The Countess started, spinning on her heel to stare at the spot the voice came. It seemed to sound from the very fabric. As attention turned to the spot on the curtain, though, a shrouded figure stepped forward. A second ago, everyone would have sworn that the shawl blended in perfectly with the curlicue pattern of the rich fabrics. But, upon closer inspection, the figure’s shawl wasn’t of a luxurious orange and pink, but a dusty blue.

At the interruption, Julian managed to bring his head up. Staring toward the Countess’s dais, the man could hardly believe his eye. Was that figure truly… “Mazelinka?”

Nadia glared down her nose at the woman, bewildered at the sudden interference of her longtime triumph. The woman didn’t appear to be a threat, though guards were scrambling toward the stairs of her dais. Nadia raised a hand to her protectors. There was no need to hassle an old woman. “Who are you?”

“That doesn’t matter. Listen,” Mazelinka, unperturbed by the bristling guards, pointed to the sky. A hum buzzed on the wind, faint and far, yet coming from all around Vesuvia. Nadia’s eyes widened, deciphering the words a moment before they became clearer.

“Free Doctor Jules! Free Doctor Jules! Free Doctor Jules!” The words echoed on the breeze, becoming louder with each passing moment. In the distance, a raven cawed in time to the beat.

For once, Nadia and Julian shared a look – across the gallows’ audience – of utter bewilderment. She looked to him, imagining a smug smirk on his roachy lips. He thought he’d find a calm complacency on the woman’s features. Instead, their wide eyes met over the people, and their hearts jolted with shock. What in the world was going on?

“The reason your guards had problems hunting down this lad isn’t due to his criminal ingenuity,” Mazelinka sucked at her teeth, a wry smirk curling at her lips at the thought. Her grin only broadened as Nadia returned her gaze toward the old woman. “The boy trips over his own feet trying to make an impression, dear.

“We hid him.” Mazelinka pointed to herself then motioned out toward the city. The demands for freedom echoed off the buildings, ricocheting around the gallows and audience. Nadia’s eyes widened, slow comprehension dawning in her mind as Mazelinka continued, “We bungled your guards’ investigations. We cared for him when he’d deny himself that luxury.”

Julian, caught up in the surreal unfoldings, started at the touch of cold fingertips fluttered across his neck. The weight of the abrasive noose lifted. He turned, finding opalescent eyes and a smile.

“I’m here,” Xixa whispered as the tears flooded his eyes. Her fingers felt like a salve on his flesh and her presence a sheer blessing. His heart sang, unable to believe the sight. Perhaps he had already hanged and this was merely a dead man’s dream.

Whatever this was, he couldn’t stop himself. Julian threw himself at her, sobs bubbling up from deep in his chest as he buried his face against the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Her warmth kissed his cold body. Relief burst through his confusion. No matter what happened, Xixa was here. The woman cooed softly, rubbing his back with one hand as her other went to fumble with the ropes at his wrists. Her stomach reeled slightly, finding blood-slick ropes, but she had a job.

“We, the citizens of Vesuvia, do not fear Doctor Ilya Devorak.” By this time, a great many bodies were flooding the city streets. Mazelinka had managed to get close enough to Nadia for the Countess to see the hard gleam of ferocity in the old woman’s eye: “And that begs the question: Why do you fear him, Countess?”

“Free Doctor Jules! Free Doctor Jules!” The mantra echoed around the square, punctuated by the raven. The courtiers and upper-class held their breath, eyes wide, drinking in the sheer drama of it all. Some glanced at each other nervously, recognizing their vulnerable position as more and more people surrounded the square. Revolutions didn’t end well for the upper-crust.

A wave of dizzying shock and uncertainty crashed over Nadia. What in the world was happening? Had these people truly protected her husband’s murderer? She raised a hand to her temple as her red gaze flickered over the growing sea of people. They ranged from young to old; skinny to portly; sickly to healthy. Lowly peasants, with more grime on them than clothes, to middle-class merchants.

The gleam of palace gilt caught Nadia’s attention; even some guards and servants?! Nadia’s heart thrummed, painfully, as her gaze snagged on a redheaded handmaiden. Shaking the sickly recognition away, the Countess turned her gaze elsewhere.

Her eyes skimmed across the square, onto Devorak, and her blood went cold.

The apprentice held the accused in her arms! The man hunched over, shaking – was he crying? - as Xixa managed to slide the restraints from his wrists. He didn’t pull away, didn’t make a break for freedom. Instead, his arms looped around the woman, crushing her close, breathing in her scent. Xixa buried her head against him, one hand sifting through his hair and the other on his shoulder.

