I stepped through the mirror and back into my vault apartment, greeted instantly by the comforting scent of iron, cedarwood, and a faint whisper of ozone that meant my wards were still alive and homicidally overactive.
The temperature dropped two degrees as I entered—my wards, like me, were not fond of visitors.
I paused in the entry alcove, letting the magic scan me. The protective enchantments checked for foreign intent, residue spells, pheromone tags, and traces of glamour. They always lingered a little longer when I came back from the manor, as if suspicious that some of Diana's radiant nonsense had rubbed off on me.
The scan completed with a metallic chime, and the door seals unlocked one by one with deep, satisfying clicks.
Home.
Built in the bowels of an abandoned prewar bank, the vault had once been the centerpiece of a failed interior design firm's portfolio. Too weird, too inconvenient, too hex-prone to sell—exactly the kind of property I could afford and protect with alarming magical violence. Concrete walls. Arcane locks. Wards upon wards. A paranoid witch's paradise.
I kicked off my boots and walked past the velvet-draped cabinet where I kept my arsenal of enchanted heirlooms. A dagger that whispered in Latin. A ring that made you forget your last three mistakes. A hairbrush that tried to kill its user if they harbored unclean thoughts. Useful things.
"Welcome home, Gray," I muttered to myself.
Min, my college-age roommate, was nowhere in sight—probably out drinking fluorescent cocktails with people who still believed in optimism and wet eyeliner wings. That suited me just fine. I needed solitude. And clothes. And maybe a ritual to deaden the part of my soul that was already recoiling at the idea of attending this evening's glorified mating market.
The gala.
I dropped my coat onto a high-backed chair enchanted to fluff it back to wrinkle-free perfection, then strode toward the wardrobe hidden behind a bookshelf that only opened if you whispered the name of your greatest regret.
Tonight, it was "trusting Diana."
The shelf groaned open.
Inside, lined on custom hex-repellent hangers, were my battle gowns. Each one enchanted. Each one layered with spells of protection, persuasion, misdirection, or vengeance.
I ran my fingers along the fabric.
Too obvious. Too revealing. Too cursed. Definitely, too cursed.
Then I stopped at a long velvet number in shadow-black, its seams woven with moonlight thread, the collar embroidered with subtle warding runes designed to reflect mind-altering magic. It had pockets deep enough to conceal two knives and a vial of powdered basilisk scale.
Classic.
I held it up, narrowed my eyes, and checked the side mirror. The enchantment fogged for a second before adjusting to show my true aura—sharp, muted, spiked with obsidian and flickers of regret.
"Perfect," I muttered. "Elegant with just a whisper of existential threat."
Dressing took longer than I'd like to admit. The gown fit like it had been tailored by a demon seamstress with grudges against the laws of physics. The boots laced themselves. The belt refused to sit straight until I threatened it with fire.
Once dressed, I turned my attention to hair and face. Not glamour—just enough contouring and spell-set shimmer to pass as someone who hadn't slept in three days running from magical disaster.
Then came the accessories.
The Thorn Ring: protection against unwanted magical bonds.The Mirror Locket: encrypted memory vault. And, last but not least, a delicate chain around my ankle bearing a stone that looked like opal and felt like a warning—it was keyed to my heartbeat. If it stopped, it would explode with a curse loud enough to wake the dead. Insurance.
I looked in the mirror again. I looked...expensive. Dangerous. Pissed.
Just the right amount of menace for a girl going to sabotage a fated soulmate.
The vault lights flickered as I walked into the prep chamber. My potions had stabilized. My shadow-pinned feathers pulsed gently in their circle. I checked the charm pouch—ribbons, the shard, a few spell-salted silver pins. My dagger hissed softly as I sheathed it beneath the dress.
Everything was ready.
Except me.
There was a moment where I just stood there, hands on the stone table, staring at the half-lit map of the city etched into the vault's east wall. The ley lines shimmered faintly, crisscrossing in delicate silver lines.
The gala would sit right on the mouth of three of them. A perfect storm of magical convergence. Of course it would.
