The Wolfes didn’t align themselves with just anyone. And Thorne least of all. If she’d chosen to plant her flag—however subtly—in Miss Laurent’s crumbling bar, then it meant one of two things: She was bored. Or she saw potential.
Both were dangerous.
“Perhaps she’s taken a shine to Miss Laurent,” I said aloud, keeping my tone light. I could see why—I certainly had, after all.
“Precisely,” Seraphina murmured. “And while Miss Laurent may be under-funded and underestimated, she is not unintelligent. She’ll accept the help. Especially if it comes with wealth and connections. The Wolfes have money to burn and a vote on the council. Two things Miss Laurent currently lacks.”
I studied my mother closely. She didn’t often concern herself with nobodies. She reveled in power and politics. So, why then was she concerning herself with a disgraced heiress?
“Why are you so eager to see Miss Laurent run out of town?” I asked. “What is it about all this that has you pacing the marble?”
My mother hesitated for the briefest moment, as though deciding how much to tell me.
“I knew her mother,” she said at last. “We came up together in New Orleans before I moved here. Eleanor was all charm and soft smiles—or so she’d have us believe.” Seraphina’s voice hardened. “But underneath all that perfume and forced kindness was a creature who knew exactly where to sink her teeth.” She leaned back against the chair. “I trusted her. Once.”
The silence stretched.
Then, a slight curve of her lips—more grimace than smile. “But a snake’s true nature always shines through. Miss Laurent may play the woe is me disgraced heiress card and try to win sympathy from our innocent, unsuspecting townspeople, but I know better. I know the traitorous vixen who raised her.”
My mother finally took a sip of her drink. “So, forgive me if I don’t buy her tragic heiress act, Lucien. I know exactly what Eleanor is. And mothers always shape their daughters in their image. Eleanor would never raise a victim. She would raise a reflection of herself. I won’t have their kind slithering through this town. She’ll bite. She’ll poison. She’ll suffocate everything she touches. Just like her mother did.”
Seraphina set her glass down on my desk. “I suggest you go home, change out of that dreadful shirt you’re wearing, and get some rest. Because this is one fight I refuse to lose.” She rose from the chair and stared at me, her gaze piercing. “Do what you do best, Lucien.”
My mother didn’t wait for my response. Instead, she turned and swept out of my office, her heels clicking in perfect rhythm.
Silence followed. But her parting words echoed in my head.
Do what you do best.
I knew what she meant. She wanted me to manipulate and ruin Isadora until she had nothing left. But as I sat there, staring at the glass of blood-scotch I no longer had the appetite for, I realized I didn’t want to do what I did best.
I didn’t want to hurt Isadora.
No matter how my mother felt about it.
Chapter
Eight
ISADORA
New Orleans had a vibe, but Eternity Falls was all charm. The sort that came from familiarity, from shared glances across enchanted bakeries, and neighbors who actually waved.
While walking to the Moonlit café for lunch—which Thorne had insisted we do, because “it’s not worth it unless we earn it with cardio”—we’d passed at least six people she knew by name. Two had waved. One had offered Thorne half a sandwich and a bottle of glowing lemonade “for the walk.” The last one had warned us about a fairy infestation in the nearby bookshop with all the calm of someone discussing the weather.
Thorne had introduced me to all of them, each with a friendliness that made my head spin. And each had welcomed me with a pleasant smile and friendly eyes. No judgment, no whispers of the scandal currently surrounding my name. One vampire I’d met had taken my hand in hers, patted it, and told me a cheating mate was a dead mate. Her words had rendered me a bit speechless—unheard of, I know—but I’d genuinely thanked her for her kind words before continuing on to the café with Thorne.
“I’m beginning to think you know everyone,” I said as I settled into a chair on the café’s patio.
“I do,” Thorne teased. “Stick with me, baby, and I’ll show you the world.”
I snorted a laugh.
She slid a menu toward me, one that physically shimmered when I touched it. New Orleans certainly hadn’t had that. Nor the teacups that literally floated beside us, lazily spinning mid-air, emitting steam clouds that looked like actual cats.
“Right,” I murmured in fascination as one puff curled into a smug little feline that stretched out its limbs before vanishing into mist. “That’s not even remotely normal.”
“Normal’s a setting on a washing machine,” Thorne said as she reached for a pastry floating on a nearby serving tray. “Besides, why settle for normal when you can enjoy the abnormal?”