As if feeling Nadia’s gaze, Xixa pulled away far enough to turn her eyes toward the Countess. A fearless look in her puffy, red-rimmed eyes. The woman didn’t look as if she had slept all night, though it didn’t seem she had been sobbing into her pillow, either. Nadia grasped tightly at her shawl, the silky fabric kissing her fingertips. Was Xixa part of this? Was she responsible for this? A flush of anger mingled with confusion, Nadia’s brain trying to solve this sudden puzzle.

“Nadia.” From her right, someone’s soft voice soothed. She turned flashing red eyes toward Asra. Was he, too, going to betray her? He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, worry gleaming in his violet eyes. “The people have spoken.”

The Countess remained tight-lipped and wide-eyed. She stared down at the magician, brain scrabbling to make sense of this. Did everyone simply pretend to assist her? Were they all laughing at her, behind her back? Oh, the foolish Countess! Nadia clenched her fists, the flash of rage arching across her cheeks and landing in her chest.

“Lucio was not a kind man. He overtaxed the lower-classes, terrified the servants, and mutilated anyone who stood up to him.” Asra swallowed, giving Nadia’s shoulder a squeeze. Faintly, her rage subsided as the magician recounted memories she had lost. He glanced across the audience, toward Julian. The doctor seemed to be an intense conversation with Xixa, both making harsh and abrupt motions with their hands. Nadia followed his gaze toward the doctor, her attention briefly caught by his eye patch. Mutilation echoed in her brain. Asra murmured, pain laced in his words, “Where did that leave these people?”

Nadia fell silent, her mind mulling over the refreshed details. Around her, the chant ‘Free Doctor Jules! Free Doctor Jules! Free Doctor Jules!’ continued, though it had become a background hum with raised fists, clapping hands, and stomping feet.

“The whole city of Vesuvia is chanting for your release,” Xixa’s screech cut through the turmoil, “And you’re not going to escape!?”

The apprentice had pushed Julian to arm’s length, her opalescent eyes fiery with annoyance and frustration. Only this man – this man – would not take the opportunity the very community gave him. She wanted to scream. Again.

When the sudden silence filtered into Xixa’s ears, she looked around, face going red. So many eyes turned toward her. From poor beggars to the richest of courtiers, everyone turned their attention to the apprentice.

“I told you to be careful with screaming.” Julian softly chuckled, somehow finding humor in such a setting. Though, the amusement didn’t quite reach his sad gaze. “Now everyone’s heard you.”

“Oh, don’t you fucking start, Julian.” Tears pricked at Xixa’s eyes, threatening to down her cheeks. It was too late to convince the doctor to run. The protest had been silenced – even if it wasn’t intentional – and now all eyes were on them. Julian couldn’t sneak away, now.

The man pressed a gentle kiss to Xixa’s lips, before pulling completely away. Her sniffles sliced through his heart, but his feet guided him down the stairs of the gallows. The crowd parted before him, fright emanating from the courtiers and nobles. Oh, the touch of a plague doctor, a murderer! He could imagine the things they thought…

Then, beyond the rich, were the regular people. The poor and downtrodden, those who struggled to get by, then the merchants – who hovered between poor and rich. So many had filled the streets, so many chanting his name, demanding his freedom. A warmth swelled in Julian’s chest.

“I don’t know if I killed your husband, Countess.” His grey eye locked on the Countess. She watched him coming. A small contingent of loyal guards lined her viewing stage from the crowd, swords unsheathed as the doctor came closer. He stopped three feet from the guards, ignoring the gleam of swords as he continued to speak, “If my life for his will soothe your pain, I’ll accept that. What I won’t accept are these people giving their lives for mine.”

Julian motioned out toward the crowd. Toward the peasants, the beggars, the cityfolk, the shoppe owners. If he ran, Nadia could punish these people. Devorak sympathizers could be tortured or put to death, in his place. Though, the Countess didn’t seem like the sort, being denied a long-time victory could warp many a mind. He couldn’t swallow the thought of so many people giving up so much for him. He wasn’t worth it. Didn’t they see that?

“Damn foolish, boy!” Mazelinka hissed, fists at her sides as her fiery gaze turned to him.

The Countess stared down at him, eyes narrowed. Was this a ploy? Or genuine? But what fool would stand before a line of guards if he intended to flee?

“I’m inclined to agree with this woman.” Nadia finally announced, eyebrows lowering. Her hand arched out toward the crowd, motioning to the writhing, silent mass. “These people didn’t come together by predetermined destiny, Devorak. Someone had to rouse them, someone had to convince them, someone had to make them aware. That… endeavor took time. Someone lost sleep over this shenanigan.”

The realization struck Julian. Someone had lost sleep over him to organize this protest. It should have been obvious, of course, but he could miss the obvious. His gaze flickered toward Mazelinka, who crossed her arms and gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Julian’s gaze flickered back toward Xixa, shocked to find her at his elbow.

