Sacrifice (Book 2)

The houses stood in straight rows along the narrow street, moonlight resting gently on their thatched roofs. Magnus moved at an unhurried pace as he patrolled the ever-pleasant merchant district, his steps measured, almost meditative. This part of the city always felt welcoming—peaceful in a way that bordered on deliberate.

Cobblestones lay slick with moss, small families of mushrooms clustered in shaded corners, and thick rose bushes climbed the facades of the buildings. It was an effect of the many small fairies and spirits that made their homes here. They tended the streets quietly, invisibly, ensuring beauty and balance where they could.

Magnus smiled faintly as he walked.

The evening was unusually pleasant, and he allowed himself to relax, breathing in the cool night air. There were never any real troubles in this district. No beggars, no gangs, no desperate violence—just the occasional thief, usually a hungry soul trying to survive another day. Magnus had lost count of how many times he’d paid for stolen bread out of his own pocket rather than drag someone to the tower.

He reached up and scratched at the back of his neck, adjusting the leather harness that held the axe strapped across his back. It felt wrong here—too heavy, too threatening. Weapons always did in places like this.

“Magnus!”

The voice was familiar. Too familiar.

An unease settled in his chest as he turned.

“Anton,” Magnus greeted calmly, facing the leader of the Magistrate as the man approached from behind.

“All quiet tonight?” Anton asked.

“In this district, it’s always quiet,” Magnus replied with a polite smile.

Anton stopped a few meters away. The older man’s long white hair was tied in a knot atop his head, emphasizing the sharp planes of his narrow, chiseled face. Every line of him spoke of authority—his posture, his confident stride, the way he occupied space without effort. There was something striking about him, Magnus thought. Or perhaps it was the long coat, shimmering faintly with a purple sheen in the moonlight, that lent him an almost theatrical gravity.

“Yes, indeed,” Anton said with satisfaction. “Thanks to me and the Magistrate.”

Magnus chuckled softly, choosing not to challenge the man’s ego. “Did you need something specific,” he asked, “or were you just in the mood for conversation?”

Anton sighed and shook his head. “You should stop by the Dancing Dragon sometime,” he muttered. “There’s a lot of talk going around. Rumors.”

Magnus stiffened slightly. The Dancing Dragon was the magicians’ pub, tucked into a quarter of the city inhabited almost exclusively by witches and wizards. Outsiders were rarely welcome, and the atmosphere there was nothing like Hilda’s warm tavern. Magnus avoided it when he could.

“Enlighten me,” he said, folding his arms.

Anton glanced around before reaching into a pouch at his belt. He took a pinch of fine powder and tossed it into the air. It drifted down around them, settling into a perfect circle on the ground. As soon as it did, Magnus felt the subtle shift—no sound escaping, no listening ears finding purchase.

“It’s about the vampires,” Anton said flatly.

“They haven’t left their district in months,” Magnus replied.

“Exactly. Not a single one. Not even in the gray zone.”

Magnus shrugged. “With Lumiere as their leader, they’re weak. Scared. Uncertain.”

Anton studied him closely. “Which should frighten us, don’t you think?”

“You can relax,” Magnus said evenly. “I’m keeping an eye on them.”

“How?” Anton snapped, frustration breaking through his composure. “You can’t even cross their border! Who decided Watchers aren’t welcome there? You’re responsible for everyone’s safety, Magnus!”

Magnus exhaled slowly and rested his hands on his belt. “You know why. They have their own laws. Their own rules. They’re different.”

Anton scoffed. “Blood-sucking monsters, you mean.”

Magnus’s eyes hardened as he met the man’s gaze. “Not all of them.”

“Maybe,” Anton replied with a thin smile. “But the ones with any humanity left probably fled Paris long ago.”

The words struck deeper than Magnus cared to admit. He nodded tiredly, pushing down the familiar ache they stirred. “You’re probably right. Still—you can relax. We’re watching closely.”

“You should ask your superiors for permission to patrol inside,” Anton insisted.

Magnus ran a hand through his hair. “We’re too few,” he admitted quietly. “There are only three Watchers left.”

“I see,” Anton said—and then smiled. “We could help you.”

Magnus felt it immediately. The hidden angle. The magicians had never hidden their resentment of vampires—their immortality, their strength. Long ago, they’d gone further than resentment. They’d captured them. Experimented on them.

The memory made Magnus shudder.

“I appreciate the offer,” he said carefully. “But the Watchers must remain neutral. If the Magistrate aligns with us, we risk civil war.”

Anton nodded, his expression unreadable. “I understand. Just… stay vigilant. Our visions show something coming. And it isn’t good.”

With that, he scuffed the circle with his boot, breaking the spell, and turned away.

Magnus watched him leave.

Anton was right. Somethingwascoming.

