"You want to learn the Death Arts?"

The look on his face was hard to read. It couldn't be every day that someone wandered into the shop and made such a request.

I tried to look more confident than I felt. He couldn't tell my hands were trembling slightly inside my jacket pockets, could he? I forced myself to keep my gaze steady and resisted the urge to run out the door.

My mama always said, you can always ask. The worst they can do is say no. But I don't think Mama was thinking about revenge and murder when she dealt out that piece of homespun advice.

He stood behind the counter with a questioning look in his eyes. He looked a few years older than I was—maybe twenty-two—and had shoulder-length blond hair. His black tank top sported a picture of a large red phoenix surrounded by fire.

My words seemed to catch in my throat, so I decided to look around the shop to buy myself some time. Every wall in the place housed a set of shelves, and scattered around the room were waist-high, freestanding glass cases. Statues with menacing faces stared back at me from between leather-bound books on shelves. Every flat surface was crammed full of exquisite bottles filled with colorful liquids, dried herbs, exotic feathers, and cloth pouches tied with ribbon.

Mixed in with these harmless-looking objects were other things. Misshapen bottles filled with red liquid—probably blood—from a human, goat, or pig... Who could tell? In a dark corner, I could make out the shapes of animal skulls. And something else. I leaned forward to get a closer look. What were those small objects hanging from a wooden pole over in the corner?

A chill ran down my back when I realized they were shrunken heads.

This was a magic shop, dimly lit, with items peering from the shadows where they hid. Some of them I'd only seen in pictures. At another time, I would have been tempted to spend a lazy afternoon exploring every nook and cranny. But not today. I was here with a single-minded purpose.

"I was told the owner of this shop could teach me the Death Arts," I finally said.

"I'm sorry, someone's playing a joke on you. No one here can help you, not with something like that."

I'd anticipated that my request would be met with anger or disbelief, but he seemed almost indifferent. Almost. Those dark gray eyes had a hint of wariness about them. He might act as though everything was okay, but I had the impression that, at any moment, I was going to get tossed out.

"Luke, you know who she means." A pretty girl with the longest hair I'd ever seen spoke from a doorway behind the counter. Her hair was the color of sweet yellow corn and fell just short of the ground.

"Darla, shut up."

Darla looked a few years younger than me. She had on a long, flowing blue skirt covered in yellow flowers and a white bohemian shirt, the sleeves trimmed in blue lace.

"You're looking for our Uncle Franklin. He's out of town." She glared at Luke as she made her way to his side. "Ignore him. He's worried you're a Redeemer."

Goddess, do I look like a Redeemer? Everyone knew about the cult by now. They started up two years ago—a group of non-mage born who hated all magic. Most members were innocent enough, but there were fringe sects that not only reviled magic, but also sought out anyone who practiced magic for the sole purpose of "cleansing" the offenders.

In the last month, five people had been found drowned in local lakes, their hands and feet bound by thick rope. Obviously, this fringe sect of Redeemers—aka psychopaths—were watching too much of the History Channel when they came up with that idea. They believed anyone who was a witch would float, and the innocent would drown. These crazies proclaimed the poor souls who drowned were cleared of all charges. Little help it did them, being dead and all.

A group of Redeemers did take credit for the deaths, but not in any way law enforcement agencies could track. The news reported that flyers proclaiming THE CLEANSING HAS BEGUN and REDEEMERS WILL TAKE BACK OUR WORLD had appeared on various city streets.

How does someone prove they aren't a nut job on a religious cleansing mission? I tried to look as mentally stable as possible and replied, "I'm not a Redeemer, I swear. I was told that you are death dealers. From the Phoenix Guild." I looked pointedly at Luke's tank top.

Darla laughed. "She's got you there." She reached behind the counter, pulled out sticks of incense, and held them up. "What do you think...?" She cocked her head to the side.

"Colina. My name's Colina."

