Page 34 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

She would tell Opalina and Lilibeth soon, when they had all the time in the world to talk about it.

For now, she forced a light shrug and an easy, practiced smile. “I have another plan.”

Lilibeth’s dark eyes rounded. “You do?”

“Uhm . . . somewhat.”

Her friends exchanged a look.

“That,” Opalina said slowly, “sounds like you don’t have a plan.”

Cassia pursed her lips. “Not in a fully constructed sense, no.”

“That’s not a plan, that’s a wish.”

“It’s . . . more like a bargain.”

Lilibeth gaped. “Aura Cassia! You better tell us what’s going on, now.”

“I will,” Cassia said quickly, already rising. “Later.”

Before her friends could press her further, she made a beeline for Mrs. Tilly’s table, grabbing her tea from the counter as she went. She slid into the seat across from the elderly woman and drained it in one go.

“Alright, Mrs. Tilly,” she said, setting the empty cup down. “Read my fortune, will you?”

Mrs. Tilly adjusted her glasses, peered inside, and gave a knowing hum. “You will meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger.”

Cassia snorted, shaking her head. Mrs. Tilly had given her the same fortune every week for the past . . . three or four years, at least.

“Chance would be a fine thing, Mrs. Tilly.”

At that precise moment, the front door swung open, sending a sharp gust of wind curling into the warmth of the bakery. The scent of damp earth, pine, and winter rain slipped through the threshold, mingling with the golden glow of hearth and spice.

Conversation stilled. Heads turned.

Cassia, half-expecting another customer in need of shelter from the rain, glanced toward the door—only to freeze. A trio of figures stood framed against the storm-lit sky, too striking to belong among the ordinary warmth of her bakery.

The first could have stepped from the pages of an old elf legend—all golden light and elegant composure. Long, silken hair framed sharp cheekbones and eyes of liquid silver-blue. He surveyed the bakery slowly, with the appreciation of someone visiting a place he’d long wanted to see.

Beside him stood a man who was anything but ethereal—massive, broad shouldered, forced to duck through the doorway. Dark brown waves were pushed back from a chiseled face, the shadow of a beard sharpening his features. Unlike Ark, he didn’t bother to hide what he was. Curved obsidian horns gleamed under the lantern light, proud and unrestrained.

Cassia barely had time to process them before the air shifted.

Because then, he stepped inside—Varil Arkenoth.

He crossed the threshold like a shadow slipping through an open door—silent, unhurried—yet the moment he did, the room belonged to him. Raindrops clung to the dark wool of his coat. His presence was nothing like the elf’s easy charm or the other demon’s sheer size. Ark was quieter than both of them combined, but heavier in a different way.

When their eyes met, Cassia’s breath stilled.

Everything else dimmed into the background. Because there, standing in her doorway, Arkenoth was watching her, his sharp gaze unreadable.

And suddenly, Mrs. Tilly’s words felt less like a fancy and more like something far more inevitable.

Beside her, the elderly woman hummed knowingly, sipping her tea. “Well. That was fast.”

Arkenoth’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Good day.”

Cassia shot to her feet, nearly knocking her cup over. She caught it at the last second, fingers gripping the porcelain.