"Diana's going to meet him tonight," I said to no one. "Laziel. The soul mirror bond will spark, and if I don't intervene…"
It wouldn't be instant, but it would start. The way it always started. A glance. A touch. And then the threads would begin to weave.
A knot that no spell could cut—not cleanly.
But I'd come prepared.
"Delay, don't destroy," I murmured, repeating the law. "Disrupt, don't dismantle. Mask, don't murder."
Those were the boundaries. At least if I didn't want to bleed out through a reality fissure.
I lit a single candle—black, beeswax, laced with an awareness-dulling charm. A glamour field shimmered over my features, softening them into something less threatening, more background.
Tonight, I would not be Gray the Reckoner, or Gray the Evil Contractor, or Gray the Sellout Witch.
I'd be something much simpler.
A ripple in the fabric of fate.
I stepped through the mirror.
The world shimmered, reformed, and then dropped me straight into the glimmering marble foyer of the Crescent Hall—a massive, chandelier-heavy ballroom that looked like Versailles if Versailles had been designed by narcissistic fae with a gemstone fetish. Light danced off a thousand enchanted crystals, and the air was thick with perfume, charm spells, and anticipatory tension.
This was the gala.
I exhaled slowly and adjusted my cuffs. My glamour field pulsed around me, subtly redirecting attention away, letting others' eyes slide off unless I wanted them to see me. It wasn't invisibility. It was curated forgettability. A spell I'd invented during college finals.
I moved.
Not toward Diana—no. She wouldn't arrive for another fifteen minutes. I had time. Just enough to get ahead of the first spark.
I circled the outer edge of the ballroom, weaving through clusters of overdressed supernaturals and political parasites. I saw vampires from the northern enclaves, fae lords glittering in rune-studded armor, warlocks sipping liquified moonlight through crystal straws. Everyone who mattered—or thought they did—was here.
And then I saw him.
Target One.
Prince Laziel of the Twilight Court.
He stood near the northern balcony, surrounded by lesser fae and bored sycophants, all drawn into his gravity well like moths to a smoldering bonfire. He wore moon-silver robes open at the throat, exposing ink-black runes that shimmered like living ink. His eyes glowed faintly violet, and when he smiled, even the walls leaned in a little closer.
I stopped four paces away and watched.
He was already watching the entrance.
Waiting for her.
I opened my charm pouch, palmed a ribbon threaded with delay magic, and stepped forward.
"Prince Laziel," I said, voice smooth, magic laced subtly through my tone.
His head turned instantly, but he didn't recognize me.
Good.
"Lady…" he trailed off, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Gray," I said, offering a half-curtsey that was more mockery than manners. "Forgive the intrusion. I have something that may concern you."
He blinked once. "Do I know you?"
"No," I said. "But I know what's about to happen."
That got his attention. The crowd around him shifted uneasily as my glamour rippled, subtly adjusting the light. I handed him the ribbon—plain black silk, barely enchanted, but humming with old delay sigils disguised as decorative threads.
"What is this?" he asked.
"A ward against accidental imprinting," I said. "It's been a very long time since your last visit to this realm, hasn't it?"
He said nothing, but the faint pulse of confusion in his aura confirmed it.
"There are customs here," I continued, voice low and even. "Traditions. Magical etiquette. Wouldn't want you to misstep."
He studied me for a moment longer. "You are… not fae."
"No," I agreed. "But I am well-informed."
He weighed the ribbon in his hand. "And if I refuse?"
I smiled, just enough to show teeth. "Then you'll be tripping over three separate magical lawsuits before the appetizers are served. Your court would not enjoy the headlines."
That did it.
He slipped the ribbon into his coat, aura curling slightly around it as if testing the enchantment. It wouldn't last more than an hour. But it would delay the bond spark. Just long enough for me to try Plan B, if necessary.
"Thank you," he said slowly, "Miss Gray."
I turned to leave.
And then, casually, over my shoulder, I added, "By the way, you're being watched."
That wiped the smirk off his face.
I vanished back into the crowd, slipping between enchantments and noble egos, heartbeat calm, pulse steady. First obstacle slowed.
Now came the hard part.
Diana was about to arrive.
And the rest of the night?
It was about to get loud.