Shrouded in silence, arms crossed, she didn’t turn to meet his gaze. It didn’t matter. The bags under her teary eyes were evidence of more than one sleepless night, recently. Guilt clawed at his guts. How could he have overlooked that? How long had she stayed up, concocting this plan? Getting people to agree? Finding people to fight for him?

“And you aren’t even going to give them the honor of seeing you run off, to live another day?” Nadia’s voice bordered on revulsion. What kind of self-serving murderer was this roach, Devorak?

Julian turned away from Xixa, hanging his head. His eye concentrated on the ground, the dirt, where he belonged. He felt weak. His knees gave out under him, lowering himself to the dust. He closed his eye, croaking out, “You’re right, Countess. I don’t deserve their good graces.”

“Ilya,” Asra quietly snarled, voice a mixture of annoyance and disgust. How much could one man shrug off this much providence?

Nadia raised her hand to the magician, cutting off any other harsh words he had for the doctor. Asra tossed the woman a curious look. The Countess’s red eyes didn’t break from Julian’s bow-headed form, though. Calculations and judgment ticked away behind her gaze. Her line of guards silently waited, grasping their weapons, for their lady’s final decree.

“My husband was not kind. Compassion was not a mercy he gave.” Nadia’s voice sounded across the square, strong and vibrant. Her lips pressed together, faint memories – translucent and watered down – and feelings rising to the surface. “He thought he was fair, at least. An eye for an eye.” She paused, briefly, as Julian twitched. Apparently, the saying struck a cord with him. “If I take your life to avenge my husband’s, what does that make me?”

The doctor remained silent, hands weakly folded in his laps. He barely heard the Countess. He simply waited for his fate. He didn’t deserve mercy and he doubted he’d receive it.

Nadia continued to stare at the redheaded doctor. Lips pressed together as she considered the man. He looked pathetic, kneeling in the dust, bent double. Waiting for death. What ever did the apprentice – did Vesuvia – see in this man? However, could she send him to the gallows for being pathetic? That was something Lucio would do… and that thought made a sickness clench at her chest.

“It… It makes me wrong. It makes me no better than the late Count.” Nadia’s volume increased, her voice ringing out over the accumulated bodies. Her gaze tore away from the doctor, piercing the poor with her livid red gaze. With a grand, sweeping gesture, she indicated the people surrounding the gallows and the audience, her scarf flying out like a wing. “I see the lifeblood of Vesuvia in this square. Pumping and beating and willing to spill for your safety, doctor.”

The Countess fell silent, hazarding a glance toward Asra. The magician watched her, attention rapt. Her gaze flicked to Xixa, the woman’s opalescent eyes dull, yet hopeful. Then, finally, Nadia returned to Julian’s bowed head. She narrowed her eyes, her lips pursing around her words. “I will give the people what they want.”

Xixa’s eyes widened, hand pressed over her lips, her gaze flickering to Julian. He didn’t move. Confusion rippled through the crowd, uncertain of Nadia’s meaning. They were too used to double-talking politicians to take her words at face value.

“We want blood!” A courtier shot out of their seat, shrieking.

“It will not be the doctor’s blood that is spilled,” threatened the Countess, whipping her red gaze to the courtier. She was tired and exhausted from the strain of the day. Her eyes widened with anger, pinning the courtier with rage. “I’m sure the citizens of Vesuvia have suggestions. Wish to try them?”

The courtier visibly gulped, shaking their head and returning to their seat, a bit more stiffly than before.

Annoyed, Nadia added with a bite, “You’re free, Julian Devorak.”

That seemed to jostle the man from his continual melancholia. The man turned a wide, grey-eyed stare toward the Countess, mouth agape. The blunt words sunk into the crowd at the edges, cheering and singing began from the corners of the citizenry. Malak screamed triumphantly. Julian swung his gaze toward Xixa as she dropped to her knees in front of him.

He barely had a chance to brace himself as the woman fell into him, head lolling against his chest. Julian yelped, grasping the woman by her shoulders as he peered down at her. Worry teetered into his voice, “Xixa?”

“Child’s dead tired. She was running all over the city with your sister, last night. Stirring people up, putting boots up drunkards’ asses.” Mazelinka seemed to appear out of nowhere. The last of the loyal guard regiment were dispersing, following their beloved Countess and her magician back to the palace. The old woman peered over Julian’s shoulder, watching Xixa. “This wasn’t her only sleepless night, you know.”

“She hadn’t come to visit me the last couple nights.” Julian sighed, his fingers rubbing absently into her shoulders. Tears welled up in his eyes. Residual despair, guilt, newfound happiness, inability to accept Nadia’s ruling. There were so many reasons – both sad and happy – to cry.

“Mmm, people do crazy things when sleep-deprived,” Mazelinka sighed and gave a nod. “And in love. Well, congratulations, Ilya.”

