One moment we were in Assjacket, West Virginia.
The next, we were in…
“Welcome to Paris, Sarah,” Alicia said as she spun happily around in a circle, her arms stretched out at her sides.
I looked up with shock to see the Eiffel Tower a hundred yards in front of me. If I’d been clinging to denial about what just happened, I would be dealing with a very slippery slope.
We were in Paris.
As in France.
As in Europe.
As in four thousand miles away from where I’d been standing mere moments ago.
“You poofed us,” I whispered hoarsely.
“Transported,” Alicia corrected with a laugh. “Are you shocked?”
“That’s definitely a word,” I managed. “One word of many to describe how I’m feeling right now.”
“You know, they say all you need to do is believe something is possible in order to make it real. That’s the law of attraction. You and I may be the first vampires to ever magically transport like this without the direct presence of a witch or warlock, all thanks to this” She tapped her locket and turned her radiant smile toward me, which then wavered a little. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”
“No, no,” I managed, as I tried to prevent myself from passing out completely. “Not me. I’m fine. This sort of thing—totally normal. Not freaking out at all.”
“Take a moment and soak in the scenery,” she advised. “This is where I’m from, originally. I mean, it’s changed quite a bit over the last century. But it still feels like home.”
Scenery, right. I needed to mentally photograph everything that was happening to me right now so I could remember the details when I got back to Thierry.
But all I could really do was stare at the Eiffel Tower, something I’d only ever seen in photos and paintings. We were surrounded by tons of tourists who were taking selfies while speaking dozens of different languages.
“Come on, Sarah,” Alicia hooked her arm through mine. “Damon won’t be expecting me yet, so we have time for a coffee at my absolute favorite café in the whole world.”
She led me through a lush park and along the side of a wide, sparkling river populated with boats and arched, stone bridges…
Oh, my God. It was the Seine River.
Because of course it was.
I was in freaking Paris.
It had always been a dream of mine to come here, but one that had been pushed far down on the list recently due to a laundry list of other obligations. Thierry’s job had taken us all over the United States, and my home was in Canada, so North America, and a couple trips to Mexico, was as far as I’d ventured so far.
Paris.
One thing I knew about Paris was that Thierry had spent a great deal of time here in his many years of existence. He was originally from a small village a hundred miles south of the City of Lights.
“Is this where you met Thierry?” I asked, grappling for anything to talk about that might solidify the fact that this was my current reality.
Alicia raised a brow. “It is, actually.”
“How long ago?”
“It was just after I was sired during the Exposition Universelle of 1900.” We reached a café. Alicia selected a small outdoor table and ordered us something in French from the waiter before she continued. “I worked at the Moulin Rouge.”
“Wait, you worked at the Moulin Rouge? The Moulin Rouge?”
Alicia nodded. “You’ve been there?”
“No, but I…uh, I saw the movie a couple of times.” Actually, it was twenty-six times. I’d literally worn out the DVD, and I still knew all of the songs by heart. “Let me guess, you were one of the can-can dancers?”
“I was. And an extremely sought-after courtesan, if I may say so myself.”
This woman was full of surprises. I seriously couldn’t keep up. “A courtesan.”
She shrugged. “It was a chapter of my life, one I don’t regret at all. It taught me so many useful things.”
“I just bet it did.” I grimaced, not really wanting to know the answer to my next question. “Is that how you met Thierry?”
Alicia studied me for a moment before she laughed lightly. “Thierry de Bennicoeur was not one of my clients if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Worried, me? No, not at all,” I lied. “What happens at the Moulin Rouge stays at the Moulin Rouge.”
Still, I couldn’t exactly picture Thierry partying at the infamous cabaret, drinking champagne, surrounded by beautiful ladies of the night, and rubbing elbows with artists like Toulouse-Lautrec. It seemed like the opposite of what my sexy-but-stoic husband would enjoy.
But, hey, you never know.
The waiter returned with our order—two delicious-smelling espressos in tiny golden cups. I sipped mine with growing enthusiasm, the full-bodied taste helping to ground me in my utterly unexpected surroundings.
Now that definitely beat the corner coffee shop any day of the week. And I didn’t think there was anything magical about it.
Hopefully, anyway.
“It was a client who bit me,” Alicia explained when the waiter moved to another table, her expression turning serious. “And it was entirely without my consent and utterly unwelcome. His thirst for my blood nearly killed me. He only stopped when my silver dagger found his heart.”
“Oh, my God.” I shuddered at the picture she painted, and not a fraction of my horror was for her predatory client. “I’m so sorry you went through that. While it’s not nearly as violent as what you experienced, I was sired without my consent too. But I didn’t kill him, even though I wanted to. Some hunters took care of that for me.”
