I felt it then—the subtle shift in the room, the way the air leaned toward her.
"You changed," she murmured, voice thick with honey and smoke. "The kinda change that gets done to ya, not by ya."
Nerina stood just behind me, inching closer without seeming to notice. Her attention shifted between us, wary, curious. I could feel her questions pressing against the space between us, tightening with each moment, but she held them back—for now.
Seraphine's mouth curled. “You used to be a man who carved his own fate, bent the world how he pleased. Now look—chained to hunger, to shadow that won’t ever set ya free."
I forced my expression to remain impassive, though something inside me twisted at her words. She knew what I had become, of course she did.
Séraphine missed nothing. But there was something in the way she said it, seeming to see the thing lurking beneath my skin, the thing I tried not to acknowledge.
She took a slow step closer, "Maybe ya think ya done lost everythin’ already, Cap’taine. But ya ever wonder what'll happen when the lender stop feelin’ generous?”
I felt Nerina’s eyes flick between us—just a sliver of movement, but enough. She didn’t say anything, didn’t ask.
I could’ve said something. Offered some half-truth to make it easier to swallow. But I didn’t. Whatever Séraphine and I had was forged in another life—before blood, before curses, before Nerina. And yet… some part of me didn’t want her to look at me any differently. So I said nothing. Let the silence speak for me.
“You need somethin’?” Séraphine drawled, her fingers dancing lazy over a vial dark as embered coals.
“We're looking for something,” I admitted, bracing for whatever reaction that might bring.
She turned slowly, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed tight beneath her chest. "What kinda mess y’all bringin’ to my door?"
“We're looking for The Eye of Nareth,” Nerina spoke before I could.
Séraphine stilled, her attention snapping to Nerina. Her mismatched eyes flickered, searching, peeling back the layersof whatever she expected to find—but her expression darkened, just slightly, when she found nothing. Her lips parted; she meant to say something, but she hesitated. That hesitation sent a ripple of unease through me. Séraphine never hesitated.
Nerina stiffened at my side.
Séraphine moved closer, slow and deliberate. “I been walkin’ this earth since ‘fore the old gods turned to bone and shadow. Seen things that ain’t got no right to breathe, loved things born wrong—and still, I ain’t never seen one likeyou.”
I stepped forward, placing myself slightly between them, the movement instinctive. Protective. "She's not part of this."
Séraphine arched a delicate brow, her lips curling in something that wasn’t quite amusement. "Oh, she standin' here, ain't she? In my shop, in my city. That make her part o' it."
Nerina’s chin lifted, defiant, but I could see the tension in her hands, the way her fingers curl in trepidation.
I stepped forward without thinking, the movement fast and instinctive. “She’s not for you—she’s not merchandise.” I said.
Séraphine’s brow arched, slow and deliberate. “Mm. Careful now, Cap’taine, you can’t own somethin' so wild, untamed.”
“I didn’t say she belonged to me.” I said more defensively than I'd like to.
Her smile curved—lazy, knowing. “Didn’t have to.”
She looked past me, fixing on Nerina. “Ain’t that right, cher?”
Nerina lifted her chin. “I don’t belong to anyone.”
“We gon’ see. But for now, let’s talk what brought ya knockin’. The Eye of Nareth.” She narrowed her eyes like she was weighing truth against trouble. “Ain’t got it. Ain’t know who do neither. But Shadeau got her whispers, and if ya pay the right price, I might just find what ya need.”
Séraphine turned away before I could answer, moving to the worn table at the back of the shop. A blackened brass bowl sat at its center, ringed with salt and dried wax. Low candles flickered around it, their flames reacting to something I couldn’t see.
She worked quickly, pulling vials and herb bundles from the shelves. The air thickened as she moved—charged, heavy. Shadows shifted along the walls, stretching in ways they shouldn’t. She began to speak in a low, steady chant. I’d seen her call on spirits before; none of this was for show. The Loa listened to her, answered her. She didn’t command them—they worked with her, and the price was never small.
She poured a dark liquid into the brass bowl, then added bone fragments, dried sage, and a piece of something faintly luminous. Power rippled through the room. The candles flared, melting faster than they should. Without hesitation, Séraphine drew a blade across her palm and let a drop of blood fall. The mixture shifted instantly, swirling into a deep violet sheen.
A faint metallic scent joined the rotting roses in the air as she uncorked another bottle. A sudden gust pushed the candleflames sideways though the door hadn’t moved. The shop inhaled.
