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Then, just as quickly as she’d appeared, she was gone.

Pandora and Lucy made their way back outside, walking until they found a semi-private patch of grass.

Pandora slipped out of her shoes and gave the piece of paper to Lucy to hold out for her to read.

“Oh, shoot. We don’t have a knife …” Lucy said, looking around like she might find one lying around.

“It’s fine,” Pandora said, uncapping the vial, then lifting her wrist and using one of her fangs to break her skin.

“Oh, gross. I mean … handy,” Lucy said, wincing as the blood flowed. “All right, as you drip, say the words.”

“Through my veins, a shield is cast.

“Your mind’s your own, your will holdfast.

“No glamour shall cloud, no spell ensnare

“My blood’s protection is yours to wear.”

“So mote it be,” Lucy said as the last drop filled the vial.

“OK.” Pandora reached for the cap. “But she said we would know it worked. Nothing … Oh.” She gasped as the cap clicked on, then the entire pendant heated to the point of burning as a light seemed to explode from it.

Then, nothing.

The light was gone, the pendant cool to the touch.

“Well, then,” Lucy said, nodding. “Insane amount of money well spent.”

Pandora was apt to agree.

“Now you just need to text Victor and ask if you can pop over and give it to him,” Lucy said as she fished in her bag for a spare tissue to clean up the outside of the pendant with.

Pandora reached for her mobile to shoot him a text while her mind raced.

She was going to give a spelled pendant full of her own blood to someone who knew more about supernatural things than the average human.

What could possibly go wrong?

22

Victor lived just a few streets away from UCL. Lucy’s flat was in the opposite direction, so she and Pandora parted ways at the shop. Pandora walked the rest of the way alone, the cool wind kicking her hair up, and she tried not to fret over the tangles it had likely twisted itself into as she made it to the block of rooms that Victor shared with a few mates.

“Sounds worse than it is,” he said as he met her outside the grey-brick building. “Mike has a girlfriend, so he’s over her place more often than not. Grant works two jobs on top of uni. Tate doesn’t go to uni and he currently sleeps on the couch in the living room. But since Mike, Grant, and I all have our own rooms, it doesn’t bother us much.”

“I have, like, a dozen people at my house right now, so I can’t speak,” Pandora said with a shrug.

“Ignore Tate if he says anything dense,” Victor said as he led Pandora up toward his door. “He can be a bit of a git. But he gets all the leftover food at the restaurant he works at, which means we basically don’t spend anything on food, so we put up with his crap.”

With that, Victor led Pandora into his living room. A.k.a. Tate’s bedroom. It wasn’t a large space and it was dominated by a blue couch covered in pillows, a sheet, and a duvet. As well as its occupant, Tate.

He was average height and build, with wavy, messy blond hair that had an indentation from his headphones.

He was sitting on the edge of the sofa in boxers, a rumpled white tee, and socks with holes in both big toes. A bowl of sugary cereal was in his hands as he watched the rugby game on the telly.

“Tate, Pandora. Pandora, Tate,” Victor said as he closed and locked the door.

“Right. The fiancée we never heard about until, like, two weeks ago.”