Her lips split in a smile. "Hello, Colina. I'm Darla Cross, and that's Luke, my brother." She waved the incense sticks around. "Lavender or root beer?"

"Root beer," I answered.

She grabbed a box of matches from a nearby shelf, pulled one out, and struck it. The flame flickered wildly before she lowered it and carefully lit one of the brown sticks. After putting out the match, she held the stick up to her mouth and blew out the flame at the tip. The smoke continued to rise, curling up in swirls around her face.

"Root beer is my favorite." She smiled and placed the incense into a carved wooden holder sitting on the counter.

The sweet smell filled the room. Darla pushed the wooden holder to the side and hopped up on the counter. Once settled, she swept the mass of her hair over her right shoulder. It slid down her body like a golden river.

I wondered how long it took her to wash and dry such hair. It had to be heavy and, I'd think, very hot in the summer. I watched, mesmerized, as her nimble fingers divided the strands into three large sections. She began to braid it.

I forced my attention away from her and back to her brother. "Your uncle... When will he be back?" I asked.

Luke didn't answer. He was starting to look annoyed. I waited two beats, and when he still didn't respond, I turned to his sister.

She looked up from her braid and watched her brother for a few seconds before answering. "Not for at least two weeks. He's put us in charge of the store while he's gone."

I was desperate—no way could I wait two weeks. Chances were if I didn't get help soon, I'd be dead in days.

"Can you help me?" I couldn't keep my voice from trembling as the words came out.

This time Luke responded. "Help you learn the Death Arts? So you can what? Take out your frustrations on the world?" He turned to Darla. "You notice that it's always the angry ones who think they can come and learn our craft?" He turned his attention back to me. "If you don't mind me asking, who's this almighty enemy who pissed you off? Ex-boyfriend? Some clerk at the local mini-mart?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

My chin came up, and I looked him straight in the eye when I answered. "I'm not asking you to train me in the Death Arts so I can take out a busload of nuns."

This proclamation brought a half grin to his face. I wondered if he would take my request seriously. He was looking me up and down. I wore no Goth clothing, no black trench coat. I wore the uniform of the middle class in my part of town: a white and blue striped sweater covered by a sailor peacoat, a pair of faded blue jeans, and blue Vans.

I was beginning to regret the coat. The moment I entered the store, a wall of heat hit me. It was autumn outside, but someone inside liked to keep things toasty. Small beads of sweat were forming on my forehead. I considered taking my coat off, but the reception I was getting made me think I wouldn't be staying long.

I tried not to wither under his scrutiny. I knew what he saw standing in front of him—a nineteen-year-old girl with dark brown hair pulled up into a ponytail. An average-looking girl. I'm not the type to stop traffic. Thanks to my Scottish heritage, I've got a chin and forehead that are a bit too pronounced. Blunt bangs fringe my forehead, coming to rest above nondescript hazel eyes. Nothing screams, "Look at me!" I could blend into a crowd, and that's something I count on.

"I can pay." I pulled a wad of bills out of my jacket's right pocket. "I understand that you people prefer to work in cash."

The cash made him frown. Worse, it made him move from behind the big glass counter faster than I could have anticipated. I barely had a chance to take a step back before he reached out and grabbed my arm.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

He was much bigger up close. Our eyes locked, and I suddenly lost the ability to speak. He'd seemed amicable enough when I stepped into the shop, but now his whole-body language took on a more threatening vibe. Those dark eyes shone, not with anger, but violence.

Normally a big, pissed-off stranger manhandling me would have freaked me out, but I needed to be strong. After what I'd gone through—after the terrible things I dealt with—this guy couldn't scare me. I gave myself a mental shake. I was past being intimidated. Fear left the building a few days ago when bullets were flying and bloody bodies covered the floor.

I couldn't think about that now. I'd locked those images into the deepest, darkest corner of my mind, and maybe one day I would deal with them, but not today. Today I was on a mission. I didn't have a lot to lose, and this guy might be the only one who could give me what I needed most.

