“There are… a few ways to have the mark removed,” Azalie began, her voice steady though her heart raced. “One way would be to convince the owner of the sigil to remove it.” She saw his face fall, the glimmer of hope fading. It was an unlikely scenario. “Another way to void it…” she continued slowly, “is to transfer its ownership to someone else… I think. It’s a theory, anyway.”

He looked at her, anger and desperation mingling in his eyes, his voice breaking as he whispered, “You think? Who could I possibly ask that of?” He gasped, the frustration turning into a hacking cough that rattled through him. She laid a gentle hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles as the coughing fit subsided, feeling useless against the weight of his suffering.

“The mark is like a contract,” she explained softly once he’d caught his breath. “In theory it is simple, all it would take is another Otherworlder’s signature on the mark. It’s only a tracking mark, and it’s inactive. The one who placed it wouldn’t even know.” She hoped her words might bring some comfort, though she saw the doubt and exhaustion settling into his gaze.

“And who would be willing to take that risk, and by nightfall?” he murmured, sinking back into his chair with a defeated sigh. “What’s the point? Knowing all this now… it’s too late. My family would never believe me. They’d think I was lying… They always do.”

Azalie hesitated, then spoke. “I could try to talk to them,” she offered. “You might not know of me, but I’m sure they’d recognize my family’s name. They’ve at least heard of Lord Molch.”

A bitter laugh escaped him, his eyes darkening. “You don’t know my family, and I hardly do myself,” he replied, his tone resigned. “But I do know they hate demons and their honeyed words. To them, I am a curse, a burden to be rid of. If they’re willing to kill me, they may do the same to you.”

A sharp frown tugged at her lips. “If that’s the case, then why even speak to me now? Why invite me in, even offer me a seat?” She let her words hang, waiting for him to respond. “The last time I saw you, you looked petrified with fear.”

He looked away, silent.

“You just said you didn’t want to die,” she pressed, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Yet you speak now as though it doesn’t matter anymore. Is that really what you want—to just give up?”

“Of course not,” he said piteously. “But what other choices do I have?”

The words slipped from her lips before she could even think them through. “Well, you could ask me. I’ll do it for you.” 

He stared at her, disbelief etched into his pale face. “You would… do that for me?” His voice trembled.

The sheer impulse of her offer left her reeling. She couldn’t believe her own ears, the nonsense she was speaking of. The sun must have given me heatstroke and scrambled my mind, she thought. But something deep within her, a voice she could hardly ignore, whispered, No, this is right. ‘He’ would have wanted me to help.

“Lucius,” she said softly, feeling the weight of her decision settle within her. “Will you allow me to help you?”

His ocean eyes met hers, raw and searching. He swallowed, one hand clutching at his chest as though to steady himself. “It’s… impossible,” he murmured, his eyes falling away again. “Even if I agreed, there’s no time. My family. . . the ritual is tonight. That’s why I’m here.” He gestured to the cramped room they were in. “Every full moon, they perform a binding ceremony. I’m left here, like this, while they ‘prepare.’” His hand moved to the shawl wrapped tightly around him, drawing it close with shaking fingers. “Tonight is a blue moon… They’ve waited years for this opportunity to strip my magick away. Besides—,” he added weakly, “It’s not like I can run away. I’ve tried on several occasions… and failed… every time.” He coughed into his handkerchief again, cutting off his words.

She studied him, heart twisting. He looked utterly broken. Inside and out. He was so fragile, his spirit worn to a threadbare hope. Console him, her inner voice said, but no words rose to her lips.

She opened her mouth, then closed it, her thoughts tumbling in a chaotic storm. What am I getting myself into? She’d come to investigate a strange power surge, hoping to find a lead for the blood issue plaguing her kind. But instead, it’s only a cruel warlock family trying to kill their own. She was no closer to solving the blood case than when she snuck out and now has managed to dig her own grave, drawn in by the plight of a broken warlock boy. Why? Why am I doing this? She questioned herself. 

She clenched her fists, feeling the chill of dread settling over her skin as she realized just how deeply involved she’d become. Night was quickly approaching, and the residents would be waking soon. They would notice her absence. This was far from the first time she’d wandered without permission, but she’d never risked it in daylight, and certainly not after an attack on their lives. The thought sent a terrified chill down her spine. 

But Lucius. . . Her eyes drifted to him, frail and trembling, a shadow of hope still clinging to his gaze as though waiting for her response. He needs help, she reminded herself, the urgency mingling with a pang of fear. ‘He’ would have helped him. 

Time was running out. If Lucius’s sickness was in fact tied to the binding spells, there was little she could do. She knew that unbinding him would trigger the tracker’s mark, drawing whoever held his contract straight to him. Her only choice, if she even dared, would be to remove the mark first. Even changing the ownership would take time, knowledge, and resources she didn’t have.

And yet, she could not deny the pull within her, urging her to find a way.

                                                                                                    Lucius

She was mumbling to herself. Lucius watched in a strange, almost stunned fascination, his gaze flicking over her face each time she murmured. This girl—this strange creature who had once terrified him—seemed not so strange anymore. With her silver-moonlight hair, fair, milky complexion, and the odd gleam of her cat-like, golden eyes, she looked like a beautiful porcelain doll. Lucius knew he should look away, but he couldn’t. A strange warmth spread through him, and for the first time in ages, he felt… drawn to someone.

It was a foolish feeling. But if these were truly his last moments on earth, he’d regret not meeting her sooner. He wanted to apologize for every sharp word, for having been so callus toward her. How could he have asked for her help? He didn’t deserve it. She owed him nothing. But… maybe she could grant him just one last mercy.

