The gentle creak of the carriage halt pulled Elowen from her thoughts. Ewan Blair stepped down from the driver's bench, brushing invisible dust off his tailored coat. "Here we are." He said, offering his hand.
Elowen took it, descending with cautious grace.
"I hope your evening wasn't rough." His voice carried the polite gentleness only men like Ewan could pull off without sounding patronizing.
"It was… manageable," she said, casting a weary glance at her front door.
"I've been meaning to tell you," Ewan continued, eyes lingering on her a moment longer than necessary, "have you considered clerking? You're smart, quick with words… theatre isn't the only path."
Elowen arched a brow. "Clerking?"
"Something at the town registry, perhaps. Or the mayor's office. You're wasted playing a pillar."
She laughed lightly. "I was hoping to be Juliet, not… architecture."
He smiled. "Well, Juliet never had your spine." He tipped his hat. "Goodnight, Elowen. Don't give up."
As he turned and climbed back to his carriage, a voice called from across the street.
"Elowen!"
"Evening, Mrs. Abena," she greeted, adjusting her skirt.
The older woman, with her layered headwrap and bundle of vegetables, narrowed her eyes with mock disapproval. "Another late night at the theatre?"
Elowen gave a noncommittal shrug.
Mrs. Abena sniffed. "You know what I always say- too much ambition gives wrinkles. You should marry and leave the job hunting to those without beauty."
Elowen snorted. "Tell that to the governesses your age, earning tenfold what a married trader does."
Abena burst into laughter. "Sharp tongue! Fine, fine. I'll leave you to your hustle."
They parted ways at the small gate. Inside, the scent of spiced yam and lemon soap welcomed her. Her mother, Marianne, arms damp with laundry water, embraced her.
"Welcome home, flower. How was work today?"
Elowen opened her mouth, prepared to dramatize the idiocy of playing a literal prop, when their house help entered- eyes wide, face pale.
"You look like a ghost just paid a visit," Marianne remarked.
Maeryn hesitated, voice low. "I went… downtown to the base… got some salts… seems the ship markets are corrupted or… it's just the downtown traders that…"
Marianne's hands froze mid-wring. "downtown base?"
She nodded. "Then I overheard some women whispering about corrupted Blackstone. I think it has something to do with why we had to use so much of it the other night."
Elowen's stomach twisted.
Julian, hidden in the trees like a shadow, observed from the dark.
Corrupted Blackstones? Why would they need that? Only sorcerers and disguised sea creatures ever dealt with it. And yet… their pulses quickened. Their fear was real. Recognition, too. They're not amateurs.
His eyes gleamed in the dark. So, wild flower hides more than a sharp tongue… She's also a secret wrapped in thorns.
Back inside, Marianne brushed it off with a weary sigh. "Well, Elowen, do try to stay off burning lids. The world is cursed enough."
Dinner was simple, made cheerful by a letter from Elowen's brother with a few coins tucked inside. They laughed, gossiped, and ignored the weight of what loomed.
Meanwhile, the Daredevil reappeared on the mansion's front steps.
"Someone's been quite busy," Seraphine drawled from the corridor.
Julian stepped past her with a lazy glance. "Someone's turned jobless, I suppose."
She rolled her eyes. "There's a performance next week at the Opera House. Perhaps that will inspire you."
He didn't look back. "Now turning bored with dusty gowns and dreadful singers?"
"At least I don't suck playthings dry," she snipped.
Julian paused mid- step, his gaze sharp as broken glass. "Do stay out of my affairs, Seraphine. Prying doesn't suit your pale complexion."
"But, my cursed soul cannot help the curiosity. Brother Dearest." She tainted as he walked without turning.
"Fine, I'll try." She said.
Her laugh trailed behind him as he dismissed her with a wave. "Do me the honor of excusing me. I have… pressing matters to attend to."
He passed through the mansion's echoing halls and into his study. The moment the heavy doors closed behind him, the calm mask dropped. He crossed to an antique trunk, unlocking it with a whispered incantation. Inside, wrapped in velvet and iron- lined pages, was an old volume:
Creatures of the Sea.
A volume not found in libraries, written by a sea creature itself but resides among mankind. Or rather- vampire kind.
Dust clung to the leather cover. Julian opened it, flipping through illustrations of scaled beings, rituals of glamours, the anatomy of mermaids… and Blackstones- rare, volatile, and especially dangerous in human hands.
"They were speaking of them like professionals…" he muttered.
He traced a delicate diagram of sea- witch's heart. So…my wildflower walks among secrets even her sharp tongue can't hide. Let's see how long before she pricks me with thorns.
Outside, the rain began.
But inside, a storm was just beginning.