"It always starts with a dame."

  Victor muttered the words under his breath as the distinctive three-tap knock echoed through his office. His fingers tightened around the glass of Soul Shine, the purple liquid sloshing against the sides.

  "It's open," he called out, knowing full well the visitor could bypass his security ritual if she wanted to. The blood magic lock was more for keeping out the usual riffraff than someone like her.

  A beat of silence followed, then the sound of the doorknob being tested and finding resistance. Victor allowed himself a small, bitter smile. So she was playing by the rules. For now.

  A second later, a small pop punctuated the silence, followed by a wisp of green smoke that curled under the door like curious fingers. The brass doorknob fell to the floor with a hollow thud, spinning briefly before settling on the worn floorboards. The door swung inward slowly, as if pushed by an invisible hand, revealing a silhouette backlit by the hallway's sickly yellow bulb.

  In walked Sele?a.

  Time had not dulled her impact. She wore a bottle-green gown that clung to her curves like paint on a canvas, the fabric shimmering with each step. Draped over her otherwise bare shoulders was the fur of some exotic, possibly extinct predator. Her black hair cascaded in loose waves past her shoulders, framing a face that belonged on ancient coins--regal, timeless, and utterly unforgettable.

  No matter how much he wanted to.

  Sele?a was as beautiful as she was dangerous, and Victor felt the familiar tightening in his chest and his pants--equal parts desire and dread. The hair on the back of his neck rose as she stepped fully into the room, bringing with her the scent of jasmine, vetiver, and something else--something earthy and metallic that clung to practitioners of her particular art.

  "Hello, Victor," she said, voice smooth as aged whiskey and twice as intoxicating. "Miss me?"

  He took a slow, deliberate sip of Soul Shine before answering, using the moment to compose himself. "I'd miss you more if my aim were better."

  A smile played at the corner of her crimson lips as her dark eyes scanned the shabby office—taking in the stacked files, the dust-covered bookcases, and finally, Victor himself. He knew what she saw: a man worn ragged by years of pain and Soul Shine, hollow-cheeked and hard-eyed, wrapped in a coat that had seen better days.

  Victor knew what she was—a Santera, a witch who walked the line between worlds, communing with spirits and bending fate to her will. She had once helped him recover from something so traumatic it had nearly destroyed him. Her magic and her love had been a balm for his broken soul. But as she had whispered to him during their last night together: "The greatest thing a woman can give, after a bandage, is a wound."

  And wound him she did.

  The memory of her betrayal flashed hot in his mind—her silhouette against the fiery backdrop, her promises revealed as lies. Without breaking eye contact, Victor reached into his coat and withdrew one of his ebon-black daggers, the blade reflecting nothing, seeming to devour light instead. He plunged it into the desk with enough force to embed it deep in the wood.

  If Sele?a was intimidated, she didn't show it. She merely arched one perfect eyebrow and glided across the room, each step a performance in itself. "Still poisoning yourself with that garbage?" She nodded toward his glass, the Soul Shine inside casting a sickly purple glow on the scattered papers.

  She settled into the chair across from him, crossing her legs in a way that deliberately revealed a glimpse of thigh through the high slit of her dress before she demurely adjusted the fabric.

  "What do you want, Sele?a?" Victor asked, his voice flat but his eyes never leaving hers. He wouldn't play the game of casual pleasantries with her. Not anymore. "Last I checked, you were in Sin, busy ruining someone else's life."

  "Always so charming," she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?" The smile that accompanied her words was practiced, calculated to remind him of better times.

  "We're not friends." The words came out as a growl.

  "No," she agreed, her smile never faltering, though something flickered behind her eyes—a momentary lapse in the performance. "We were much more than that."

  The air between them seemed to crackle with unspoken accusations, with questions that would never receive honest answers. Victor could feel her eyes taking inventory of his shabby office, his drink, his life—measuring how far he'd fallen since they'd parted ways.

  "You've made quite the name for yourself," she said, tone shifting to one of condescension. "The great Victor Redrose, reduced to hunting vermin for the rich. Glorified pest exterminator." She picked up a case file from his desk, thumbing through it with disinterest before dropping it back among the others.

  Victor leaned back in his chair, which protested with a long, agonized squeak. He knew her opinion of his work—how he dealt with infestations caused by leftover demonic magic that manifested as vermin in places saturated with profane energy. His clients were mostly the rich, dabbling foolishly in forbidden arts only to panic when their mansions became haunted by the consequences of their stupidity.

  "Cut the crap," he said, leaning forward, the chair protesting again. "What do you want?"

  Something in his tone must have convinced her the preliminaries were over. Sele?a's expression shifted from mock playfulness to serious intent, the transition as smooth as a blade being drawn.

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  "I'm looking for a missing girl," she said, all pretense gone from her voice. "Carla—the daughter of my employer, a wealthy and powerful man whose name I'm not at liberty to disclose."

  "And why should I care?" Victor asked, though he already knew the answer. It was always the same with missing persons in this city—especially the young ones with more beauty than brains.

  "Because she's in trouble," Sele?a replied, leaning forward, her eyes intense. "The kind only you can help with."

  "Let me guess," Victor said, swirling the dregs of his Soul Shine. "She moved to LA to be famous but ended up at a cam bar."

  Surprise flickered across Sele?a's perfect features. "How did you—"

  "Because that's what they all do," Victor cut her off, setting his glass down with a dull thud. "They come here with stars in their eyes and end up with holes in their souls."

  The room felt smaller suddenly, as if the walls were inching closer with each exchange. Outside, the constant hum of the city—car horns, distant sirens, the murmur of humanity—created a sound track to their conversation, a reminder of the world beyond these walls that continued to spin regardless of personal dramas.

