Page 2 of Until the Heart Stops
It was my responsibility to run our shop and, though I worked from sunset to sunrise—and even long after—it never seemed to quite be enough. And now, as flames licked the roof of Monsieur Dubois’ establishment, my blood den was the only one that remained from the original ten within our city. There were others within the Souzterain, two from my last count, who had started business within the last few years. But rumors abounded that the owners lived within the pocket of the Covenant. Monsieur Hauet, the newest blood den owner, especially fit the bill.
After a few long minutes, when I was sure the soldiers were truly gone, I slipped from between the curtains.
“Stay behind,” I murmured to the others.
Adrienne and Liam, goddess bless them, did not move. Just as I reached the flames, so did the other shop owners. Madame Cora, the owner of the biggest apothecary in the Souzterain, nodded at me, her long silver braid bobbing on her chest while she tugged a cork out from a large white phial with her teeth.
“Here, around the perimeter,” she instructed, pressing the phial into my hands before turning to Monsieur Fontenot, one of the talisman dealers, and encouraging him to do the same.
I poured the liquid across the cobblestones, wincing at the roaring flames. But as the liquid spread, the heat died, contained within its own inferno. Once I’d done my corner, I returned to Cora, handing her the empty glass. Slowly, we lowered to our knees, pressing our foreheads to the scorched stones while the last of the flames died out. Bowing to death, to Keryes, and honoring those who would now wait for us in the beyond.
My throat burned not only from the smoke as I slowly pushed back to my feet. I could not help but remember my own mother’s pyre, though it had been on the other side of the ramparts near the sea and with the proper funerary rites. A year. How could it have felt like a blink and a lifetime, yet have only been a year?
“Someone should alert the priestesses,” I rasped, wiping my cheeks.
Monsieur Fontenot cleared his throat. “I will do it.”
There were other murmurs of agreement and thanks. I turned away, only for a slim hand to catch mine.
“May the goddess protect you and yours,” Cora whispered.
I nodded. “And you and yours.”
With heavy feet I trudged back to the counter where I spent my nights on the stool my mother had perched onbefore me, and her mother before her. Once it had been opulent. Now, however, the gold had flaked away, the dark red paint chipped and peeling at the edges. But I still greeted each customer as my mother had before me, and her mother had, generations upon generations.
“Serang lan nauth.”
Blood and earth. An ancient greeting in the old language completed with a tap of three fingertips to my lips. Most of my patrons remembered my however-many-great-grandmères ago when she’d first opened the stall on the river. Sometimes they would speak of the magic she’d imbued into the doorway that stood behind me, covered with a thick red velvet curtain.
I paused as I rounded the counter, eyeing the small silver bag resting atop the ancient ledger I kept, far finer than anything I owned.
As I’d said—the first gift arrived the day after solstice.
A hiss drew my attention up. Eamon, one of our most loyal patrons, stood a few paces away, staring at the burned remains of Monsieur Dubois’ blood den.
“Merciful goddess,” he breathed, turning to me with wide eyes. “Are you all right? Is Adrienne?—”
I raised a hand to stop him. “She is fine and so am I.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. Though he was thousands of years old, the smooth expanse of Eamon’s golden-brown brow always made me think he’d been closer to my age of early thirties when he’d been sired. He had been the first to follow the shop into the alley and was one of the only reasons I kept a roof over my head. He paid an exorbitant amount of money for Adrienne to be his exclusive giver and to spend most nights in her arms.
Eamon murmured something under his breath in Kysol, his native tongue, that sounded like a prayer to the goddess before he brushed his long hair back from his faceand covered my hand with his. “If there is anything you need, Lilith, all you must do is ask.”
I patted his hand. “Thank you. She’s ready for you now, if you are.”
He nodded while I rose from my stool. I turned my head away from the smoking remains of the blood den and my eye caught again on the silver bag. “Wait—is this yours?”
“No, it is not,” he answered.
I frowned, touching the bag carefully as if it might bite. “It was not here before…”
He took a step closer, picking it up from the counter and weighing it in his hand. A small smile pulled up the corners of his mouth. “Then perhaps it is a gift and you should open it.”
I rolled my lips together and gestured to him. “You open it.”
His laugh was warm, almost musical the way many immortals sounded. Gently, he placed the bag onto the counter to tug off his cream gloves. “Are you frightened of a gift, Lilith?”
“I am wary of a parcel that appears out of nowhere and has no note or reason.”