Julian nodded absently, eye drawn to Xixa as he caressed her cheek.

“Wait, what?” Mazelinka’s words finally sunk into his brain. His gaze flashed toward her retreating back, his brain a hurricane of thoughts and emotions. His breath came out in a haggard gasp, excitement licking up his throat. “What has Xixa told you? Mazelinka!”

He moved to go after the woman, before Xixa’s weight on him gave him pause. Julian forced himself to ease, settling back on his heels again.

“Juli…lya... shhhh,” slurred Xixa, shifting against Julian, bringing his gaze gack to her. His heart stopped, heat racing up his spine as the woman inadvertently combined his names. His ears burned, embarrassed by how much her voice weaving around those syllables affected him. Heart thundering, spine-tingling, skin prickling reactions at merely mashed up syllables. Xixa’s hand shifted against his sides, grabbing at the dirty fabric of his shirt. She sighed, nuzzling her face against his chest, her breathing returning to its deep, even, sleepy pace.

She wasn’t able to keep her eyes closed long, though. The sounds of song and cheering increased, the crowd of citizens pressing closer as courtiers and guards made their exit. Xixa cracked an eye open as people clapped Julian on his shoulder, delivering equal parts congratulations for his freedom and derision for his prior surrender. She sighed, pushing back from Julian’s chest as the words fell onto his ears. “Congratulations! Not many can walk away from the gallows!”

“We marched all th’ way here, ‘nd you were still gunna give yerself up, y’turd!” Someone clipped Julian’s ear, playfully, before ruffling his hair and moving on.

“That’s Ilya for you, idn’t it,” cackled a woman.

A thick-armed man, smelling of ale and alcohol, gave a hearty laugh as he clapped both hands on Julian’s shoulders. “I’m going to charge you twice as much for the trouble, boy!”

Julian flushed under all the attention, allowing himself to be rocked to and fro by the jostling touches. He mumbled gratitudes and flashed charismatic smiles at the people. Shock settled over his shocks, numbing the sheer impossibility of it all. These were the faces of past patients, shopowners, bartenders, barflies, market goers, beggars… he didn’t know how he touched all their lives, but apparently he had, in some way. At least, enough for them to be bothered to request his freedom.

There was a sudden silence, a parting in the crowd, a wave of whispers as someone shoved their way through the throngs. Xixa’s eyes drew to the cleave in the crowd, an understanding passing her features as she got to her feet. Julian’s brow creased, following her lead. Before he could ask Xixa what was wrong, his little sister barreled through the people.

“Ilya!” As she broke through, her gaze fell on him. Large tears welled up in her eyes, streaming down her cheeks as she rushed to him. Using her inertia, the young woman shoved at her brother, anger and relief mixing in her voice as she cried. “You damnidiot. We got all these people together and you still wanted to get yourself killed!”

“Pasha…” Julian’s voice came out strained, tears blotting at the corners of his eyes. Portia’s arms came around his middle, hugging him tightly as she cried and berated him against his chest. He couldn’t stop himself as tears streamed out his eyes. His arms came around his sister, holding her close. Julian didn’t think he’d ever get a chance to hug his little sister, ever again. The realization broke through his thoughts that this was just one of many more hugs, many more laughs, many more memories he could have. If he did things right.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve a sister like you,” he sobbed, shaking his head as he looked up, over the surrounding crowd. Something warm – a previously forgotten sense of community? – swelled in his chest as he met so many eyes, so many smiles and grins. “Or all this support. I’m not going to throw it away.”

“You better not!” Someone hooted, further away. A chorus a laughter and claps echoed around the square.

“You better take care of yourself, boy!” Mazelinka’s familiar voice popped out of the crowd, loud and obstinate. More laughter and agreeing jeers met with her demand.

Portia swiped her tears away with the palm of her hand as she pushed herself away from her brother. She fixed him with a hard look, lips twisted into a serious frown. “You forgot Xixa. What in the world did you do to deserve Xixa?”

“I don’t know if I deserve her, to be honest.” He glanced over to the aforementioned woman, who had taken a few steps back from the siblings, giving them space.

Xixa’s tired eyes drew up to his face, slowly. Julian shifted under her stare, his ears inexplicably going hot. The woman finally moved toward the doctor, reaching a hand up to stroke his jawline gently. The heat from his ears crossed across his face, leaving a red blush in its wake. Eyes hooded and voice ragged from exhaustion, Xixa smiled softly, “I’m not going to tell what you deserve, Julian, in polite company.”

His heart thrummed. Oh, yes, what did he deserve? Delight and excitement licked over his bones, realizing their time was unlimited and without the threat of guards ruining their fun. His breath hitched, just slightly, at the thought. A sudden burst of energy flared through him.

From the throng of people, someone crowed, “Who’s the wanker that told ya’ we’re polite?”