“Men,” Alicia muttered, shaking her head. “They take whatever they want if they’re given a chance. Seems we have that in common, as well as who came to our rescue.”
“Thierry,” I said.
“Yes. While I did manage to end my attacker’s life before he stole my own, the damage had been done. Thierry escorted me to a secret location where I could obtain enough blood to survive the transition to vampire. He did the same for you?”
Well…not exactly. Thierry gave me his own blood, super-strong master vampire blood that—while I was still technically only a fledgling vampire—had ramped up my strength in record time, made my own blood master-vampire powerful…and the surprise gifts-with-purchase: occasional prophetic visions, and the ability to communicate with spirits.
“Pretty much,” I said with a nod.
“I didn’t see Thierry again for several years when he returned to the city with Veronique for a visit. After they had a disagreement about something, Thierry stopped in at the cabaret to check on me.”
“It’s okay,” I said with a cringe, holding up my hand. “I don’t really need any more details than that.”
Alicia took my hand and squeezed it. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to give you more details. You have a wonderful man, Sarah. And, if you’re worried at all, please know that I wasn’t in love with him then, nor am I in love with him now. I’m madly in love with Damon and can’t wait to spend the rest of eternity with him.”
She seemed so sincere when she talked about this mysterious cobbler, the one responsible for the magic transportation locket.
“Thierry is a wonderful man,” I agreed. “But I have to say—I’m not sure he’d be thrilled to know you poofed us across the Atlantic Ocean without his knowledge.”
Alicia grimaced. “You’re probably right.”
“I really should send him a message, so he doesn’t worry…” I fished my phone out of my bag and tapped the dark screen, but nothing happened. “I swear I charged it this morning.”
“It’s not the batteries,” Alicia said. “Magical transportation can mess with electronic gadgets. But don’t worry, Thierry won’t even know we’ve been gone. He’s occupied with the Baba Yaga for a couple more hours, and we’ll be back by the time he finishes.”
Swallowing down my uncertainty, I slipped the phone back into my bag. “There are worse things than spending an afternoon in Paris. And, I mean, we did avoid being trapped on an airplane for hours. I hate flying.”
“Me too,” she said, and touched the heart-shaped locket again. “This is really a dream come true, Sarah. And I know we just met, but I’m so happy to have someone to share this with.”
“Glad to be here,” I replied.
I was definitely earning my birthday present today. Thierry was going to freak when I told him all about this later.
Miss Moulin Rouge chatted about her happy Paris memories for another ten minutes while I downed two more delicious espressos before she glanced down at her wristwatch, and a smile spread across her beautiful face.
“Ready to shop?” she asked.
Somehow, that innocent-sounding suggestion felt far more ominous now.
“Born ready,” I agreed.
“You’re going to love Damon. His shop is absolutely divine.”
Highly debatable, I thought. “Will it be okay that you brought a friend on this little shopping trip?”
“He won’t mind at all. He loves to meet new friends.”
That particular F-word might not be the best to describe what this shoemaker would think of me when I exposed his evil plan, whatever it might be. Then again, maybe this was nothing more than a long-distance love affair with a sprinkle of witchy magic and a whole lot of empty promises.
I was really hoping that was the case.
“Then, great,” I said as enthusiastically as I could. “Since you know Paris better than I do, please lead the way.”
A half an hour later, we got out of a taxi on a cobblestone street lined with quaint, old-fashioned buildings that looked like something yanked straight out of a picture postcard. There was even a random accordion player strolling down the sidewalk playing “La Vie en Rose.”
I mean, not that I’m an expert, but it really didn’t get much more Parisian than this.
I followed Alicia to the front of a charming-looking stone building, nestled along a line of charming-looking stone buildings that seemed old enough to have been here when Thierry roamed these very streets. Weirdly, it made me feel more connected to him, like reaching through time, hundreds of years before I was born.
“This is it,” Alicia said with a grin.
I looked up at the sign, appropriately vintage-looking but elegant. Gold painted letters stood out clearly on the black background.
“Des Chiffons à la Richesse.” I said it aloud, butchering the accent, I was sure. “What does that mean?”
“Essentially…it translates to the English idiom ‘from rags to riches,’” she said. “Damon was very poor when he came to Paris with a dream, and since then, he has made a name for himself and a small fortune from his talent. He painted that sign himself when he first opened the shop.”
“He sounds like a real inspiration,” I said.
“He is,” she agreed, her smile widening as she pushed through the front door.
I took a deep breath before I followed her into the interior of the store.
I wasn’t sure what I expected from a Parisian cobbler who dabbled in magic and sleeping with other men’s wives. Maybe a small, dusty workshop that smelled of old leather, sweat, and cheap champagne.
