I stared at the world waiting beyond the gate, but I couldn’t process it. Turning, I looked back at the street. Graffiti blighted a building, flyers cluttered a nearby streetlight, and traffic hummed in the background, punctuated by honking horns. Behind me was Paris. In front of me was an entirely different world.
“Ill what? Remind me to learn French,” I grumbled.
“Île Cachée. It means the Secret Island.”
I narrowed my eyes as I followed him past the courtyard and down the cobbled street that couldn’t possibly be there–except I was walking on it. “But how does it fit?”
“The island the rest of the world knows is under a glamour,” he explained. I stared at him again. “An illusion. The world only sees half of it. It appears to those without magic as half its size.”
“And this is the other half?” I asked, catching on.
“Yes, pet. This place is known only to vampires and familiars.”
“And now me.”
He nodded, but I was already looking around, trying to take everything in.
There were no souvenir shops or tourists with cameras. People on the street were dressed in an amusing array of clothing, from petticoats to styled wigs to a man with a sword strapped to his side.
“Not all of us transition well to the changing times,” he whispered.
“So, I see.”
It felt like stepping back in time. Chestnut trees towered along the quiet path, sending gold-dappled light dancing around us. Their rust and goldenrod leaves fluttered despite the lack of breeze. I watched as a single leaf fell from the tip of a branch. It danced to the stones below, landed gracefully, and vanished. I blinked a couple of times. When I looked up, the leaf was back on the branch. As I watched, it performed its lovely dive again.
“It’s enchanted,” I said, feeling stupid. Of course it was. Everything here was. Julian chuckled and pressed closer to my side.
“Magic is strong here. It’s protected,” he told me as I watched more leaves fall, vanish, and reappear. “Visitors are limited so that no one draws too much from its source.”
“So, there is a magical reservoir in Paris?” I don’t know why I that surprised me. There was something magical about Paris, from its dreamy avenues to its rose-tinged light. It seemed fitting to find magic at its heart.
Julian leaned over and kissed my forehead. “That’s one way of looking at it.”
“Does that mean witches can use magic here?”
“No, it’s forbidden. Spellcraft, potions, anything that comes out of your standard grimoire, but not true magic.”
“Standard grimoire?” I repeated, my mouth twisting. “You make it sound like something I can pick up in a corner shop.”
He pointed to a blue-lacquered shop across the street where stacks of books perched in the windows. “There’s probably a few in there.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, feeling slightly dazed. We continued, passing impossibly tall shops filled with strange objects, squat bistros crowded with tables, and windows crammed with spectacles that widened my eyes and sent heat flushing my cheeks. In one shadowy storefront, ropes and chains hung next to what I feared was an actual iron maiden.
“Is that…?” I nudged Julian.
“Vampires like to mix pain and pleasure. It’s natural to us,” he said with a shrug.
“Wait.” I stopped in my tracks and peered into the dark window. “I thought it was a torture shop.”
He snorted and moved behind me. Julian lowered his mouth to my ear and whispered, “Look closer.”
Straining my eyes past the show-stopping front window, I caught sight of a woman, bound in red rope and little else, dangling from a golden hook. A group lounged on chairs beneath her, discussing something.
“Why is she hanging there?” I murmured.
“Look,” he commanded in a dusky tone that stole my breath.
I peered through the glass and caught sight of dark liquid dripping from her bound arms. As I did, one man below lifted a glass, catching the dripping liquid deftly, and brought it to his lips.
I gasped and tried to back away. Julian tugged me back to the cobbled path.
“Is she…okay?” I asked when my shock wore off.
“Yes.” His dark laugh raised goosebumps over my skin. “She’s enjoying herself. Some mortals choose to serve vampire masters.”
“Their blood?” I blurted out.
“Amongst other things,” he said.
“So she was a human?” I glanced back toward the black shop.
“Yes.” He didn’t say more.
The bakery next door seemed positively tame compared to that. But the aromas drifting from it made my head swim. I took a step toward it, but Julian drew me away.
“That’s not a good idea.” He tipped his head toward a sign hanging over the door with the words Enchanté: Sorts d’amour stenciled in gold letters.
I raised my eyebrow.
“Love spells,” he said, sounding a little strained. “It’s hard to even walk past without getting ideas.”