“Still too polite for that conversation,” Xixa retorted, loud enough for nearer people to hear. Her eyes never left Julian’s face as laughter rippled through the crowd. He bit his bottom lip, finding a heat in her gaze – beneath her exhaustion – that promised something sensual and painfully pleasurable. Perhaps, after a well-deserved nap.

The doctor couldn’t help himself. He arched down, catching the woman in a kiss. Her arms curled around his neck, a soft breathy whimper against his lips. Electricity danced over Julian’s body, the scent of her surrounding him. Heat and joy blossomed in his chest as his hands traced her sides, wracking a small shiver from her body. Xixa sunk her teeth into his bottom lip, almost – almost – provoking a groan of delight from him, in front of such a large crowd.

“If you all will excuse us,” Julian announced once he surfaced, forcing to make himself heard over the whoops and jeers. He swept the woman into arms, cradling her bridal-style to his chest. Xixa squeaked, but settled against his chest, her hands pressing to chest. Feeling her in his arms, a subtle satisfaction coiled into Julian’s core. A broad smirk curled at his lips as he waggled his eyebrows at the hooting crowd. “Xixa and I have much to… ah… discuss.”

As he maneuvered through the crowd – congratulations and compliments lapping against him – Julian could feel excitement bubbling up in him. Excitement for tonight, for tomorrow, for next month, next year. When was the last time he held such anticipation for the future? He glanced down at Xixa, cuddled against his chest, eyelids fluttering against sleep. The doctor gave her a slight squeeze. When she tilted her head back, deigning him with a look and a sleepy smile. “Mmn?”

He turned on his heel, pacing back again. “Granted, I was wanted for murder for a year and some months, but that’s been cleared up. And my memories were altered, but I am perfectly capable of tending to the ill and injured! Just ask the patrons at the Rowdy Raven! Why can’t she see I’m just trying to regain a life lost? Or am I still beyond forgiveness in out dear Countess’s eyes?”

He paused, realizing Xixa had been utterly silent. Had she gone back to her book? Fear crept along his synapses as he turned to look at her, finding Xixa’s undivided attention on him. A tension Julian didn’t even realize he harbored eased. No, of course. Xixa wasn’t Asra. But… she hadn’t said a word.

“Do you have more to say?” Xixa asked.

A wave of foolishness crashed over Julian. Of course, Nadia wouldn’t allow him to open his own clinic. Xixa would remind him he was hot off the gallows, relinquished of a legal death sentence, but not of social backlash. Nadia, and others of particular sway, still harbored concerns and distrust of him. It wasn’t even certain if he’d get any patients. Xixa would say just that and go back to her book. Already feeling like a scolded child, Julian hunched his shoulders and muttered, “No...”

“I’m sorry,” Xixa sighed, getting up from her seat and coming around the counter to stand in front of Julian. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t interrupt. Plus, you’re adorable when agitated.”

Julian shot Xixa a wide-eyed look, a flush crawling over his face. A mingled sensation of delight – at her compliment – and annoyance settled in his chest. Was she going to totally dismiss his feelings? That was worse than being chided!

It didn’t help that Xixa gave him that wry smile of hers, a sister smile to the one that she gave him when she worked him up in – ahem – other ways. The heat of his rage blended with a sharper, sleeker, heat. A heat that caused tingles to creep across his lower abdomen. He wanted to retain his anger, though, and he couldn’t do that looking at his lover. Tearing his gaze away, Julian glanced toward a shelf of incense.

Xixa couldn’t help her grin widening. She never grew tired of his bashful, gaze-averting expressions. Julian Devorak – the towering one-eyed plague doctor, still branded with the murder’s mark, who could charm his way through any bar in Vesuvia – had a bashful streak Xixa loved to stoke.

She pressed her hands to his upper arms, enjoying the feel of his jacket under her skin. Her hands skimmed down to the edge of his gloves, letting the rough fabric press into her skin. Still, he didn’t look at her.

Was he was angry she said that? Did he think she was brushing off his feelings? A little bubble of guilt rose up in Xixa’s mind, feeling as if she had mishandled the doctor. Though, Nadia wasn’t beyond spite, she did try to have good reason for her decisions.

“Julian, I know being a doctor is important to you. You’re caring and want to help people. However, I see Nadia’s point.” Julian’s gaze snapped to her face, grey eye wide and ablaze with betrayal. He opened his mouth to protest, but Xixa held a finger to his lips. “I see her point, but I don’t agree. You’re smart, you can learn new techniques easily. Being a doctor has never been a stagnant occupation. Plus, the basics of medicine probably haven’t changed over the last couple years.”

