Celeste's POV
The blood came at midnight.
I pressed my handkerchief against my mouth, trying to muffle the wet, horrible coughing that shook my whole body. Silver drops splattered across the white cloth, glowing faintly in the darkness of my shop. Not red like normal blood. Silver. Because nothing about dying from magic was ever normal.
Six months. Maybe less if I kept using my power.
I counted the days in my head like a prisoner marking walls. One hundred and eighty days to find my soulmate, complete the magic transfer, and save my own life. Or die alone in this shop, just like Mom did when I was sixteen.
The memory hit me hard—Mom's silver blood on my hands, her gasping warnings about choosing carefully, about how picking the wrong person would destroy everything. She'd died right there, on the floor behind the counter where I now stood, her magic burning her up from the inside until there was nothing left but ash and regret.
I was thirty-two now. The same age she'd been.
Another cough ripped through my chest. More silver blood. I watched it shimmer on the handkerchief, each drop a little piece of my life draining away. My magic was killing me, eating me alive like fire in my veins.
The shop was quiet around me—shelves filled with herbs and potions, old books stacked everywhere, candles that had burned down to nothing. This place had been my whole world for sixteen years. Ever since the night Mom transferred her magic to me and made me the most powerful witch in New England.
And the most cursed.
Every woman in the Thorne family died at thirty-two or thirty-three. Every single one for three hundred years. Unless we found our true soulmate and gave them our magic before time ran out. But the transfer would kill me instantly, and choosing wrong would corrupt the magic and unleash something terrible on the world.
No pressure or anything.
I stuffed the bloody handkerchief in my pocket and tried to stand up straight. My hands were shaking. When had they started doing that?
Three hours ago, I'd saved a kid from getting hit by a car. Used my magic to freeze time for just a second, pull him back onto the sidewalk. His mom never even knew he'd almost died. But that one spell probably cost me three days of life.
Yesterday, I'd stopped a demon from attacking a neighborhood. Last week, I'd healed a young witch who was dying from a spell gone wrong.
Every time I used my power, I died a little faster.
But what was I supposed to do? Let people suffer? Let them die when I could save them?
I laughed, and it came out bitter and broken. "Some choice, Mom."
The shop felt too empty. Too quiet. I'd spent sixteen years building walls around my heart, refusing to let anyone close because I didn't want to watch them struggle with my power after I was gone. Didn't want to condemn someone I loved to carry this burden.
But I was so tired of being alone.
A knock at the door made me jump.
Nobody knocked at midnight. The shop was closed. The whole magical district knew not to bother me during closing hours.
Another knock. Harder this time. Urgent.
I wiped my mouth one more time, shoved the handkerchief deeper in my pocket, and walked to the door. My magic stirred inside me, ready to defend if needed. It felt like lightning under my skin, beautiful and deadly.
Through the frosted glass, I could see a shadow. Tall. Broad shoulders. Definitely male.
"We're closed," I called out, my voice rougher than I wanted.
"Celeste Thorne?" The voice was deep, formal. "I need to speak with you. It's urgent."
I didn't recognize him. And nobody used my full name unless they were from the Arcane Council or looking for trouble.
"Come back tomorrow—"
"This concerns your mother's death."
Everything inside me went cold and hot at the same time. My magic flared, silver light crackling around my fingers. Nobody talked about Mom's death. Nobody knew the real story except me and the Council.
I unlocked the door and yanked it open.
The man standing there was gorgeous in a scary way. Expensive black suit, dark hair, eyes that looked almost silver in the streetlight. He had the kind of face that belonged in magazines, but there was something dangerous underneath all that polish.
Power rolled off him in waves. Strong magic. Really strong.
"Who are you?" I demanded.
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Damien Ashcroft. We need to talk about what really happened to your mother sixteen years ago." He paused, studying my face like he was searching for something. "And about the men who killed her."
My heart stopped. Then started again, way too fast.
"What?" The word barely made it past my lips.
Everyone told me Mom died from the curse. Natural causes. Magical burnout. That's what the Council said. That's what I'd believed my whole life.
"Your mother didn't just die from the curse, Celeste." Damien's voice was gentle, but his words hit like punches. "She was murdered. And the people responsible are coming for you next."
Behind him, in the shadows across the street, I saw movement. Three figures, maybe four, all watching my shop.
Watching me.
My magic exploded outward in panic, silver light flooding the doorway. Damien didn't even flinch.
"We don't have much time," he said urgently. "Either let me help you, or die like she did. Your choice."
The figures across the street started moving closer.
And somewhere deep in my chest, I felt something crack—like the universe had just shifted, like destiny was finally catching up to me.
"Six months," I whispered. The blood on my handkerchief. The curse. The impossible choice ahead. And now this. "I only have six months."
Damien's eyes widened with understanding. Then horror.
"Then we'd better work fast."