“Sephira,” I said. “We aren’t getting back together. I have a few questions I need to ask you.”
She paused, her eyes narrowing. “That’s it? A few questions. You couldn’t have called?”
I didn’t tell her that the reason I hadn’t called was that I had erased and blocked her number from my phone. It was astonishing how fast Sephira changed from bright and welcoming to—something else.
I looked around her small home, which smelled of vanilla tea and firewood. Mini arctic fox plushies lined the windowsills. Tiny sculptures of foxes mid-leap sat on the fireplace mantel. I knew she liked arctic foxes, but I didn’t realize how much. Then again, this over-the-top obsessive nature was the exact reason I’d ended things with Sephira. Above the fireplace hung a painting of a lone arctic fox under the northern lights, its fur catching every shade of ice and moonlight.
Beside the painting, a shrine stood for the Grey Doors. She had pictures of her and the band and just the band, but mostly of me. My heart sank. I appeared in each image nailed to the wall and each frame that sat on the small end table beneath it. She’d even bought a replica of my bass guitar, and it rested next to an overly large picture of me.
I recalled how she became very attached to me after we started dating, to the point that she was always there with cupcakes or muffins or a cup of tea immediately after every concert, or band practice, or trip to the bathroom. Then after we both got turned, it had gotten so much worse as she tried to cut me offfrom everything and everyone, including my band, saying we were “meant for each other and only each other.”
She reached into my coat pocket and drew out the arctic fox beanie. “Oh, you brought this back to me! Thank you!” She snuggled the beanie and rummaged in my coat again, pulling out the truth serum. “And what’s this? Hoping to pry some answers out of me against my will?”
I stiffened. Everything was going downhill fast. “Someone is trying to frame me for murder. They left a dead body on my doorstep, drained of blood.”
She moved close and ran her finger down my arm, the information not phasing her. “Then why weren’t you arrested?”
I stepped back. “I moved it.” I watched her reaction. Any hint that she knew what I meant. But she stared at me, giving nothing away.
“And you want to give me this… truth serum, to see if I was the one who orchestrated it all against you.” She pouted. “Wickham, you think I’d do something like that?”
I didn’t respond, and her jaw clenched.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “I’ll take the potion and answer your questions if you take the potion as well and answer mine.”
Her willingness to consume the potion made her involvement in the murder less probable. But this was also Sephira. I’dnever be certain until I asked. Plus, she was my last suspect on my list. After her, I wasn’t certain who might have killed the fae man. In addition, she lacked knowledge of the compelling agent that Lydia put in the potion that would cause her to speak. “Sure,” I said.
“Good thing I was already making tea.” She walked over to a teapot with little paw prints painted on the side that had started to whistle in a tiny yipping sound. She lifted it and turned off the stove before she filled two cups of steaming tea into fox-shaped mugs. I watched as she opened the serum Lydia had made and poured it into the two cups. She took one and handed the other to me. “Drink up, Wickham.”
I took a sip and she did the same.
“So a silent protest,” she said. “How intriguing. And you assume it was someone who didn’t want you marrying your fae-witch. Someone angry at you for exposing our world, so they chose to expose you.”
“Was it you?”
“No.”
“If it wasn’t you, do you have an idea who it could be?”
Sephira lowered her teacup. “No. Honestly, I wish I had thought of it myself. It is daring, though I might have put more focus on setting up your little human-fae wife and getting herout of the way than exposing you.” Her eyes widened. “Clever, Wickham. You put a compelling agent in this.” She emitted a small laugh as if this was delightful for her instead of a setback. “I guess I’ll hold nothing back. Lydia’s family has had enough bad press recently that a slight nudge in that direction and everyone would believe she did it. Like mother, like daughter.”
I stepped toward her. “Lydia would never hurt anyone.”
“So protective. You must like her a lot. And tell me, what do you think of me?” She lifted the teacup to her lips for another drink.
I tried to suppress my answer, but the serum was already in my system. “You’re a sociopath who probably needs serious help.”
Sephira slammed the cup onto the counter and it shattered. I recoiled, setting down my cup and taking a step toward the door.
Her eyes were bright with anger. “And that is your problem, George Wickham, leaving a string of broken hearts in your wake. Are you sure none of those you have jilted in the past have something to do with this?” Her voice became high-pitched.
“I’m not certain of anything at this point. But out of everyone I dated before Lydia, only you knew I was a vampire.”
She rolled her eyes. “Because you’ve never done anything to give it away.”
She was right. Maybe I hadn’t been as careful as I thought. After all, I’d had only a couple of interactions with Mary Bennet before today, and somehow she knew what I was.
“You listen to me, George Wickham. Eventually, you will grow tired of protecting your little witchy fae from the vampire world. You’ll realize that the rules are there for us and that you have no choice but to live by them like the rest of us. And when that time comes, you will come back to me. You and I are inevitable.”