The tension in Julian’s shoulders eased a little, knowing Xixa hadn’t abandoned him. Yet, a small glimmer of dissatisfaction still tugged at his heart. She was giving weight to the Countess’s opinion on this. His shoulders slouched and his lips twisted into a petulant pout behind Xixa’s finger. Again, he averted his gaze.

When her answer didn’t seem to brighten Julian’s mood, Xixa nearly sighed. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear, but he was an adult and couldn’t be completely catered to. Still, she didn’t want him to mope. Determined, she continued as her hand dropped from his lips, “Or try something new? Singing, perhaps?”

“Oh, yes, I can see myself now, belting out an aria at the Rowdy Raven,” he rolled his eye. Though plenty at his haunt had heard him, he doubted he’d get too far into a whole set of songs before a beer bottle came hurtling at his face. “I’m sure they’d love it.”

“How about you work here, then?” Xixa motioned around the shop, as if illustrating her point. She smiled broadly, holding up her fingers and wiggling them, “I can teach you the Arcanaaa.”

“Asra would love that.” Julian’s eyebrows tilted down as a sneering smile parted his lips, imagining his ex-lover’s reaction to him learning tarot. It might be worth it, just for that.

Dropping her hands, Xixa tilted her head and sighed with a shrug, “Theater?”

Indignity plastered over his face as he straightened and pressed his hand to his chest. “Are you implying I’m overdramatic?”

Oh, she wished to have a mirror at that moment. Instead, Xixa hummed and smiled, wrapping one arm around the back of his neck, fiddling with the coils of his hair. Her eyes focused on his lips, sending a heat searing down Julian’s spine. The warmth intensified as she brushed her fingers against his lips. “One of my fondest memories involves you standing atop an aqueduct, lamenting people becoming immune to a plague and then proceeding to toss your doctor’s mask into a roiling red river below.”

She caught the doctor’s gaze, just as he bristled, “I was not lamenting!”

The way he put an emphasis on ‘lamenting’ made Xixa chuckle, “What were you doing, then, Julian?”

“Bemoaning life’s fickleness.” Even as he said it, he could hear the melodrama of it all. He coughed and glanced away.

A soft laugh fell from Xixa’s lips as she shook her head. “Well, whatever you want to call it, it was oddly endearing.”

A sudden thrill shot through Julian at those words. The delight seared him deep, with a pleasant heat. It was slightly embarrassing how much such things meant to him, now. However, to know, even when he felt at a supreme low – and, maybe, being a little dramatic – Xixa still found him charming… well, it sent a glow through his nerves.

Xixa grinned, watching the contemplative look of happiness cross Julian’s face. Now, that was better.

While he basked in the compliment, Xixa’s fingers toying with the curls at the back of his head gave a gentle tug. The sudden pull on his hair sent a shiver down his back, dragging him out of his thoughts. She pulled harder, eliciting a throaty whimper from his lips and coaxing his head back. He closed his eye, relishing in the slight pain and how, oh-so-slowly, carnal heat built up in his loins.  

With his neck exposed, Xixa leaned forward, lips against his throat, his quickening pulse a tattoo on her tongue. His hands drifted to her sides, fingers digging into her hips, as she nipped along his neck. Wherever her lips landed, a jolt of sparks shot through his nerves. Another light moan hissed from Julian’s lips, the faded flush renewing across his face, making his ears tingle. His breathing became ragged and balmy It felt like the blush infused into his blood, heating his whole body with prickling sensations.

Xixa’s other hand slid down the front of his coat, undoing buttons with practiced precision. With just enough buttons undone, she slid her hand beneath the first layer of clothes and maneuvered passed his shirt. As soon as her fingertips met his skin, a light gasp left his lips. Xixa grinned against his neck - her own body warm with delight at the doctor’s sounds and little twitches of pleasure - and trailed her nails up his side, digging into him.

Julian’s gasped melted into a groan. He pulled Xixa closer, her body flush against his as he arched into her, grasping her hips tightly. His thoughts were a flurry of heat and hormones and excitement. Julian’s whole body throbbed with pleasure. He was impatient to be free of his clothes. Especially his damned tight pants.

Then Xixa pulled away.

Julian whimpered at the sudden loss of heat and attention. A chill settled over his skin, though a molten heat still roiled in him. Cracking his eye open, he quickly found her padding across the room, retrieving a traveling cloak. Disappointment and confusion dotted his thoughts as he followed after her.

“Xixa?”

“We can finish after I have a talk with Nadia.” She flashed him a teasing smile, her own cheeks flushed. There was a glint in her eyes that told Julian she planned to end their make-out session with him aching for more.

His lips twisted into a frown, still fighting with hormones from the kiss. Another part of him did want Xixa to go speak to the Countess on his behalf, but the pressure inside him wanted Xixa, as well. A war between hormones and practicality waged in his thoughts.

“You can come with me,” Xixa suggested as she swung the cloak over her shoulders.

