“You’re right about that.” The greatest divide in the Witch Kingdom was between those who had magic and those who didn’t. But within that, there were gradients of classes. Disguise magic was practical and common enough. Decent, if notprestigious. Creation magic was among the rarest and most cherished. But communicating with animals? Not practical for anyone but a shepherd, my mother would say. “But I wished for it all the same. One of the mousers had a kitten, and I managed to… secure one, once it weaned. I tucked scraps in my skirts after each meal for it. The little thing, with dark black fur, purred like you wouldn’t believe. Just from the little bits of affection I was able to slip it. For a brief time, I had a friend. She slept on my pillow late at night. I would fall asleep to her purring.”
Raphael was still petting the dog, but all his attention was on me. “And then?”
There was always anand then. All good things ended.
“And then one day the kitten died. I cried for an entire day and night until my mother had enough and put a stop to it. So then I only cried at night. I kept her little bones in a box, under my pillow where she’d slept, until my mother found them there and declared it too morbid.”
Raphael parted his lips, as if about to say something, then shut his mouth so hard his teeth ground together. When he tried again, his voice was soft. “Would a pet make you happy? We could take this one with us. With enough cheese and cookies, I imagine you could win her affections before we even returned to Damerel.”
“You can’t replace the past that easily.” The tiny scraps of paper suddenly weighed heavy in my pocket.
“No. But you can choose tohavea future, Samara.”
I looked at the dogs. I imagined a future they would fit into, in a cottage somewhere safe and peaceful, where I could have a simple dog. It was a future leagues worse than my mother’s worst nightmares, yet now such an existence seemed like the height of luxury.
And I could not afford it. The path I was on didn’t leave room for bonds like that. “They’ll have a better life with someone else.Besides, it seems cruel to take them from sunlight and keep them underground in Damerel.”
Raphael let the matter drop.
The festival continued throughthe night. While I’d first thought there were no merchants out, several had set up tents on the fringes, down side streets. One caught my attention, a strange smell of ink and copper.
I pulled Raphael closer, and he obliged me. A couple left the tent as we got closer, giggling, pointing at matching black marks on each other’s arms. I pulled the tarp back and went inside. Raphael followed, while our guards set up posts at the entrance.
A fae male with coifed dark blue hair, dark skin, and matching eyes looked up from where he was bent over a notebook. “Ah, long nights, warm blood, all that. Looking for some ink?”
“For paper?” I asked.
He grinned, bright white teeth gleaming. He had slightly pointed canines, but nothing like a vampire’s fangs. “For the body.”
Rows of vials were set on temporary shelves around the tent, dark sparkling liquids of black and blue and gold and every other color. A smattering of half-finished sketched designs covered the notebook in front of the fae.
“Are they permanent?” Witches used disguise magic, but it all wore off after a time.
“I give a three-century guarantee. But it’ll hurt like an ogre,” the artist warned me. “For vamps, we have to cut the skin with cursed copper.”
Impulse clasped me. Three centuries? It seemed unlikely I’d live that long. But I’d survived everything that had been thrown at me in the first two decades. I kept surviving, even when it hadseemed impossible. I didn’t want to forget that. Didn’t want to forget there were choices I could make even if others—vampire, necromancer—had been foisted on me. “I’d like one.”
I slid a glance to Raphael, waiting for him to object. A pet was too permanent, but this isn’t?he’d say, and I’d retort,This only affects me. Or maybe,Masochism isn’t a virtue, and I’d remind him I wasn’t virtuous.
I’d just killed a man yesterday, after all.
“Your body is always yours, little viper,” he said softly. The fae likely heard, but he ignored it.
My body hadn’t felt like mine since I’d turned. Strange eyes looked back in the mirror; compulsions bound me to sleep and wake on cue. I couldn’t go out in the sun. I had to drink blood. Since this dark magic had activated in me, I couldn’t even trust my own thoughts, nor could I intentionally call on the magic that should’ve been right there. But itwasmine.
And it was time I reclaimed it, even in some small way.
“If you’re a young vamp, it’s going to hurt even more,” the fae warned.
I wasn’t sure if I just looked young or if he’d immediately pegged Raphael as my sire. “Some things are worth hurting for. Can I sketch what I want?”
The fae tore a page from his book and slid it over to me with piece of charcoal. The symbol I wanted etched in me was immediately obvious, just a few swipes across the page. When I handed it over to him, he hummed softly, appraising. “Where do you want it?”
“Here.” I flashed the underside of my wrist, pointing right over the pulse point.
He gestured to a folding seat by the table and began to ready the vials. He pulled out a tool, close to a pen but with a wheel that funneled in ink at the edge. He slid a copper blade slightly ahead of the pen point.
“I’m Bartleby,” he said as he stenciled the symbol to show me the shape. If he recognized the Old Runyk forsurvivor, he didn’t say. I introduced myself as well, and okayed the shape. “Ready?”
