone witch, not associated with any coven, and extremely unlikely to cross paths with any of the Nightingales.
Staying in Shearwater Landing after his escape was likely foolish, but Harper would leave once he could afford it and had a job lined up elsewhere. It was a big city with a population of over a million people. Surely, he could slip into the crowd and, with magic on his side, never be found again.
A month ago, Harper found a room to rent in an apartment near the apothecary in the Banks, a less affluent part of the city by the river, near the Docks and all the old canneries.
Harper had never been to the Docks or the Banks as part of his hunt. He’d never been near the river or the port at its mouth. He hadn’t even been very far into the Arts District that separated the nicer part of the city from the rest.
He wasn’t planning on going anywhere near the neighborhoods he used to frequent or the ones he went to occasionally, like the upscale waterfront to the north, just to be safe. Harper might not leave his new apartment much at all, at least at first. Why risk it more than he had to?
He just wanted to be safe and free from his old life.
Harper left the library and Old Town behind and headed into the Arts District, passing the university. The back of hisneck tingled from the sweat dampening his skin…but was it more than that? Was someone watching him, or was he being paranoid?
Glancing around, nothing caught his eye. He cast a detection spell, sending his magic out around him, looking for anyone else who possessed magic. There wasn’t even the faintest hint. There couldn’t be a witch following him and his father would never stoop to employing a human. Regarding humans as less than was despicable, but at least his father’s prejudice worked in Harper’s favor.
He was in the clear, the same as he had been every other time he’d snuck out of the library. Harper sped up, walking faster, neck prickling relentlessly.
He was further from his old life and closer to freedom than ever. Everything in his plan was falling into place. Everything he’d set up over the last half-year was paying off. So why was his heart pounding like it might all go wrong?
This moment was twenty-four years in the making. The most important thing he’d done in his life. He should be happy. Relieved.
He was sick to his stomach.
Harper ducked into a convenience store and went to the restroom. He heaved a breath and instantly regretted it. The air was foul. Fuck, he might actually be sick.
He doubled over, closed his eyes, and sucked breaths in and out through his mouth. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He was almost there. No one was following him. He shouldn’t be this much of a mess when nothing was going wrong.
Maybe he needed to complete the last step of his plan. Fuck, that better help, or he was going to bolt out of the restroom and do something stupid.
Harper straightened and pulled the potion from his pocket, his trick to truly disappearing. He unstopped the vial andswallowed its contents in one mouthful. The liquid fizzed all the way down his throat and he winced at the bitter taste.
But he didn’t throw up.
A chill coursed through Harper as the potion suppressed the magic in his blood. He would still be able to use magic, but while the suppressant flowed through his bloodstream, no one would be able to tell he was a witch, no matter how hard they inspected him. No one would be able to track him with magic either. Even someone with his hair or blood, like his father, couldn’t use magic to find him as long as the suppressant remained in his system.
The dose he’d taken would last twenty-four hours. He’d have to brew more potion and take it religiously to remain magically invisible. It was a complicated concoction, intricate and risky to mess up, considering how much power it took to create.
Thank Satan potions were his calling.
Harper left the convenience store and the fresh air hit him like a shot of coffee. His stomach settled and he continued toward the Banks, only slightly sweaty.
He was free.