But that wasn’t what was behind the doors of Rags to Riches.
Instead, I found myself thrust into a surprisingly large fashion boutique, one that buzzed with customers and salespeople. There were row upon row of wooden shelves holding sleek-looking shoes—high heels, sandals, loafers, boots in a rainbow of colors. Racks of clothing, from cashmere sweaters to silk kimonos and elegant dresses and skirts. A section to my left displayed handbags: large and small, handheld and crossbody, totes, and evening bags.
I had been coming to terms that we were suddenly in Paris.
But I had no idea I’d just entered Heaven itself.
Alicia watched my reaction as my gaze swept across the most beautiful store I’d ever step foot inside.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” she asked.
“It is,” I said honestly. “It really is.”
She led me toward the rack of shoes, running her hand over a line of gorgeous mules that rivaled any designer brand I’ve ever seen in person. “Every girl’s dream.”
“I’m not quite the shopaholic that I used to be,” I admitted. “But I do still enjoy a nice shoe.”
“I want you to pick out your favorite pair,” Alicia said. “It’s my gift to you for sharing this momentous day with me.”
I knew I had to keep my eyes on the prize. I wasn’t here to shop. I was here to get to the bottom of Alicia Bates and her new boyfriend and help Thierry crack this case in record time.
But I couldn’t turn down the offer of a free pair of shoes.
My gaze moved over each of the beauties until I landed on the perfect pair. Staggeringly high, shockingly pink, and with a few sparkling crystals on the toe. Which sounded tacky as hell but somehow looked as elegant as a little black dress.
“Those are the winners?” she asked, smiling.
“They might not have them in my size.”
“Check to see,” she suggested.
I lifted them off the rack and glanced at the size, surprised that they were exactly my size. I glanced at Alicia. “Is that magic or coincidence?”
She smiled knowingly. “What do you think?”
That was a very good question.
I slipped off my sneakers and slid my feet into my new best friends, feeling like Cinderella and her glass slippers.
“How are these so comfortable?” I asked with amazement as I paced back and forth in a short line. My feet felt like they were nestled in cool, fluffy pillows. I could literally run a marathon in these beauties. “It must be magic.”
Alicia shrugged. “Damon’s secret.”
Yes, that was exactly what I wanted to know: Damon’s secret.
“Do you love them?” she asked.
“Almost as much as I love Thierry,” I replied with a grin. “Almost.”
She laughed. “They’re yours.”
I shook my head. I’d caught a glimpse of the price tag when looking for the size. “You don’t have to. They’re so expensive.”
“I want to. Please let me buy these shoes for you, Sarah.”
“Thank you, that’s so generous of you,” I said, my gratitude genuine. It wasn’t every day a practical stranger wanted to buy me an incredible gift like this.
But I wasn’t that naïve. I wondered what she might want in return.
Still, I was totally taking the shoes. In fact, since they were so ridiculously comfortable, I might never take them off.
True to her word, Alicia flagged down a salesperson and gave them her credit card. I tucked my scuffed sneakers into my handbag for safekeeping.
I gazed down at my sparkling pink beauties, which looked just a little out of place beneath the hem of my jeans, but not enough to take them off. Possibly, ever.
“They look beautiful on you,” a deep voice that held a light French accent said. “Not everyone can pull off such a bold look.”
I glanced up to see that a man had approached, his hand pressed to Alicia’s back. He was tall, handsome, and well-dressed in a tailored black suit, white shirt, and gray tie. A black eye patch matched the color of his hair, which was long and tied at the nape of his neck. At first glance, he looked like a wealthy pirate. I half-expected to see a diamond-studded parrot nearby.
“Thank you,” I said, knowing without a doubt that this was the mysterious cobbler in question.
“Is this a friend of yours?” he asked Alicia.
“Yes.” She was beaming, her eyes as bright as her smile. “This is Sarah. Sarah, this is Damon.”
“A pleasure,” said Damon.
“Ditto,” I agreed. “Your store is amazing. I’ve been in a lot of stores in my life, but this one blows them all away.”
“That is very kind of you to say. I must say, I’m surprised you brought a friend with you today, Alicia.”
“I had hoped you wouldn’t mind,” Alicia replied. “Sarah is Thierry de Bennicoeur’s wife.”
“Thierry de Bennicoeur,” Damon repeated, and I’d only heard Thierry’s name pronounced so perfectly when Thierry said it himself. “That is a name I haven’t heard for a very long time.”
“He’s working with the Ring again,” she told him. “As a consultant.”
“Yes, I’d heard that through the grapevine.” Damon nodded. “It’s a fitting role for him. I remember Thierry being very much the problem solver.”