Closing his eyes, he felt a cool stream of tears slip down his cheeks. It’s been so long since he’d cried; he had almost forgotten that he could. I don’t want to die. The words echoed in his mind, words he’d never allowed himself to say aloud until now. Yet, no words had ever been truer. He’d known about this ceremony for a year. He’d told himself he could come to terms with his family’s decision, accepting his death as a small act for the greater good of the family. His aunt had always told him that his death would free them from their curse, and he had almost believed her. Almost.

He didn’t want to be thrown to the mercy of his family. They had no mercy. He didn’t even know if this girl would give him mercy. The doubt lingered, growing. He thought of her again, sitting there, radiant as moonlight beams, so poised yet wild. He wished he could be strong, both in body and in spirit. He wished he could do more than cling to life with the desperation of a man who knew his time was slipping. The truth was, he wasn’t strong like her—not even close. His body was weak; his spirit was weaker. But he didn’t want to die.

Not yet. Not like this.

Moving without thought, Lucius rose from the chair and sank to his knees beside Azalie, folding his arms around her in his weak embrace. The impropriety of his actions struck him at once—no gentleman would presume such liberties with a lady. He knew that as well as he knew he should seek her pardon, that he should exercise his restraint. And yet, he hadn’t the strength, his decorum dissolved beneath his wearied need for solace.

She felt so delicate within his arms, her form slight and cool as though touched by the midnight frost. Her fragility was but a trick of the eye. He sensed a quiet resolve under that porcelain exterior—a fearlessness he could scarcely fathom. He marveled at her, envious of a spirit that could be so bold, so assured, where his own trembled and faltered.

He felt her arms around him, her touch gentle but certain. Warmth seeped through the cold ache in his bones. How long had it been since he’d held someone—or been held himself? He felt the tightness in his chest ease, just for a moment. Was this what it’s like to take a fancy to a woman? How ironic that he’d found such a woman on his death day.

“Lucius, are you all right?” Her voice broke through the stillness, as she stroked his back gently, in tender care.

He pulled away, embarrassed, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. “I do beg your pardon.” His voice was thick. “I didn’t mean to… to touch you like that. My manners seem to have…” He paused, fumbling for words. “Lapsed.”

She laughed softly, a sound like wind chimes, light and unexpected.

But suddenly, a surge of energy jolted through the room, a raw pulse that burned as it rippled through his skin and left him gasping. He fell back, his vision blurring with pain, doubling over as his body spasmed in reaction to his family’s powerful magick. He felt her hand reach for him, her grip steady and firm. They’re coming, he realized, dread curling around him.

“Luci—”

“Azalie,” Lucius cried out, desperation spilling from him as he clutched her hand. Her golden eyes locked on his, intense, pulling him back from the edge of panic. “Will you help me escape?” he pleaded, his voice raw with fear. “I’ve never been out on the streets before, other than to come to this location, and it has always been at night.  I… I don’t know my way around. Please, Azalie, help me.” He felt his face flush, heard the pleading tone in his voice, and didn’t care. “I don’t care where you take me, and I know I’m weak, but I’ll do my best to keep up—I promise. I—”

Her gaze softened, and she placed a finger to his lips, silencing him. “Do you need anything special to take with you?” she asked, her voice calm, measured, as if readying herself for battle.

“No,” he murmured, dazed. “Only this.” He tightened his grip on the shawl, pulling it closer around his shoulders. His mother’s shawl was all he had left of her—his last connection to any hint of gentleness in his life. Everything else of significance had been lost long ago.

                                                                                            Azalie

Azalie stood, testing her weight. Her skin was nearly healed, though a dull ache lingered, a sharp, insistent reminder that she was still low on energy, and needed to feed, but she forced it aside. Lucius’s life depended on her now. She helped him to his feet, reminded again how tall he stood beside her without her high-heeled boots. Striding over to the window, she threw it open, a wave of dread seized her noting the shadows pooling beneath the skyline. Dusk was slipping fast into night.

“If we’re to escape, we must do so now,” she said, striding over to the bed. She ripped the blanket off and thrusted it into his arms. “Wrap yourself up in this.”

“What?” he murmured, bewildered, but obeyed. “Why would I…”

“There’s only one place, your family or mine or whoever the mark owner is, won’t find you,” she interrupted. “A place hidden from everyone. But it’ll be cold.”

Hope flashed across his face, transforming his exhausted features. She would take him to her hideaway—a forgotten place where she, her brother, and their friend had once used as a secret base. A place that kept their most private thoughts. She doubted anyone had been there since.

Her heart clenched as she cupped his face, meeting his crystalline blue eyes with her steady golden gaze. “I’ll carry you there,” she murmured, voice low. “But I need you to relax, to stay utterly still. It’ll make this easier.” Power thrummed from her, lighting her eyes as her compulsion took hold.

Lucius’s face slackened, his eyes growing dazed as they rolled up. “Wh…what…” His words trailed off into a faint murmur as his body went limp.

She scooped him up in her arms, light like hollow-bones of a bird. “It’s all right,” she assured him softly, tucking the blanket snug around his thin frame. His head lolled then rested against her collar bone. A pang shot through her—was this truly wise? The right thing wasn’t always the best thing. Yet looking down at his wan face, she could no more leave him to his fate than she could abandon her own flesh and blood. There would be no turning back.

The chill of evening crept through the room, hinting at the night soon to come. Drawing a sharp breath, she tightened her hold, stepped to the window ledge, and jumped out into the twilight.