A sudden, wolfish grin passed over his lips. “And find an empty guest room after we meet with the Countess?”

Xixa laughed, “Are you that eager to emotionally scar your sister, again?”

“Pasha knows we have sex, Xixa,” he replied, matter-of-factly.

“Obviously,” Xixa sighed, a smile still on her lips as she clasped her cloak at her neck. Her tone continued with it’s teasing lilt, “But I don’t think she wants the visual, again, Ilya.”

Julian stopped buttoning up his own coat, his eye snapping to Xixa. Something shifted in the atmosphere. She paused, suddenly awkward of her movements. Slowly, she brought her gaze to his face. “Um, Julian?”

He was quiet for a breath. So quiet, they could hear the outside world creeping into their little shop through the closed door. Then, almost breathless, Julian murmured, “Say that again.”

Xixa tilted her head to the side, her brows lowering in concentration as she replayed her last words. Her eyes widened and her hand fluttered by her mouth, “Oh. Ilya?”

“That’s the first time you’ve used it.” He almost seemed to afraid to breathe. As if the moment was fragile or skittish and could disappear at any moment.

“Well, I just, I was mimicking Portia. She’s the only one who really calls you that. I mean, Asra has called you it before, too, but I never knew if I should.” Xixa stammered, face reddening as her fingers and eyes focused on the clasp of her cloak. She suddenly felt like the air in her lungs wasn’t enough. Was this cloak always so heavy? “I don’t know, it seemed really… really intimate.”

When she peeked up at Julian, he seemed at a loss. His eye wide, his mouth moving to form words, clamping shut, and then trying again. Finally, he shook his head, a broad smile overtaking his features. His shoulders shook with laughter as he brought a hand to his forehead, partially hiding his face.

“Am I hearing this right?” Julian asked, biting down his mirth. The thought that Xixa was too self-conscious about this somehow delighted him. He stroked his gloved hand down to his mouth, hiding his smile, pinning Xixa with an amused look. “The woman who has done countless tawdry and illicit things to me – things that would make polite company faint – doesn’t think she’s familiar enough to use Ilya?”

Said like that, Xixa felt extremely silly. A tingle of embarrassment fluttered through her, mingled with  the same old delight of seeing Julian in the throes of amusement. However, she couldn’t let him get away with that. Narrowing her eyes and stepping forward, with a tight smile on her lips, Xixa leaned up on her tip toes.

“You watch your tongue, Julian ‘Ilya’ Devorak,” Xixa replied, with mock annoyance, “Or I’ll show you real lamentation.”

Julian obligingly bent toward her, raising his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Glancing down the way Xixa had come, Portia watched her big brother attempt to galumph through the crowd. It seemed the fates of the Market were against dear Julian today, though. Too many people crossed his path, a cart trundled passed him, a cat careened between his legs. With his attention on the witch, he didn’t seem to notice Portia.

Before Julian could straggle passed the fruit stand, Portia sighed, “What did you do now, Ilya?”

“Pasha!” Whipping his head toward Portia, Julian’s flushed face and wide-eye expression seemed fraught with concern. Portia’s words finally registered in his brain. Pressing his hand to his chest, the doctor sputtered, “What makes you think I did anything?”

His little sister had a way with expressions. Right now, with her arched eyebrow and lips twisted into an unamused frown, it said quite a few things. Perhaps, things not allowed in polite company.

Julian slumped under Portia’s gaze, rubbing the back of his neck a bit bashfully. “Well, Xixa tried some of my coffee an-”

“Not your special blend.” Portia’s eyes widened, mouth slightly agape in a silent gasp.

Julian winced, biting his his lip. “Ye-esss?”

“Ilya!” Portia gasped, nearly thumping her basket of goods of the stall table. “That stuff isn’t for normal human consumption!”

The doctor bristled, his voice taking on an offended edge, “I drink it just fine!”

Portia snorted, turning to the stall owner. As she handed the person payment, the woman threw her brother a pointed look. “I said normal.”

Julian opened his mouth, a retort hot on his lips, when a sharp whistle cut through the crowd. From the depths of the crowd, a familiar figure plodded toward the Devorak siblings. In tow, clutching desperately to the side of the leech collector’s cart, was Xixa. Tilde could barely keep the snicker from her voice. “Did either of you lose a witch?”

The witch leaned against the cart, one hand clasped to the side while her other buried through her hair. Judging from the clench of Xixa’s eyes, Portia guessed the woman was crashing from the caffeine. Poor thing. Portia cast a glare at Julian motioning toward the woman, hoping Xixa’s current state would reaffirm his coffee wasn’t healthy.

“Xixa!” Julian rushed to gather the woman up in his arms, completely missing or disregarding Portia’s expression. Even the presence of the doctor didn’t ease Xixa’s pain, though. Concern dotted his face as he pulled back slightly, staring down at her. “What happened?”

