I scan the sidewalk, where people exit a bakery with their freshly baked bread and hot coffees. They move with purpose, securing their scarves tightly around their necks and bending their heads against the wind. But instead of reveling in the enthusiastic shoppers making festive purchases, I study them, assessing each one for a potential threat. If there’s an apothecary on this block, there could certainly be other Strategia as well.

I walk quickly to the store and bend my head like the other shoppers, even though what I want to do is scour my surroundings. But if there are other Strategia here, my direct gaze will be a dead giveaway. So instead, I stop in front of the store window, giving it a thoughtful once-over like I’m just here for a browse.

Unlike the antiques store in my town, where everything is piled on top of everything else, these window displays are artful and accented with twinkling white lights for the holidays. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s strictly collector’s and auction house items—things so fragile and expensive that you would never bring children here for fear they would break something that costs more than your car.

A shopper carrying bulging bags filled with colorfully wrapped presents walks around me and I realize I’ve been hesitating near the entrance. I take a deep breath, repeat what I need to say in my head one more time, and push the door open.

The inside of the store is full of whimsy and blue. It’s not the dark Gothic style of the Wolves, but the precision is the same. To my left is a counter made of rustic wood and decorated with a quill pen, a book of sales receipts, and a bell. Behind it is a thin, pretty guy with shoulder-length hair who looks like he’s barely twenty. I frown. The apothecary couldn’t be that young, could he? After watching him for a few moments, I turn away and almost walk smack into a middle-aged woman in a floor-length royal-blue dress. Her salt-and-pepper hair is piled high on her head in curls, her posture is impeccable, and her dark eyes are even more penetrating than Ash’s.

My stomach drops like I’m free-falling.

She looks from me to the guy behind the counter, and when her eyes settle on me again, I get the sense that she’s already formed an opinion. “Can I help you find something?” she says, and her voice is deep and strong like her jawline.

I nod my head and completely forget what I’m supposed to say. Something about her is hypnotizing and intimidating, knocking me off-kilter.

“Would you like to tell me what it is, or would you like me to show you our recent acquisitions?” the woman says, and there is something hard and dangerous in her look, as if she’s daring me to make a wrong move.