“Ill what? Remind me to learn French,” I grumbled.
“Île Cachée. It means the Secret Island.”
I narrowed my eyes as I followed him past the courtyard and down the cobbled street that couldn’t possibly be there–except I was walking on it. “But how does it fit?”
“The island the rest of the world knows is under a glamour,” he explained. I stared at him again. “An illusion. The world only sees half of it. It appears to those without magic as half its size.”
“And this is the other half?” I asked, catching on.
“Yes, pet. This place is known only to vampires and familiars.”
“And now me.”
He nodded, but I was already looking around, trying to take everything in.
There were no souvenir shops or tourists with cameras. People on the street were dressed in an amusing array of clothing, from petticoats to styled wigs to a man with a sword strapped to his side.
“Not all of us transition well to the changing times,” he whispered.
“So, I see.”
It felt like stepping back in time. Chestnut trees towered along the quiet path, sending gold-dappled light dancing around us. Their rust and goldenrod leaves fluttered despite the lack of breeze. I watched as a single leaf fell from the tip of a branch. It danced to the stones below, landed gracefully, and vanished. I blinked a couple of times. When I looked up, the leaf was back on the branch. As I watched, it performed its lovely dive again.
“It’s enchanted,” I said, feeling stupid. Of course it was. Everything here was. Julian chuckled and pressed closer to my side.
“Magic is strong here. It’s protected,” he told me as I watched more leaves fall, vanish, and reappear. “Visitors are limited so that no one draws too much from its source.”
“So, there is a magical reservoir in Paris?” I don’t know why I that surprised me. There was something magical about Paris, from its dreamy avenues to its rose-tinged light. It seemed fitting to find magic at its heart.
Julian leaned over and kissed my forehead. “That’s one way of looking at it.”
“Does that mean witches can use magic here?”
“No, it’s forbidden. Spellcraft, potions, anything that comes out of your standard grimoire, but not true magic.”
“Standard grimoire?” I repeated, my mouth twisting. “You make it sound like something I can pick up in a corner shop.”
He pointed to a blue-lacquered shop across the street where stacks of books perched in the windows. “There’s probably a few in there.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, feeling slightly dazed. We continued, passing impossibly tall shops filled with strange objects, squat bistros crowded with tables, and windows crammed with spectacles that widened my eyes and sent heat flushing my cheeks. In one shadowy storefront, ropes and chains hung next to what I feared was an actual iron maiden.
“Is that…?” I nudged Julian.
“Vampires like to mix pain and pleasure. It’s natural to us,” he said with a shrug.
“Wait.” I stopped in my tracks and peered into the dark window. “I thought it was a torture shop.”
He snorted and moved behind me. Julian lowered his mouth to my ear and whispered, “Look closer.”
Straining my eyes past the show-stopping front window, I caught sight of a woman, bound in red rope and little else, dangling from a golden hook. A group lounged on chairs beneath her, discussing something.
“Why is she hanging there?” I murmured.
“Look,” he commanded in a dusky tone that stole my breath.
I peered through the glass and caught sight of dark liquid dripping from her bound arms. As I did, one man below lifted a glass, catching the dripping liquid deftly, and brought it to his lips.
I gasped and tried to back away. Julian tugged me back to the cobbled path.
“Is she…okay?” I asked when my shock wore off.
“Yes.” His dark laugh raised goosebumps over my skin. “She’s enjoying herself. Some mortals choose to serve vampire masters.”
“Their blood?” I blurted out.
“Amongst other things,” he said.
“So she was a human?” I glanced back toward the black shop.
“Yes.” He didn’t say more.
The bakery next door seemed positively tame compared to that. But the aromas drifting from it made my head swim. I took a step toward it, but Julian drew me away.
“That’s not a good idea.” He tipped his head toward a sign hanging over the door with the words Enchanté: Sorts d’amour stenciled in gold letters.
I raised my eyebrow.
“Love spells,” he said, sounding a little strained. “It’s hard to even walk past without getting ideas.”
