Between the Moon and Her Night (Between Life and Death #3)

Chapter 4

Aurelia

One Month Later

I pulled the hood of my cloak over my head, ensuring my features were hidden as I weaved my way through the alleyway in the bustling metropolis of Veylandria. People, a mosaic of ages and races, stood up ahead, clogging the alley like the archaic outhouses I had recently come to learn about. Back in the Immortal Realm, where magic was in abundance, we had indoor plumbing. But here, in the Living Realm, a land with very little magic, they were one step above wiping with a leaf.

I spared a quick glance behind me, ensuring I hadn’t been followed. I didn’t know if I was becoming paranoid, but over the past month, I had certainly seen a lot of ravens throughout my travels. Were the Reapers watching me, reporting back to their king about where I was? I hoped not— hoped it was just a coincidence, although my gut told me otherwise. I stepped into the back of the line, if it could even be called that. People were scattered all over the place, facing each other in conversation.

Off to my right, a man held his spouse upright, cradling her trembling frame as she coughed into a rag—the yellowed cloth splattered with red. “You’ll be okay, my love,” he promised her, his concerned expression stating otherwise. She nodded somberly before she was overtaken by another coughing fit.

Standing to my left, slightly ahead of the couple, was a trio of girls. They looked to be around seventeen.

“Do you really believe that the potion maker will have something to help us find rich husbands?” asked the one who stood in the middle, her head bobbing between the two who flanked her.

The shorter girl, whose dark, cropped hair framed her wide eyes and sternly set brow, shook her head. “I think this is a bad idea. For all we know, the potion maker could be a—” She glanced around. I slid my gaze to the side, trying not to get caught eavesdropping. She lowered her voice, “—a witch.”

“Stella,” the taller blonde hissed. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud.”

“I’m not.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I just don’t think this is a wise idea.”

The one in the middle opened her mouth to speak, but the blonde raised her hand, silencing her, and said, “So then what do you think is a wise idea?”

“I . . .” Stella trailed off, her arms loosening, along with her rigid posture, as she searched for an answer to their money woes.

“I’m waiting,” the blonde snarked.

The one in the middle started, “Irena, I think that—”

“Look.” Irena, the blonde, cut her off, something I was beginning to suspect she did a lot. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m tired of being poor. I’m tired of folding sheets and sweeping floors and living in these—” she grabbed hold of her dingy, brown skirt, the hem tattered and worn, and shook it, “—these rags.” She leveled the other two with her gaze. “I don’t care if the potion maker gives me rat piss to drink, I’ll do it if it helps me get a rich husband.”

I was tempted to tell her that wealthy husbands weren’t the key to happiness. I’d lived in a palace made of gold bricks and I’d been miserable. But judging by Irena’s stance, a stranger wasn’t about to change her mind. I glanced back at the couple who stood on the other side, noting the bags that had formed under the man’s eyes as he supported his wife. That was the kind of man a woman should want to end up with. Someone who cared.

Just then, the line shifted ahead.

Irena huffed, turned on the back of her heel, and stomped a few paces forward. Her friends looked at one another, exchanged a silent conversation, and then followed after her.

My gaze leapt from person to person, until I reached the end up ahead—nearly sixty feet away. There were so many people, and the line had barely budged since I’d arrived. At this rate, I wondered if I’d even get into the apothecary before the potion maker closed up shop. And then what? I’d be forced to either stay overnight and hold my place in line or come back tomorrow.

And by tomorrow, it could be too late.

I rolled my head back, stretching my neck as I massaged my tightly woven muscles and looked at the night sky. It was full of brilliant, twinkling stars. It wasn’t even five o’clock yet, but here in the north, the days were short.

But not nearly as short as they were in the Spirit Realm.

That was one of two places I did not want to be.

And if Death found me, that’s exactly where I would end up.

The piercing cry of a raven sounded from somewhere up above, making my hair stand on end. Someone tapped me on the shoulder and my divinity nearly leapt from my bones.

I swirled around, my hand shooting out, ready to summon my blade and ram it into his stomach, just like I did that day on the battlefield. Yes, I did feel something for the Blood King, but I was choosing myself for once. I had spent too many years under a man’s thumb, and I had no desire to be stuck in that same position again—feelings or not. When I was fully turned, instead of finding a tall, brooding, dangerous male, I found an elderly one who was more mustache than body. His shoulders were curved like a hawk’s talon, his legs like crooked sticks.

He looked up at me through kind eyes, blinking. “Excuse me, miss, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “I was just wondering—” He scratched the back of his head as he glanced around, “—is this Barbas alley?”