The witch pressed her face into Julian, groaning, “The sun.”

Oh, no. Julian knew where this was going. There was a reason he enjoyed stalking the night, before his pardon. But, maybe on the off-chance he was wrong, the doctor asked, “What about the sun?”

“It’s so friggin’ bright.” Xixa’s voice came out muffled from Julian’s chest. Her hands grasped tightly at his shirt. “And the people are so loud and…”

Portia and Julian waited for her to continue. People bustled around them, like a river cleaved in twain. Quite a few lingered, watching the scene. Julian tried not to wonder how long they’d been a tiny spectacle. Whenever he and his sister traded words, there always seemed to be at least two bystanders, grinning and listening to their verbal parries.

“And?” Julian gently pressed.

Xixa peeked up from his chest, casting a doleful gaze toward him. “I bought a lot of leeches.”

“What?” He must have misheard her. They had discussed leeches and, though she politely indulged his commentary, she always held a slight tension around the creatures.

“Seriously? Why?” Portia poked up beside Xixa, blue eyes curious. Xixa’s eyes darted to the handmaid, the rueful expression maintaining itself.

“I thought it was a good idea at the time.” Something in Xixa’s voice – the pitch, the slightly increased speed, the ongoing sentences – made the doctor believe the coffee wasn’t out of her system. Of course, it wouldn’t be. It was a rather strong blend of some very expensive, very potent, coffee. In fact, he was surprised the initial caffeine rush hadn’t affected the witch for longer. “Julian’s always going on and on and on about leeches and he doesn’t have any and I just… I just thought they were a good present for him.”

Aw, how cute, the witch bought her brother some leeches. Odd, but cute, nonetheless. Portia couldn’t help but grin, resisting the urge to glance at Julian. “How many did you buy?”

“Uh…” Xixa’s gaze sought out Tilde, who stood off to the side leaning against her cart. She had been watching the discussion, a growing smile on her lips.

In Tilde’s hand, a hefty sachet of money weighed in her palm. The leech collector grinned, turning an amused gaze toward Julian. “Return my cart when you’re done unloading it.”

“You bought a whole cart of leeches,” Julian turned a stunned gaze back to Xixa, equal parts flabbergasted and flattered, “For me?”

“Surpriiiise.” Xixa smiled weakly, holding up her hands and wiggling her fingers. The woman groaned, pressing her head back into Julian’s chest. “I think I know why you make so many awful choices.”

Portia allowed the couple a moment to embrace. Her older brother rubbed Xixa’s back, trying to soothe the woman’s pains. The witch looked about ready to pass out. After a quick smile and a thank you to Tilde, the handmaid poked her brother in arm. When Julian drew his eye away from Xixa, Portia pointed to the cart. “You. Take your… presents home. I’ll walk with Xixa.”

The man opened his mouth, disagreement plain on his face. However, the witch slid from his grasp, sidling up to Portia. As Xixa took the handmaid’s arm, pressing her head to the woman’s shoulder, the witch mumbled, “Please, Portia. And when I get home, I’m throwing that awful ‘blend’ out.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Portia grinned, hearing Julian sputter. She doubted the witch would sincerely toss Julian’s coffee. Xixa knew how attached to the drink he was. However, she wasn’t above the taunting.

Behind the two women, Julian’s voice whined after them, “Xixa!”

The witch paused, turning to cast a Look at Julian. The man froze in his spot, recognizing the Look. He swallowed heavily, the burn already starting at his ears. Eyes hooded, lips pursed, and a particular glint – a glint he mostly saw in… intimate settings – crossed Xixa’s features. Finally, a domineering smirk curled at the corner of the witch’s lips. Tilting her head to the side, Xixa purred, “Then I guess you better hurry with your cart, if you want to stop me.”

With that, Xixa turned around, leaving Julian flushed and abashed as Tilde elbowed him in the side, a knowing smirk on her lips. When Xixa turned back around, the two women strolled forward, leisurely in pace. After all, Julian wouldn’t go too fast, pulling that cart. They walked silently, arm in arm, for awhile, before Xixa finally sighed, “I won’t really throw out his coffee, but he and I need to have a discussion about moderation.”

“Good luck,” Portia laughed, a grin splitting her lips. “Julian’s never been good with that. But then…”

The handmaid trailed off, casting a teasing look at the woman. Xixa flushed under Portia’s growing smile. You couldn’t really talk about moderation when you were a witch who pursued a – at the time – wanted murderer. Let alone, a witch that had just bought a whole cart of leeches. Portia turned her gaze away, that grin still teasing at her lips.

Deep down, the handmaid was pleased to know her brother had someone like Xixa to keep him on his toes. Heaven knew, Julian needed it.