Chapter 3
It wasn’t late, barely afternoon, but it was already dark. Seattle didn’t bother much with daylight in December and by four, the city was wrapped up in shadows and streetlights, everything glittering under a sheet of drizzle. Christmas lights blinked from shopfronts, stringing cheer across the dark meant for lifting the spirit. And they were successful.
Daphne adjusted the tote bag on her shoulder, the wrapped boxes inside shifting with a rustle of tissue paper. All gifts for her friends she could’ve ordered online, sure, but she’d been in a mood lately. Gloomy. Tangled in her own thoughts like sheets after a nightmare. So, she’d said screw it. She needed out, needed lights and bustle and the promise of chocolate and joy. She’d needed one day in the city.
And she was glad she’d listened to herself.
Shop windows glowed with warm light, dripping with holly and candles. She’d gotten a bag of cocoa from a cart that cost too much but tasted like happiness; browsed a boutique where the shopkeeper complimented her scarf; even hummed along to the street saxophonist near the bookstore. Obviously, she’d spent too much time and money at said bookstore, but that was a consideration for another day.
The air smelled like rain and roasted chestnuts and city magic.
It was beautiful.
For a day. By the end of that day, she sure was relieved to be going home.
Mystic Hollow might be nosy and occasionally messy, considering the ratio of magiks, but it was hers. It didn’t have alleyways that breathed wrong. It didn’t have crowds that looked through you like you weren’t there.
She turned down the side road where she’d parked and immediately tensed.
Narrow. Poorly lit. An alley that tried to pretend it was charming with uneven cobblestones and string lights hung too high. She’d known it wasn’t ideal when she’d left the car, but there had been no parking whatsoever. Holiday crowds saw to that. She’d circled the block for fifteen minutes before she caved and took this one. A calculated risk. She’d seen worse, after all. It all boiled down to being prepared, and prepared she was. She’d taken a tactical flashlight and a collapsible baton and had tucked them discreetly in her coat. She wore boots that could kick, earrings that couldn’t be grabbed, and a coat that gave her a full range of movement.
She planned for the worst. Always.
Which is how she noticed him the second she turned the corner.
The man didn’t look threatening, and that was the problem. He was just there. A little too still, a little too centered, standing in the perfect blind spot between two streetlights. Not on his phone. Not smoking. Not doing anything at all. Just watching the alley.
To someone else, he might’ve looked like nothing but background.
But Daphne’s instincts prickled. You didn’t grow up the way she did and miss the scent of trouble. You didn’t spend years in self-defense classes and learn to ignore the twitch of something predatory in the air.
Danger didn’t always shout. Sometimes, it stood quietly in the dark, waiting, and you had to be open to it to catch it.
She stopped walking, and did what every woman trained for a worst-case scenario should do: she pivoted smoothly and started walking back the way she came. No panic in her steps. No fear on her face. Just the movement of someone remembering she still had something to do. She would get to the main road and circle the block. It was a long hike after a long day, but she’d rather be exhausted than sorry.
Except, a shadow shifted ahead of her. From the opposite end of the alley, the way she’d intended to escape. Another man stepped into view and just stood there.
Shit.
Panic flickered like a match, but she crushed it.
Alright.
Two men. One behind, one ahead. She was boxed in, but not trapped.
Her spine straightened. Her fingers flexed. The baton slipped from her coat pocket and opened with a soft, satisfying click. The keys slid between her fingers and became claws. Her breathing slowed. Her focus narrowed. She stepped into a doorway shadow just wide enough to cover her back, scanning the angles, the exits, the blind spots.
They hadn’t moved. Not yet.
When they did, she’d be ready.
Let them come.
They started, slow at first, nothing but two dudes passing by, minding their business. Their steps were too focused, though, too synchronized. Closing the space between them and her like they were tightening a net.
As they got closer, she saw their faces.
Drawn, gaunt. Hollowed out by something that had been eating them from the inside long before this night. Eyes that had seen too much and cared too little. One had scabbed-over knuckles and skin pulled tight over bone. The other’s pupils were blownwide, jaw twitching with the tremors of someone who hadn’t slept in days.