Slight plot twist, front and center. “You know Thierry?” I asked, stating what clearly was the obvious.
“I did. A long time ago.”
“You were friends?”
“I…wouldn’t say that.” Damon smiled. “Come, Sarah, let me give you the tour of the inner workings of my little shop.”
I held onto my smile, but my gut instinct was telling me to walk right out of Rags to Riches right now in my shiny new shoes and find the nearest payphone so I could call Thierry.
But tucking tail and scramming didn’t exactly solve any cases, did they? And the more cases I helped solve, the sooner the Ring might willingly loosen their ties on my husband.
It was a theory.
“Sounds great,” I agreed as coolly as I could.
The wealthy pirate and Miss Moulin Rouge led me off the main floor of the populated shop, through an ornate glass door, to the workshop. Which actually matched the image in my mind more than I’d expected. There were a dozen workstations with staff busily sewing and hammering and stitching up patterns, making shoes and bags and accessories to replenish the stock out front.
It smelled like leather and wood, but luckily not so much of sweat and cheap champagne. Damon acted like a perfect tour guide, explaining how the shop had been around for nearly a century when he’d opened it up with a partner, who’d died thirty years ago.
So pirate-boy was more than a hundred years old but looked thirty. Add in the magic, and it seemed to me that there was no doubt that this was a warlock I was dealing with. One who made shoes touched with a trace of magic.
Which explained why it felt like I was currently walking on clouds. Happy, fluffy, massage clouds.
So far, I think I liked this kind of magic—apart from the jarring and unexpected trip here, of course. It was much better than being cursed, that was for sure.
The tour ended, and nothing strange had happened. I’d really expected something strange to happen. But maybe I was just paranoid. Maybe this was just an affair—an unhappily married vampire and a magic-shoe-making warlock. A tale as old as time. Practically a Disney movie, really.
We returned to the main store, and I couldn’t help feeling on edge. I guess you could say I was waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Sarah.” Damon nodded. “Please, give my regards to Thierry.”
“Sure thing,” I managed.
“And now you…” Damon turned to Alicia. “May we have a private moment before you return to America?”
“I’d like that,” she said enthusiastically. “Sarah, I’ll be back soon. Well, maybe not too soon.”
I didn’t need a translator. They were going to be making a French Connection, and I had to linger around here until they were done.
“Sure thing,” I said. “I’ll just be…browsing. And trying not to max out my credit card.”
“I’m sure Thierry can afford whatever you like,” Damon said.
“I’m sure he can,” I replied. “But I don’t expect him to. I have my own money.”
“How…progressive.” He flicked his gaze over me, head to foot, and for the first time, I swear I saw something less than cordial there. “You are different from what I’d expect from Thierry.”
“Well, you know what they say about expectations,” I replied.
“What is that?”
“They always lead to disappointment.”
Damon’s lips thinned as he coolly studied me for another moment before he and Alicia disappeared through the glass door.
I yanked my phone from my bag again, staring with annoyance at the dead screen. The magical interference better not mean I needed a new phone. These things weren’t cheap, and I hadn’t bought the extended coverage.
“Well, girls, it seems we have a few minutes to kill.” I glanced down at my new shoes, “Let’s get some info on Mr. Rags to Riches, shall we?”
My plan was this: I’d talk to some of the salespeople, all calm and nonchalant, and I’d ask them about their boss, feeling around for whether they realized they were working for an immortal warlock. Having worked retail in my early twenties, I knew there had to be someone here, a disgruntled employee who wanted to dish about their creepy-but-hot boss.
Honestly? I might have let it go at face value if he hadn’t given me that cold look of distaste. My being progressive enough to want to pay for my own purchases. Shocking, I know. And clearly, he didn’t like Thierry.
Not that this was particularly a red flag. I’d met many people from Thierry’s extensive past, and it seemed to be more the norm than the exception that he’d collected more enemies than friends over the years.
Not allowing myself to be distracted by the store full of incredible fashion and accessories, I scanned the sales staff, searching for someone who looked miserable and potentially chatty. Bonus points, of course, if they spoke perfect English.
One face after another, and I saw nothing useful other than a bunch of people helping other customers.
But then something caught my eye.
A very short man with a thick beard and thick glasses was staring at me from across the store. Staring…and waving his arms.
I turned and glanced behind me, but there was no one there.
I faced him and put my hand on my chest. “Me?” I mouthed to him.
He nodded and gestured toward me to follow him.
All this was odd enough to start with. But one thing made it even odder.
This strange bearded man wasn’t exactly solid. I could see right through him to the shoe rack behind him.
He was a ghost. A ghost who seemed desperate to talk to me.