I bit back a grin. “Maybe I would like to go in there.”
“You don’t need any help,” he promised.
The enticing aroma gave way to soap-scented smoke billowing from the shop next to it through large open windows. Pillows and tables dotted its interiors, artistically scattered to make the space inviting. Resting on cushions, a few patrons passed a pipe back and forth.
“Opium,” Julian confirmed, moving us along. We passed a woman sitting at a bistro table, sipping an electric green liquid. She smiled as a man joined her with more of the strange drink. On and on it went. Shops filled with silk gowns and expensive suits, bookstores cluttered with leather tomes, darkly thrilling bars and restaurants serving items that were forbidden or illegal in the human world. At the end of the street, a large open market buzzed with activity. A banner hung over it, seeming to float in midair, which read L’apothicaire in thick, block lettering. Crates sat on tables, spilling their strange wares. Some of which were moving. I didn’t look too closely at those items. There were bottles and herbs and wild, unearthly plants.
“Mostly for potion making,” Julian said.
It was beautiful and overwhelming. “I could explore here for hours.”
“There are spots like this in every major city in the world–places where the magic runs so deep it’s like an oasis,” he explained. “I want to take you to them all.”
My heart stuttered at the thought of more days like this. Days with him full of magic and wonder and beauty–and the nights…my skin heated as I considered what they would be like.
I took a deep, steadying breath and noticed a man watching us from across the cobbled street. He waved at me. “I think someone recognizes you.”
He glanced up, and the ghost of a frown flitted across his face. A moment later, a man not much taller than me joined us. Cold, dark eyes studied me as he greeted Julian. “Rousseaux! I’d hoped to run into you.”
“Boucher.” Julian shook his hand. The man wore velvet gloves, and I wondered if he was a vampire. I wouldn’t have guessed it based on his appearance. He looked ordinary compared to the others I’d met of the species. “May I introduce Thea?”
Boucher moved to greet me with a kiss, but Julian growled.
Actually growled.
We both stared at him.
“I see you’ve made a match,” Boucher said in a dry tone. He continued to search my face. “If you’ll pardon me, I feel I know you from somewhere.”
“Thea was at the cocktail party in San Francisco.”
“Ah, yes, and what is your family name?”
I stiffened. “Melbourne.”
“Thea was one of the musicians,” Julian explained to him.
“Interesting.” If Boucher had opinions about our relationship, he kept it to himself. “I’m sure your mother is delighted to have a musician in the family.”
“Perhaps, if she can see past Thea’s humanity.” Bitterness coated Julian’s words.
Inside, I thrilled that he said nothing about Boucher’s assumption regarding our future. But I tamped down my excitement. It was nothing more than part of our arrangement. Of course, he needed to appear seriously attached to me.
“What do you play?” Boucher asked me.
“The cello.” Just saying it was painful. “When I’m home.”
“You must take her to see Berlioz. He’s working on something new,” he said to Julian.
“God help us,” Julian muttered.
“Hector Berlioz?” I asked, my eyes widening. “He’s been dead for centuries!”
“Don’t tell him that. I believe he convinced someone to turn him so he could finish an opera,” Julian said. “It’s still a work in progress.”
“You’re familiar with his work?” Boucher sounded impressed. “Now, you must take her. He’s been especially moody of late.”
“I was already on my way there. I’m hoping he has a cello.”
“Of course he does.” Boucher waved his hand, but then leaned in. “The question is–will he sell it to you?”
“Some things never change.” Julian smiled like Boucher had issued a challenge. “Will I see you tonight?”
“Yes, I am officially allowed to return to the Garnier.” He narrowed his eyes. “As if they could keep me out!”
“Perhaps we’ll see you.”
We said goodbye, and I turned on Julian. “I want to meet Berlioz.”
He laughed and pointed down a quiet side street. “This way.”
A music shop waited at the end of the cobblestone alley. But not just any music shop. In the windows, instruments played themselves.
Julian paused. “Listen.”
I closed my eyes and did as instructed. A familiar melody found its way to me, and I smiled.
“What do you hear?” he asked.
I opened my eyes and studied him. “Schubert? Don’t you recognize it?”
