Chapter 3 Chapter 2
The night of my twenty-fourth birthday arrived with balloons, cheap wine, and the overwhelming certainty that I was about to make a terrible mistake.
Luna had transformed our cramped apartment into something almost festive. String lights crisscrossed the ceiling, casting warm amber glows across peeling wallpaper. She'd pushed our secondhand furniture against the walls to create space for the handful of people she'd invited, most of whom I barely knew. Coworkers from her coffee shop job. A couple of her gym friends. People who smiled politely at me while I tried to remember their names and failed spectacularly.
"Stop looking like you're at a funeral," Luna whispered, pressing a plastic cup of wine into my hand. "It's your birthday. You're supposed to be having fun."
"This is my fun face," I said, but even I could hear how unconvincing it sounded.
She rolled her eyes and squeezed my arm before floating off to greet someone at the door. I took a long drink of the wine, which tasted like it cost exactly the seven dollars Luna had probably paid for it, and tried to look like I belonged at my own party.
The truth was, I felt like I was crawling out of my skin. All day, something had felt off. Wrong. Like the air was charged with electricity before a storm, that crackling tension that made your teeth ache. I'd felt restless at work, dropping things, unable to focus. Marcus had sent me home early, concern creasing his weathered face. Now here I was, surrounded by strangers in my own home, feeling like I was standing on the edge of a cliff in the dark.
"Seraphine, right?" A guy I didn't recognize appeared beside me, all styled hair and confident smile. One of Luna's gym friends, maybe. "Luna says you work at that occult shop in Wicker Park. That's cool. You into all that witchy stuff?"
If only he knew. "Something like that."
"I've always thought it was interesting," he continued, oblivious to my complete lack of enthusiasm. "Like, do you really believe in magic and all that?"
Before I could formulate a response that wouldn't reveal too much, the lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then steadied. No one else seemed to notice, too caught up in conversations and Luna's playlist. But I noticed. I always noticed now.
"Excuse me," I muttered, setting down my cup and heading for my bedroom. I needed a minute. Just one minute away from the noise and the people and the feeling that something was very, very wrong.
My room was dark, illuminated only by the streetlight filtering through my window. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, breathing slowly. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The techniques I'd learned from years of therapy appointments mandated by the foster system.
That's when I felt it. A surge of something hot and electric racing through my veins, starting in my chest and spreading outward like wildfire. I gasped, doubling over as my hands started to shake. The shadows in the corners of my room began to move, writhing and twisting like living things. The air grew thick, heavy, pressing down on me from all sides.
"No, no, no," I whispered, trying to breathe through whatever this was. "Not now. Please not now."
But the power building inside me didn't care about my timing. It rose and rose, a tidal wave I couldn't control, couldn't stop. The windows rattled in their frames. Books flew off my shelves. And the shadows, god, the shadows were everywhere, pouring from the corners like ink in water.
The clock on my nightstand flashed to midnight.
Twenty-four. I was officially twenty-four years old.
And then the window exploded inward in a shower of glass and freezing November air.
I screamed, throwing my arms up to protect my face as something massive crashed into my room. Not something. Someone. A man, if you could call him that, all dark hair and darker clothes, bleeding something that definitely wasn't red. Black. His blood was black, pooling beneath him as he struggled to his feet, those impossible eyes locking onto mine.
"Shadow Witch," he gasped, his voice rough with pain and something that sounded like relief. "Finally. Thank the dark gods, finally."
"What the hell?" I scrambled backward, my back hitting the wall. My door was blocked by this stranger, this bleeding man who'd just crashed through my window. "Who are you? What are you?"
He took a step toward me, and I saw his features more clearly in the dim light. Beautiful in a way that made my breath catch, all sharp cheekbones and full lips and eyes that glowed faintly amber. Not human. Definitely not human.
"My name is Azrael Morningstar," he said, reaching out a hand that I absolutely did not take. "And you're in danger. They're coming for you. We need to leave. Now."
"I'm not going anywhere with you, you psycho." I looked around frantically for something, anything to use as a weapon. My hands found a lamp, and I ripped it from the wall, brandishing it like a club. "Get out before I call the cops."
"There's no time to explain." He moved closer despite my makeshift weapon, and I could smell something on him. Smoke and metal and something else, something that made my newly awakened magic surge in response. "You're the last Shadow Witch. The prophecy said you'd awaken on your twenty-fourth birthday, and now they know it too. The vampires, the demons, everyone who's been hunting your bloodline for three hundred years. They felt your power wake up. They're coming."
"You're insane," I said, but my voice shook. Because part of me, some deep instinctive part, believed him. Believed the impossible words coming out of his impossible mouth.
"I'm a demon lord," Azrael said, as casually as someone might say they worked in accounting. "Prince of the Shadow Realm. And I've been searching for you for years. Your ancestor, Elara, she bound your power to protect you. But now it's awake, and you have no idea what you are or how to control it. If I don't get you out of here right now, you and everyone in this building will die."
The door to my bedroom burst open. Luna stood there, eyes wide with panic. "Sera, what was that crash? Are you okay?"
But before I could answer, before I could tell her to run or explain anything, the front door of our apartment exploded off its hinges. The music cut off abruptly. Someone screamed. And through the doorway strode a man who made Azrael look like a boy scout.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and eyes that caught the light like a cat's. He wore all black, moved with predatory grace, and when he smiled, I saw fangs. Actual fangs. Behind him, more figures poured into my apartment. Men and women in tactical gear, all with those same reflective eyes.
"Seraphine Blackwood," the man said, his voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. "By order of Queen Thalia Crane of the Nightfall Court, you are to come with us. Peacefully, if possible."
"And if I refuse?" I heard myself ask, the lamp still clutched in my shaking hands.
His smile widened. "Then we take you by force."
Azrael moved between me and the vampires, his body tense despite his injuries. "She's under my protection, bloodsucker. Tell Thalia she can't have her."
"Your protection means nothing here, demon." The vampire's eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. "The girl comes with us."
Power surged inside me again, wild and untamed, responding to the threat. The shadows in the room exploded outward, a blast of darkness that threw everyone back. Vampires. Azrael. Luna, who hit the wall with a sickening thud. I heard screams from the living room, felt the entire building shake with the force of what I'd just done.
And I had no idea how to make it stop.