“It is,” I told him, softening my gaze and defensive stance.

“Thank the gods. I made it after all.” He beamed gleefully, looking ahead. He squinted, taking in the river of people before him. “Are all of these people waiting to see the potion maker?”

I nodded. “They are.”

His shoulders sagged. “How long have they been waiting for?”

“A while, I imagine. The line doesn’t seem to move very fast. At this rate, I can’t see many more people getting in to see the potion maker before the shop closes for the night.”

“Then I fear I’ve made a mistake in coming.” His voice crackled with emotion as he withdrew a plaid scarf from an inside coat pocket. He held it to his heart.

I made a puzzled face. “What do you mean?”

“My son was born with a condition that the healers have no name for. He has spells that come and go where he can’t breathe. It has robbed him of having a natural life. He’s never been able to attend school or get married or even have children of his own. A few months ago, it started getting worse. Now, it has become so bad he is confined to his bed. We’ve had the town healer in to look at him and . . .” His eyes clouded over. “He told us that there was nothing he could do and that our son was not long for this realm—that he would be lucky to survive the week.” The elderly man paused, lowered the scarf from his heart, his gaze falling to it. His trembling, aged hands held it with such care. Such love. “My wife wanted us to be together, as a family, for his remaining days, but like the stubborn old fool that I am, I was not willing to let my son go. And so, I gathered the little coin we had saved and used it to travel here, where the great potion maker lives. It has taken me four days to get here, and I worry, if I do not get back in time, I—” He broke. Tears started racing down his hollow cheeks.

My heart, already broken and bruised, ached for him.

I placed a gentle hand on his shaking one. “I’ll get you in,” I whispered.

He looked up at me, his weathered face slick with tears. “How?”

“Like this.” A glow spread around me, connecting to him through our joined hands.

I light walked us through the stone buildings, inside the apothecary.

Rosemary, mint, lavender, and some other scent permeated the air. I breathed in, trying to pinpoint the fourth smell, but no answer came. The apothecary was dark inside, a few hanging lanterns providing the only light. The ebony-stained wood floors matched the shelves lining the halls, full of vials, bottles, salves, and various other tinctures. In the corner sat a small bed with a quilted throw placed over top, and a wood stool beside it. Down from it, was a set of steep stairs, leading up to what I imagined must be the second floor.

The old man gawked at me. “How did you do that?”

“I’m a goddess,” I told him, not seeing any point in lying.

The rusty hinges in his jaw sprung open, well-oiled by my honesty.

Footsteps sounded from the floor above, garnering our attention. The older man’s mouth slapped shut like a bear trap.

“Yes, yes, drink it two times a day,” a slightly muffled female voice said through the floorboards.

“And that will help me with my . . . problem?” asked a man, his voice equally muffled .

“It will, although there might be a few minor side effects,” the female replied, her voice sounding slightly familiar. I tried to place it.

“Any I should be concerned about?” he asked.

“Oh no,” she chuckled. “Nothing that won’t remedy itself in a day. Or two. Maybe three. Possibly four. If it takes five then come back. Tonics for side effects are complimentary.”

“Alright . . . then.” The man didn’t sound very confident. Wood screeched upon wood and then a few of the old, wide-plank floorboards above us groaned, protesting the heavy weight that had shifted onto them. Substantial footsteps sounded, joined with much lighter ones.

The old man’s eyes widened even further. Frantically, he whisper-shouted at me, “I don’t think the potion maker will be too keen on us being in her apothecary without her permission.”

I shrugged a shoulder, the act hardly visible due to the thickness of my cloak. “There’s only one way to find out.”

The stairs creaked at the top. The elderly man’s eyes darted between me and the steep stairwell in such a way I could practically hear the warning horns blaring inside his head.

“All will be well,” I assured him, although I wasn’t entirely certain about that. I had seen dozens of healers and potion makers over the past four weeks, but not one of them had been able to help me. The majority didn’t even want to try, especially once they heard I wanted to break a deal with the God of Death. They would usher me out of their shop, tell me never to come back, and slam their door in my face, time after time after time.

In truth, I was beginning to lose hope that I would ever succeed at my task, but here I was, trying one more time. Please let this one be different, I prayed to the Creator .

A pair of button-up ankle boots emerged from the stairwell, followed by a brown skirt that soon gave way to a lacy blouse and then . . . familiar blue eyes set in a familiar freckled face.

“What took you so long?” Ezravaynia asked me with a great big smile.