  "She's not like the others," Sele?a insisted, her composure slipping just enough to reveal genuine concern. "She was working at a place called The Skimpy Devil. That’s the last thing I was able to find out."

  Victor studied Sele?a's face, searching for the lie he was certain must be there. He didn't trust her—couldn't trust her—but there was something in her manner that gave him pause. Concern, perhaps. Fear, definitely. And something else he couldn't quite place.

  She reached into a small clutch purse and withdrew a photograph, sliding it across the desk to him. It showed both Sele?a and a young woman with soft eyes and curly brown hair—Carla, presumably—standing in what looked like a garden. They were smiling, Sele?a's arm around the girl's shoulders in a protective, almost maternal gesture. They looked close, too close for mere employer and employee.

  Victor looked up from the picture, his eyes narrowing. "She the kid of a friend of yours?"

  "Yes, a dear friend," Sele?a replied, her voice softening in a way that seemed genuine.

  "I thought he was your employer?"

  The question caught her off guard. For a fraction of a second, her mask slipped, revealing something vulnerable underneath. But she recovered quickly, her lips curving into a suggestive smile.

  "You know how... close I get to the people I work with..." she said, letting the implication hang in the air, a jab at their own tangled past.

  Victor's gaze dropped to her hand, resting on the desk between them. His eyes took in the intricately wrought silver ring on her finger and the raw green gem set into it. Sele?a noticed his gaze and instinctively withdrew her hand, tucking it beneath the desk.

  "Yeah," he smirked, the expression more a baring of teeth than a smile, "close enough to stab them in the back."

  A flash of genuine hurt crossed her face, quickly replaced by determination. She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a near whisper, as if afraid someone might be listening.

  "Please, I need your help. She's a good kid, Vic. I know you hate me for not choosing you back then, but don't make her suffer for it."

  The words hit their mark, stirring memories Victor had worked hard to bury. The night she'd made her choice—not him, never him—and left him bleeding in more ways than one.

  He took a long breath, studying Sele?a's face for any sign of deception. "If you're coming to me to find a person, you must think this is more than that she just ran away or flew the coop with a sweetheart..."

  "It is," she confirmed, her expression grim. "I tried a locating spell, but it was wrong- manipulated by a powerful magic with a demonic signature. Something is hiding her from me."

  The admission surprised him. Sele?a was powerful—one of the most talented witches he'd ever encountered. If her magic had been thwarted, the situation was serious indeed.

  "And you think I can do better?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

  "I know you can," Sele?a said, conviction in her voice. "Your... unique abilities will help locate her where my magic failed."

  Victor leaned back, feigning disinterest even as his mind began working through the problem. "Why should I risk my life for a spoiled rich girl who didn't know better than to play with fire?"

  "She isn't the type to meddle with demons," Sele?a insisted, her voice taking on a defensive edge. "I've known Carla since she was a child. I personally educated her on how to avoid such dangers." Her eyes locked with his, intense and pleading. "She really is a good kid, Vic."

  Kill her and be done, whispered that familiar voice in the back of Victor's mind—Victor's jaw tightened as he fought back against the intrusive thought. He remained outwardly unmoved, his expression hard as stone, but inwardly, he recoiled from the suggestion.

  Mistaking his silence for continued resistance, Sele?a reached into her clutch again and produced an envelope visibly thick with cash, and a folder. She slid them across the desk, her fingertips lingering on the edges as if reluctant to let go.

  "Think about it," she said softly. "The folder contains everything I know."

  Victor stared at the envelope, then at the folder. He picked neither up, instead pointing out the harsh reality they both knew all too well. "If your locator spell failed, she might already be dead—or worse."

  Sele?a's face tightened, a flicker of genuine fear crossing her features. "I know," she acknowledged, her voice barely above a whisper. "But even if you only find a body, you'll still get paid."

  The mercenary approach was calculated to appeal to him, to the man he pretended to be. Victor slid the envelope back toward her, knowing it was an empty gesture. "I'll let you know," he said, nodding toward the door. "Fix that on your way out."

  Sele?a rose from her chair, smoothing her dress with practiced grace. She didn't pick up the envelope. "I know what kind of man you used to be," she said, her eyes boring into his. "I know you're still him. As much as you wish you weren’t."

  The words hung in the air like smoke, impossible to wave away. As she walked to the door, Victor couldn't help but notice the way the dim light caught the curves of her silhouette, the way her scent lingered in the air.

  At the threshold, she paused, glancing over her shoulder. For just a moment, her face was unguarded, revealing a complex mixture of regret, determination, and something that might have been longing.

  Then the moment passed. With a flick of her wrist the broken doorknob flew back into place, and the door swung shut behind her.

  Victor sat motionless for several heartbeats, listening to the click of her heels fade down the hallway. Only when the sound had completely disappeared did he reach for the envelope, opening it to reveal a stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills. He whistled softly at the amount.

  He poured himself another drink, leaned back in his squeaky chair and contemplated the situation, the cold logic of it warring with the tangled emotions Sele?a always stirred up.

  As he sipped, he let the numbness wash over him, quieting the constant pain for now. The Soul Shine worked its magic, dulling the edges of reality just enough to make existence bearable.

  Finally, he leaned forward, opened the folder, and flipped through its contents. A detailed background on Carla, known associates, bank statements, last whereabouts—Sele?a had been thorough.

  "Fuck," he muttered, closing the folder with a snap. "She really does know me."

  He knew he was going to take this case. He just hated the fact that she knew it too.