endless rows of shelves, many of them covered by tiny bottles of perfume, followed by stacks of scented soap and sachets of dried flowers. On a small stool to the left sits a young lady with skin the color of porcelain, a matching parasol artfully arranged beside her flowered skirts. Her inner forearm is exposed so that a shopgirl can test the sillage of different fragrances. The veins in her wrists pulse in time with the beat of her heart.
If only she knew that, to a vampire like me, this is the most delectable perfume of all.
I look away and swallow. After nearly two months, the desire for blood still trumps almost everything else. It’s made me wary of hunting without the buffer of one of my siblings.
“Bonne nuit, gentlemen.” The shopgirl conducting the fragrance test stands. “How may I help you?”
When I step into the gaslight, recognition flares in her burnished face, a scowl forming around her mouth. “Sébastien Saint Germain,” she says, a groove etched between her delicately arched brows.
My eyes go wide. “Eloise?”
She moves toward us, her patterned skirts in hand. The intricate scarf around her head is styled in the same fashion as her mother’s, the points folded into triangles.
Eloise gestures with her chin, beckoning us toward the back of the shop. We slip through the curtains into darkness, and she pivots in place, her irritation plain. “So it’s true, then?” she asks. “You’ve become the very thing that killed your mother.”
Something glitters in Arjun’s hazel eyes. “Is that really necess—”
“Cállate, fey boy,” Eloise interrupts. “You’re in my home now.”
Irritation filters through my chest, but I force amusement to settle in its place. “I can see not much has changed since we were children, Ellie.”
“Don’t call me that.” She whirls back toward me. “You lost the chance to call me that when your family stopped associating with us ten years ago, despite all we’ve done for your kind throughout the decades.”
I take a step back, unsettled by her hostility. “I was under the impression my kind would be welcomed here tonight. If that is not the case, then—”
“I have no issues with your kind. My quarrel is with you alone. Just because my mother welcomes you does not mean I am pleased to see your ridiculous face.” Disgust curls Eloise’s upper lip.
“You despise the sight of me that much?”
“Claro, though you’re even more beautiful now than you were as a child. It’s frankly disgusting. No man should have eyelashes like that. It’s obscene.”
Arjun laughs, and Eloise aims her ire at him. “You should be ashamed,” she says, crossing her arms. “Are you not of the Sylvan Vale? What are you doing working in service to a Saint Germain?”
The ethereal blanches at her accusation. It is rare to see unchecked emotion on Arjun’s face. “I like his style,” he says.
“Meaning he pays well. And I suppose—”
“Eloise,” another voice emanates from the staircase near the far corner of the poorly lit space. “Es suficiente.”
“Sí, mamá,” Eloise replies without turning around.
Valeria Henri glides closer, her right hand brushing across her daughter’s shoulder in a soothing gesture. She smells of fresh-cut herbs and vegetables, her dark skin luminous in the dim light. “After so many years, it’s good to see you, Sébas.”
Only Valeria and my mother ever called me Sébas. It’s like a blow to the chest to hear it.
With a smirk, Valeria glances at her daughter. “And rest assured that a part of Eloise is pleased to see you, too.”
Eloise harrumphs.
“You have the look of your father even more than you did when you were a boy,” Valeria says. Then she glances toward Arjun. “And who is your friend?” Her chestnut eyes narrow in consideration. “A halfling of the Vale? Muy interesante.”
Arjun straightens. “Well, I would characterize our association as more of a—”
“Yes,” I interrupt. “He is my friend.”
Valeria nods. “Hold your friends close,” she says, “for you never know when they might be taken from you, as your mother was from me.” Her voice trails off, lost in memory. “Sígueme.” She turns toward the stairs and gestures for us to follow her. With a scalding glare, Eloise marches to the front of the shop to finish helping her customer select a fragrance.
On the second floor of the building is a room I have not seen in ten years. The kitchen in the center of the open space has not changed much since then. Sprigs of thyme, rosemary, lavender, and oregano hang above a long wooden table marred by