In her month there, she had already decided she loved the place. It was New Age and yet, it felt vintage. Even uptown, there was a feel to it that was more home than any place she’d ever lingered. Or perhaps it was that this was her final resting place, and she was giving herself the space to enjoy a little of life before getting back to her duty.
The density of the fog across the road reminded her of smoke over the moors outside her childhood home. How the great fires had crippled their town to ashes and left the already poor with nothing more than the tattered clothes they’d been wearing—if they were even spared.
The Fire legions had collected those who were left that night, but she and her father had hidden beneath their fallen home and watched as they carted off their friends.
“Shh…” her father had told her, holding her arms as silent tears fell down her heated cheeks.
Every footstep over the crumbling board above made her wince. Trembling beneath the dust shimmering in the light of the cracks. One… two… She’d counted the steps. Memorized the silent wake between each one. The clap of their boots on the wood. The swish of the soldiers’ jackets and the squeak of the rubber shoes.
“No one here,” one had said.
The man didn’t leave. Standing directly atop where they hid as though he could feel their presence. Ana had dared to look up through a crack, and she nearly jumped at the blue eye looking down at her.
A board cracked beneath the weight of the ashen roof, and as a light rain descended upon them, the man turned on his heel and left.
Death’s demons had been busy that night.
She had often wondered if the demons that resided in Firemoor had helped the Fire legions that night, or if they had simply stood by and waited to collect.
Death himself had been nowhere to be found. No, he would not take on this job himself, not when he was supposedly held up in a castle and only coming out to play in his own realm.
Samarius Cain.
The name repeated in her head as she took another sip of her coffee and stared at the castle in the distance. Lightning lit up the sky around it at all hours of the day, almost as if Death himself had summoned it.
Perhaps the rumor of Death being the same person as this King was why she’d been obsessed with leaving this kingdom for last. Maybe that was why she’d spent years working her way into other kingdoms to learn the ropes and find the balance of what would make the royals fall.
This was the one she knew would break her, and she was ready for it.
She took another long sip of coffee and stared at the amber-lit windows, waiting to see any shadows pass by, but she never did. In her weeks of staring, she’d memorized the cars and motorcycles of the groundskeepers, and the only vehicle that went further than their warehouse was a slick black motorcycle.
She’d been told by Jay that this was the King’s personal assistant, Milliscent Cambridge. Jay had told stories of her chaotic beauty and said she mingled little with the people, though she seemed to have a soft spot for the women who called themselves ‘witches’ down on Third Street.
Witches…
Ana had perked up when he brought up the word, but she didn’t know how much these witches would be in touch with the ancient texts. She wasn’t sure if they were of the same covens she had come to call family when she and her father fled to Icemyer or if they were something more. Something darker. Perhaps in the service of Death himself.
Or if they, too, looked to conquer this kingdom.
Sometimes she noticed a black fog hovering around the gates or beneath the iron fencing. Lingering. Making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Occasionally, she thought she was being watched. She was sure she was simply being paranoid, but… it felt like the shadows were stalking her. Dangerous and yet, inviting.
More than once, she’d considered going up to them and seeing if they had something for her.
The grey maintenance truck rumbled as it made the turn out of the gates and headed east toward the breakfast diner Ana knew one set of workers went to every morning after their shift. There were five of them on this shift. She’d gone down to the diner two days prior to listen in and get a better look.
These were the people that she would need to get to know first. She’d taken the job downstairs at the art gallery to stick close, still do what she loved but keep an eye on movements in and out, hoping perhaps she would get to know more of the people in old town. She had a feeling that these people knew more than they realized.
And then…
Then there was Sam.
She’d spotted him a few times on his motorcycle going through town, and had even seen him mingling with some of the groundskeepers on overnight shifts, and she began to wonder what he did for a living besides the art. She wouldn’t deny that she’d thought about him more times than she wanted to admit, had pleasured herself with the thought of him between her thighs, hated herself for wanting him to pop into the art gallery on the off-chance she might get to see him.
Ugh.
She really hated herself for the last one. She hadn’t pined after a person in years. Not since she was a teen and one of the witches had taken her under her wing to show her the pleasures and secrets that they held. She still thought about her on occasion… missed how she’d been carted around as her favored. Maybe it was that she’d liked the attention, the push and pull of punishment and assurance… How her mind and body responded to such things… She had loved her. Of course she had.
Even after she’d killed her.
