They slipped into silence again for a moment until Alaric nudged her with a grin and lifted a brow.
“So… are you ever going to tell me what’s happening with you and Kaldrek?”
Evelyne tensed, her smile fading as a frown tugged at her lips. Honestly? She had no idea how to answer that.
“I…” she began, but the words slipped away as her eyes caught on something. Tucked between two taller stone buildings was a shop with a faded sign, its windows framed by flickering lanterns and bundles of dried herbs. It held a feeling of age, something timeless and quietly mysterious. It reminded her faintly of Charise’s shop back in Velenshire, like a place that felt touched by something beyond the ordinary. Evelyne was already moving toward it before Alaric could ask what had caught her attention.
Inside, the air was even warmer and carried the scent of cinnamon. There was something about the space that felt strangely alive. Like Relics and Refinements, it was cluttered, but in a way that felt intentional. Charms of bone and glass hung from the wooden beams, gently swaying despite the still air.
At the center of the room sat a large circular table covered in scattered tarot cards, stones carved with runes, and an assortment of candles that had long since burned down to their wicks. A low-burning flame flickered beneath a small iron cauldron, releasing wisps of scented smoke that curled toward the ceiling. It felt like a place of secrets.
Behind the worn wooden counter stood a woman, younger than Evelyne had expected. Her dark curls were loosely pinned back, a few wayward strands softly outlining her striking features. Her rich brown skin glowed softly in the dim light, and her deep brown eyes studied them with delight.
She smiled. “Welcome,” she said softly. “I wondered when you’d walk through my door.”
Evelyne stiffened. “You… expected us?”
The woman inclined her head slightly as though weighing her words. “I heard whispers of two humans traveling with the Ironwolf pack. So, in a way, I expected you.”
She stepped forward, her fingers lightly grazing the tabletop, moving a few scattered tarot cards aside as she studied Evelyne. For a brief moment, Evelyne had the strangest feeling that this woman could already see something about her that she did not yet know herself.
Without warning, the woman gasped.
Alaric’s hand went straight to the dagger at his belt. “What?”
The woman’s eyes flashed to Evelyne. “What do you have on you?”
Evelyne blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I can feel it.” Her expression changed, and her fingers twitched like she was reaching for something just out of sight. “You’re carrying something. Something that doesn’t want to be found.”
Evelyne glanced at Alaric, and he was the first to speak. “How… What are you?”
“A witch, of course. Did my shop not give it away?” She raised both eyebrows, seeming genuinely surprised they hadn’t figured it out.
“There are witches outside of Velenshire?” Evelyne asked, her voice edged with disbelief.
The woman laughed lightly. “Oh, dear. Witches exist all over these lands. We are not confined to one place.” She motioned around the shop with a small smile. “My name is Selene. I’m part of the Cinder Coven, one of the founding families of this town.” She nodded toward Evelyne’s bag. “Open it.”
Evelyne hesitated, then slowly unfastened the clasp and reached inside. Her fingers brushed something familiar, and she pulled it free. The book.The Lantern’s Keeper.
The moment it touched the counter, Selene’s expression shifted. There was a flicker of shock, maybe even recognition. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Where did you get a Hallowell book?”
What?Evelyne’s pulse quickened. She opened the book with trembling fingers, turning to the final page. And there it was, written in elegant, slanted script: the author’s signature.
Vespera Hallowell.
Was this woman an ancestor of Charise Hallowell? Could she be the great-grandmother Charise had mentioned, the one who had performed the Great Rite? If that were true, then everything was connected. But how had this book, this piece of history, ended up in Evelyne’s hands?
She recalled that night in Caltheris when she and Aurelia had gone shopping for the ball. The night Lord Bavrick—
No. She forced that thought away and focused instead on the old bookseller. He had chosen the book himself, placing it in her hands and saying it would be helpful for her brother. Evelyne had thought it strange then, how confident the man had been that it was the perfect gift. But now, she wondered if there had been more to him than he let on. Could the bookseller have been a witch? Or whatever they called men who practiced magic. Could men even be witches?
She drew in a sharp breath. “An older gentleman gave me this book. He owned a bookshop in Caltheris, in the southern lands.”
Needing to steady herself, she walked over to the circular table at the center of the room and sank into a chair. Her thoughts felt murky and tangled. Thankfully, Selene and Alaric followed.
