“I’m beginning to understand why you’re stubborn about leaving.”
“It’s not stubbornness. It’s responsibility.”
“There’s a difference?”
Despite everything, the broken window, the threat, Hazel felt her lips twitch. “Sometimes.”
The bell chimed again before Hazel could process Marcus’s expression. She turned, expecting another concerned customer.
Vivienne Aldrich stood in the doorway, immaculate as always. Honey-blonde hair swept into a perfect chignon, cream cashmere coat that had never seen weather, the silver coven pendant gleaming at her throat. She surveyed the brokenwindow, the scattered glass, Hazel’s general state of disaster, with an expression of polished concern.
“Hazel. I heard there was trouble.”
“News travels fast. What do you want, Viv?”
“Can’t an old friend check on you?”
“We’re not friends.”
“We were. Once.” Vivienne’s smile was perfectly measured sympathy. “Before things got complicated.”
Marcus moved to Hazel’s side, and Vivienne’s eyes sharpened.
“And who’s this?”
“My lawyer.”
“Demon lawyer,” Vivienne observed. “The coven heard you witnessed something. Viktor Blackwood.” She shook her head. “You always did have terrible luck.”
“Was there a point to this visit?”
“The coven wants to help.” Vivienne produced a cream envelope, the Aldrich coven seal pressed in silver wax. “Full protection. Our wards are considerably stronger than”—she gestured at the broken window—“whatever you’re using here. You’d be safe with us.”
Hazel didn’t take the envelope. “And the price?”
“There’s no price. We take care of our own.”
“I’m not your own. You made that clear thirty years ago.”
Vivienne’s mask slipped, just for a moment. The smile stayed but her eyes went flat. “That vote wasn’t personal, Hazel. Your magic was unstable. Dangerous. The elders had concerns.”
“And now?”
“Now you’re in danger, and the coven is willing to overlook past issues.” She set the envelope on the counter. “Come home. Submit your shop to coven oversight, accept guidance on your practice, and we’ll make this whole mess disappear.”
Not rescue. Acquisition.
“I’d rather take my chances with Viktor.”
“Pride was always your weakness.”
“Funny. I thought it was my magic.”
They stared at each other. Thirty years of history in the silence: shared apprenticeship, the vote that split them, Hazel watching Vivienne accept the pendant she’d wanted so badly. Vivienne had cried that day, prettily, and told Hazel it wasn’t fair. Then she’d put on the pendant anyway.
“The offer stands,” Vivienne said. “When this gets worse—and it will—you know where to find us.” She glanced at Marcus. “Try to keep her alive. She’s never been good at accepting help.”
The bell chimed as she left.