And Magnus suspected Valec was the one he needed to speak to.

The thought made his jaw tighten. He hated Valec—hated the power the vampire had once held over Dominic. The guilt gnawed at him. Hatred had no place in his work. He was meant to be neutral. Impartial. Rational.

But Dominic had changed him.

Changed everything.

And now, Dominic was gone.

Magnus stood alone in the quiet street, moonlight spilling softly over stone and roses, and wondered how long neutrality could survive what was coming next.

The streets felt darker these days. Magnus wondered if it was only his imagination—or if the shadows truly had grown thicker, heavier, as if they were learning new shapes.

Perhaps it was the rain. It had lashed the city for days now, a cold, sleeting drizzle that soaked through cloaks and stone alike, whispering of winter’s approach. Magnus sighed quietly. Snow was rare in Paris; winter usually meant a slushy brown mess that crept into boots and soaked socks no matter how careful one was.

Still, winter wasn’t all darkness.

Soon the streets would be dressed in green garlands and gold bells. Warm apple cider and mulled wine would scent the air, drifting through alleyways like comfort itself. Children would press their faces to glowing windows, their laughter cutting through the cold. Wet socks and snow in his hair wouldn’t matter as much then.

He was lost in the thought when he noticed her.

A small figure stood trembling beneath a streetlamp further down the road, its pale light barely reaching her hunched shoulders. Magnus slowed, his instincts sharpening. He approached carefully, letting his steps fall soft against the stones, his expression easing into something open and nonthreatening.

“You look lost,” he said gently.

The girl flinched, then looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. She was thin—too thin for the weather—and her long blond hair clung wetly to her face. Human. And not from here.

“No… or maybe,” she whispered, twisting the sleeve of her jacket between her fingers. “I’m looking for someone.”

Magnus tilted his head, studying her more closely. “Do you need help finding your way out?”

“Out?” She glanced around in confusion. “Aren’t I already outside?”

Despite himself, Magnus smiled faintly and ran a hand through his damp hair. “Yes. What I meant is—I’m a warden here. If you need help getting home, I can see to it.”

Her eyes widened further, as if she hadn’t thought that possible. “Oh… okay. Sure.” She hesitated, then asked softly, “So you know the people who live here?”

“Most of them,” Magnus said with a nod. “Who are you looking for?”

“An old friend.”

“Old as in elderly?”

She shook her head quickly. “No. Just… someone I’ve known a long time.”

Voices echoed from further down the street—workers heading home, boots splashing through puddles. The girl startled and retreated into the shadows, panic flashing across her face.

“Easy,” Magnus said, extending a hand. “They won’t hurt you. Just people heading home. Nothing unusual.”

She hesitated, chewing on her lower lip, thoughts visibly racing. Standing there beneath the lamp, she reminded him of a startled forest creature—too delicate for the city, all sharp edges and fear. After a moment, she stepped forward again and wrapped her thick gray scarf tighter around her neck.

Magnus frowned. She was shivering. Her leather jacket was thin, her skirt completely unsuited for the weather.

“You shouldn’t be out in this cold,” he said firmly. “Come on. Let me help you get home.”

“I can’t,” she murmured.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know where I am.”

Magnus inhaled slowly through his nose, steadying himself. “All right. But you must have an address.”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “But I don’t give it to strangers.”

“Smart,” he admitted. “But you can trust me.”

“How do I know that?” she asked, surprising him with the edge in her voice.

Magnus sighed and rubbed his forehead. “You don’t,” he said simply, turning away. “Stay warm.”

“Wait!” she called, panic bleeding into her voice. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” he answered over his shoulder. “My shift’s almost over.”

He had nearly reached the end of the street when he heard hurried footsteps behind him. He stopped and turned. She stood there, eyes red, tears streaking down her cheeks.

“So,” Magnus said gently, “you’ve decided to trust me?”

“Do I have a choice?” she sniffed.

“There’s always a choice.” He slipped off his gloves and handed them to her. After a brief hesitation, she took them. “What’s your name?”

“Lexie.”

The world seemed to stop. Magnus froze where he stood, breath leaving him in a silent rush. For a heartbeat, he forgot how to breathe at all. The rain, the street, the city—everything dulled around that single name.

Lexie.

It couldn’t be coincidence. It couldn’t.

A small, icy hand closed around his wrist, grounding him. “Hey,” she asked softly. “Are you okay?”

Magnus nodded, forcing himself back into the present. He looked down at her—really looked this time—and felt something old and sharp twist in his chest.

“I know who you’re looking for,” he said carefully.

Her eyes lit with hope.

“But,” Magnus continued, voice heavy, “I don’t know where he is.”

The hope didn’t fade. It sharpened. And in that moment, Magnus knew—whatever was coming for Paris had already found its way into his path.