Gwyneira Grimheart hadn’t slept for the past two nights, only slipping in a quick cat nap at sunrise while she burned the midnight oil with her latest client’s case.  Grave robbery.  Literally.  Someone had stolen the Blackthorn family’s dead grandfather, and they demanded Hallowgate Cemetery be held accountable. 

Theft of the dead was uncommon but not unheard of. Many novice witches and wizards practiced illegal necromancy magic on those poor resting souls. However, they usually sent them right back to their graves, but someone had resurrected old Merlin Blackthorn and took him with them. Or unleashed him only Goddesses knows where. 

Thankfully, it was not her job to find Merlin Blackthorn.  The bat cops would certainly have a grand ole time with that, if they ever did locate him. 

No lucid bloodsucker would desire the body because they always drained the blood before burial, but it was very possible someone sold him on the black market for parts. Gwyneira shivered to imagine the poor old man’s body desecrated and butchered like a slab of meat for purchase. 

At the very least, Hallowgate Cemetery would give the family a nice settlement for the loss of grandpa Blackthorn and the emotional distress they had caused.  Gwyneira planned to require they enchant the graveyard with stronger wards to prevent anything like that from happening again.  Keeping an overnight guard posted somewhere on site would be recommended as well. 

They couldn’t risk a horde of the undead sweeping across their lands like Marusticia saw last year.  Despite being so far away, the new reports from overseas had Gwyneira and nearly every vampire in the country on high alert those months.  She remembered how they had even enacted a morning lockdown in their country, arresting any fool who dared disobey their curfew.  

It was why Gwyneira still operated at night hours.  Nobody wanted to be out when the sun rose anymore, and most places simply altered their hours to fit the country’s curfew.  

They might as well have all turned into nocturnal creatures.  

The unforgiving winds lashed outside so violently as if it desired to break down her door. Each gust slammed against the wood and rattled the firm’s foundation. Silver wisps of magic flickered and danced around the edges of the door frame, courtesy of the intricate ward markers she’d carved deep into the wood. She could never afford to be too cautious in her line of work.  

Candlelights flickered around her desk as she finished up with her tedious paperwork, double checking to ensure she had everything in order for court tomorrow night with the Blackthorn family.  She wrapped a soft quilt around herself to fend off the chills from the brewing snow storm, tracing her fingers along the woven designs of woodland animals her dad had sewn for her as a young girl. 

A fluffy black cat leaped up on her desk with a loud “mrrrow” and nudged at her chest until she plopped the fuzzball in her lap.  When that didn’t satisfy her familiar, she reached into her upper left side drawer and plucked out some salmon-flavored treats for her.

Nightshade purred in content after gobbling down her treats, and Gwyneira gave her a few head scratches. She was just about to mosey over to her coffee pot for a delicious, soul-warming brew when a series of knocks came at the door. Gwyneira froze in her swivel chair.  

No clients were expected.  It could possibly be an unscheduled walk-in, but those were more rare than a black mirror that revealed one’s future.

For a moment, she believed the wind to be at fault.  Until the knocks came again, far louder and frantic as Nightshade leaped off her desk, hissing in the direction of her locked front door.  Each pounding against the wood vibrated deep through her chest, as if the person were hammering into her heart.  

Gwyneira jumped to her feet, abandoning her cozy blanket and snatching up her wand in case she needed to hex someone.  Nobody had ever dared to break inside her firm’s office before, but there was always a first for everything.  

She crept toward her front door with quiet mouse-like steps, clearing her throat to ask the dreaded question she wasn’t sure if she truly wanted an answer to.  “Who’s there?”

Silence.  Then, a raspy masculine voice uttered, “I need a lawyer.  Please.”