On the morning Maeve Holloway discovered that the vampire in Apartment 7B had stolen her groceries for the third time that week, she decided murder was probably excessive.
Probably.
The distinction mattered because Maeve was a witch, and Willowmere Municipal Code was annoyingly specific about magical homicide inside rent-controlled buildings.
She stood barefoot in the hallway of Moonridge Apartments, clutching an empty reusable grocery bag in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other.
On the door across from hers, someone had taped a handwritten note.
SORRY ABOUT THE TOMATOES.
Underneath, in smaller writing:
THEY LOOKED LONELY.
Maeve stared at it.
Then at the brass number 7B.
Then at the empty bag.
“Cassian.”
Silence.
Maeve knocked.
Nothing.
She knocked harder.
The hallway lamp flickered.
From somewhere inside the apartment came the unmistakable sound of a cupboard closing.
“I know you’re in there.”
A man’s voice answered through the door.
“No, you don’t.”
Maeve closed her eyes.
“You just answered me.”
A pause.
“That proves nothing.”
Maeve raised the wooden spoon.
“Open the door before I enchant your bathtub to sing show tunes every time you get naked.”
The lock clicked immediately.
The door opened.
Cassian Vale stood there wearing black trousers, an unbuttoned white shirt, and the expression of a man who had been unfairly interrupted while committing a crime involving produce.
He was tall.
Of course he was tall.
Apparently immortality came with excellent posture and shoulders designed specifically to make irritated witches forget the sentences they had prepared.
Cassian had dark hair that curled slightly at the ends, pale skin, and eyes so dark red they looked brown until he became annoyed.
At the moment, they were definitely red.
Maeve lifted the bag.
“My groceries.”
Cassian leaned against the doorframe.
“Good morning to you too.”
“My tomatoes.”
“Were excellent.”
“My goat cheese.”
“Overpriced.”
“My strawberries.”
His expression changed.
Slightly.
Maeve narrowed her eyes.
“You ate those too?”
“I sampled them.”
“You don’t eat food.”
“I can.”
“You told me vampires can’t digest solid food.”
“I said we don’t require it.”
“You said bread tastes like furniture.”
“Most bread does.”
“You stole an entire baguette yesterday.”
“That was for structural testing.”
Maeve stared at him.
Cassian stared back.
From behind him came a tiny crunching sound.
Maeve looked past his shoulder.
A small silver gargoyle sat on the kitchen table.
It was chewing her baguette.
Maeve pointed.
“What is that?”
Cassian looked behind him.
The gargoyle froze.
One piece of bread hung from its mouth.
Cassian sighed.
“That is Sebastian.”
“The stone demon?”
“Gargoyle.”
“It’s eating my groceries.”
“He is growing.”
“It is made of granite.”
“He is sensitive about that.”
Sebastian hissed.
Maeve stepped into the apartment.
Cassian blocked her.
“No.”
“You have stolen forty-three dollars and seventy-six cents worth of food.”
“You calculated it?”
“I am poor.”
“You own a potion shop.”
“I own a failing potion shop.”
“Different issue.”
“It is the same issue when my neighbor keeps feeding artisanal bread to masonry.”
Sebastian swallowed.
Cassian glanced at the gargoyle.
“Apologize.”
Sebastian turned around.
Maeve gasped.
“He ignored me.”
“He’s shy.”
“He has horns.”
“Those qualities are not mutually exclusive.”
Maeve pushed past Cassian.
His apartment looked exactly like she expected.
Dark bookshelves.
Heavy curtains.
A black leather sofa.
No decorative pillows.
One ancient sword mounted on the wall.
And, inexplicably, six houseplants.
Healthy houseplants.
Maeve stopped.
Cassian noticed.
“What?”
“You have plants.”
“Yes.”
“You’re dead.”
“Undead.”
“Details.”
“Photosynthesis remains functional whether or not I have a pulse.”
Maeve walked toward one of them.
A lush green monstera sat beside the window.
“You named them, didn’t you?”
“No.”
She looked at him.
Cassian looked away.
Maeve smiled slowly.
“What’s this one called?”
“Leave.”
“Cassian.”
“Maeve.”
“Tell me.”
His jaw tightened.
“Gerald.”
She burst out laughing.
Cassian’s eyes flashed.
“Get out.”
“You named a monstera Gerald.”
“It came with the name.”
“Plants do not come with names.”
“You don’t know his history.”
Maeve laughed harder.