“They play a different song for everyone,” he murmured. “The song we want to hear.”
I swallowed that tidbit of information, not sure how to digest it. I started to ask him what he heard when the door to the shop flew open. A short man regarded us from the doorway with wild eyes. He shook his head, sending his mass of greying curls in every direction.
“Human,” he said, staring at me.
“Oh, um, yes.” I wasn’t sure if he was waiting for a confirmation.
“I’m not interested,” he said to Julian and made to shut the door.
Julian caught it with the toe of his boot. “I’m not selling snacks, Berlioz,” he said. “She’s a cellist.”
I forced myself to stay calm and not overreact that I was meeting a musician believed to be dead for over a hundred years. Berlioz studied me for a second and then snapped, “We’ll see about that.”
He moved inside the shop without another word. The door remained open, and Julian started toward it.
“He doesn’t believe I’m a cellist,” I said under my breath to Julian.
“He suffers from lack of company.” Julian shrugged. “Some think it’s bad for him–that it’s driving him mad.”
“Do you?”
“I think he was already a little crazy before someone made him a vampire, pet.”
“That’s reassuring.” But my concerns died away as I stepped foot inside the shop and took in the piles of priceless instruments and rolled up scrolls shoved all around me.
Julian whispered, “Touch nothing unless–”
He fell silent as Berlioz approached and shoved a cello into my hands.
“Play,” he demanded.
I took it with trembling fingers and nodded. But as soon as it was in my hands, I relaxed. “What would you like me to play?”
“What you wish,” he said vaguely, cocking his head.
It was a test. I smiled at him, knowing this was a test I would pass.
An hour later, we emerged, and the shopkeeper himself was arranging the delivery of a cello to Julian’s house. I’d won over Berlioz, who usually refused to sell his wares, when I played Part Four of his Symphonie Fantastique from memory.
We wandered through the streets, peering into shop windows past trailing ivy. Julian kept buying me pastries as if he wasn’t sure how much food a human needed to consume. I didn’t complain. Eventually, the sun began to fade, coloring the light rose.
“It’s perfect,” I said as I drank in Paris at twilight.
“Indeed,” Julian murmured. I looked up to find him watching me. He smiled sadly and looked at his watch. “Unfortunately, we should head back to the house.”
“Can we come here again?” I asked.
“If you like.” But the same sadness that tainted his smile coated his words.
If there was time. We only had a few weeks in Paris, and tonight the social season would kick into full swing for both of us. Julian paused under a stone arch and drew me to him.
“Did I do okay?” he asked, brushing a gloved finger across my lower lip. “I’m a bit rusty when it comes to courtship.”
I nodded, my mouth parting instinctively at his touch. “Your courtship skills are intact.”
“Are you mocking me, pet?”
“A little,” I admitted, grinning up at him. He lowered his face over mine, bringing his lips a breath away from kissing me.
“May I kiss you?” he asked softly.
I blinked, surprised by his request.
“It’s a proper date,” he reminded me when he saw my reaction. “I’m courting you, remember?”
“Court away,” I said breathlessly.
He brought his lips to mine slowly with a deliberate reverence that unraveled me. A raw ache filled me as the kiss deepened. He took his time, moving his mouth slowly as if savoring my taste. The rosy afternoon twilight had faded into evening when he finally pulled away. Julian took my hand without a word and guided me away from the magical spot. As we stepped foot out of Île Cachée and the glamour faded, the sounds of a busy city flooded the air around us.
I sighed. “I could stay there forever.”
“If only we had that long,” he said. He said nothing else until we reached the house.
“I should get ready,” I said with a groan. “If only I were a vampire, it wouldn’t take so long to get pretty.”
He went rigid and turned from me. I froze, realizing how stupid I’d been to make the glib comment. After a moment, he turned to me. The edges of his eyes were black, but it was clear he was regaining control. I waited for a rebuke for my careless remark, but none came. Instead, he swept a ravenous look over my body. He moved closer and reached between my legs. I inhaled sharply as he pressed his palm against my sex.
“Will you leave this bare under your dress tonight?”
I nodded, my mouth going dry at the implication of his request.
“I promise you’ll be rewarded, pet.” He stepped away without a second glance, leaving me to wonder what he planned to do.