Sebastian climbed onto the back of a chair and stared at her.
She pointed at Cassian.
“He pretends to hate everything, but he names plants.”
“I regret opening the door.”
Maeve wiped her eyes.
Then she remembered why she was there.
“My groceries.”
Cassian went into the kitchen.
He opened a cabinet.
Maeve followed.
Inside was a neat stack of food.
Her food.
Bread.
Cheese.
Fruit.
A carton of oat milk.
Maeve stared.
“You stole my oat milk?”
Cassian frowned.
“I thought it was regular milk.”
“You hate milk.”
“I was making coffee.”
“You drink it black.”
“That was before I discovered cinnamon.”
Maeve put both hands over her face.
“This building is destroying me.”
As if insulted, Moonridge Apartments groaned.
The walls shook.
Somewhere upstairs, pipes rattled.
Then the ceiling spoke.
“THAT’S RUDE.”
Maeve looked up.
Cassian sighed.
“Ignore her.”
Maeve pointed toward the ceiling.
“The building is listening?”
“She always listens.”
Moonridge Apartments was one hundred and fourteen years old, seven stories tall, and technically alive.
Not alive in the biological sense.
Alive in the magical real-estate sense.
The building had moods.
Preferences.
Opinions.
And, according to three separate city inspectors, abandonment issues.
It had also recently developed an unhealthy interest in Maeve’s love life.
The elevator refused to stop on floors where ex-boyfriends lived.
The laundry room had once locked Maeve inside with a handsome werewolf for forty-three minutes.
And two weeks ago, the mailboxes had rearranged themselves so Cassian’s letters were delivered to Maeve’s box.
The building denied involvement.
Badly.
Maeve looked up.
“Stop interfering.”
A chandelier flickered.
Cassian crossed his arms.
“You’re arguing with architecture.”
“You talk to Gerald.”
“Gerald does not answer.”
The monstera rustled.
Maeve raised an eyebrow.
Cassian looked betrayed.
The elevator bell rang outside.
Then the hallway speakers crackled.
“RESIDENT ANNOUNCEMENT.”
Maeve and Cassian froze.
Moonridge spoke in the warm female voice it used only when preparing to ruin someone’s day.
“ALL TENANTS REPORT TO THE LOBBY AT NINE A.M. FOR MANDATORY COMMUNITY MEETING.”
Maeve glanced at the clock.
Eight fifty-eight.
Cassian closed his eyes.
“No.”
The building continued.
“ATTENDANCE REQUIRED.”
Cassian shouted toward the ceiling.
“I pay rent.”
“AND YOU ARE LATE.”
Maeve smiled.
“Come on, Dracula.”
His eyes opened.
“Call me that again.”
“What?”
“Dracula.”
“You’re sensitive for someone who is legally dead.”
“I am not legally dead.”
“Emotionally?”
Cassian stepped toward her.
Maeve stepped backward.
Unfortunately, she hit the counter.
He stopped very close.
Too close.
“You enjoy provoking me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your left eyebrow twitches.”
His left eyebrow twitched.
Maeve smiled.
Cassian’s gaze dropped briefly to her mouth.
Something small and unpleasantly warm moved through her stomach.
Then Sebastian threw a strawberry at Cassian’s head.
Cassian turned.
Maeve escaped.
“Lobby,” she said quickly.
He stared at the gargoyle.
Sebastian looked innocent.
Maeve decided she liked him.
The lobby of Moonridge Apartments looked like an expensive hotel designed by a witch who had died halfway through decorating it.
Marble floors.
Velvet sofas.
Floating chandeliers.
A fireplace that burned blue every Tuesday.
The tenants had gathered around the enormous front desk.
Maeve recognized most of them.
Mrs. Davenport from 4C, a retired siren who weaponized gossip.
Mr. Lin from 2A, who grew enchanted mushrooms in places mushrooms should never grow.
The Martin twins from 5F, identical necromancers who dressed like librarians and argued about everything.
There was also Daniel Pike from 6D.
Maeve wished there wasn’t.
Daniel was handsome in the way expensive furniture was handsome.
Polished.
Well-maintained.
And emotionally uncomfortable.
He smiled when he saw her.
“Maeve.”
Cassian appeared behind her.
Daniel’s smile changed.
Maeve felt it happen.
Interesting.
“Daniel.”
“I haven’t seen you since dinner.”
Cassian stopped beside her.
Maeve immediately wanted to disappear.