I pushed the money at his chest with my free hand. "If this isn't enough, name your price."

His fingers curled around the bills, and he let go of my arm and took a step back. "You're serious about this?"

"Yes. If you tell me no, I'll go find someone else," I said.

The only problem was that there weren't a lot of death dealers willing to teach outside their guild, and we both knew it.

"You think you can handle learning the Death Arts?" His voice was still low and threatening.

I wasn't sure I could handle it, but I wasn't about to admit my doubt. I kept quiet and nodded.

"Luke, you can't be serious. You can't teach her." Darla had finished braiding her hair, and her attention was now on the two of us.

"Stay out of it, Darla," he growled.

"There's no way Frank would let you do it." Her brown eyes blazing with anger, Darla jumped down from the counter and started towards him.

He ignored her and turned to me. "Have you had any training?"

I lifted the sleeve of my jacket and turned my forearm, revealing the small tattoo of a blue swallow inked into the skin just above my palm.

"You're a healer." He couldn't have sounded more shocked.

I could feel tears starting to form, but I forced them back. "I was."

"You can't learn the Death Arts. Your people would never allow such a thing." He'd looked at me first with ridicule, then amusement, and now he was watching me as though I was some kind of puzzle he was trying to work out.

It was true. I'd taken a sacred oath, and if anyone from my clan caught me learning the Death Arts, let alone using them, I'd be punished and possibly imprisoned. I knew the risk, but I didn't care.

"Will you teach me?" I knew he could hear the desperation in my voice. I felt it in the very core of my being. My hands were visibly trembling. I'd done a pretty good job of keeping it together until now, but hunger and exhaustion washed over me. I'd been on my own, trying to deal with what happened, and it was suddenly all too much. If seeing me fall apart in front of him was the only way to convince Luke of my sincerity, then I didn't care if he saw my desperation. He was my last hope. I needed to gain the dark magic. Goddess, help me. I needed to live long enough to seek vengeance.

Luke didn't answer right away. Darla stood next to him, her eyes wide but her expression unreadable. She watched us both in silence.

As we stood there, the silence stretched on and on, and all the while Luke's unyielding dark eyes surveyed me. I pushed down the urge to shift from foot to foot while waiting for an answer. When he finally broke the silence, I physically jumped.

"Come back tomorrow night after midnight." He pocketed the bills.

"The witching hour." It was not the response I was expecting. The witching hour is a time when people sleep and the world seems tranquil, but it's really more than that. It's not truly peaceful and safe, not for people like us. For those of us who knew better, it could be wild, chaotic, and dangerous.

His eyes narrowed. "Yes, the witching hour."

A shudder went through me. What the hell am I getting myself into?

"There's still time to change your mind," he said.

"I know what I'm doing," I answered.

"Do you, Colina?" He demanded. "You're a healer, which means you've seen the life leave a person and watched their energy dissipate into the ether sea, but have you ever called on that same energy? Ever felt its pulse swirling around you? It's not for the faint of heart."

What could I say? He was right. I'd never called on spirits. Honestly, I only had an inkling of the type of magic his guild used. I knew it was the strongest magic. If I was going to survive—if I was going to exact my revenge—it was the magic I needed to learn no matter the consequences. I had no choice but to head down this road, but that knowledge didn't stop butterflies of panic from settling into the pit of my stomach.

I knew that, theoretically, magic is magic, but healers and death dealers were on the opposite ends of the spectrum. I'd heard that more powerful healing clans could do different types of magic, but my clan had always been just healers. In theory, I should be able to perform the basics of the Death Arts, even if I didn't have the inborn talent to become a master of them.

A phone rang before I could reply. Luke made his way back around the counter and picked up the receiver of a black phone sitting on the counter next to an old fashion cash register.

I'd gone looking for a death dealer with no leads other than an address and a brief description of the shop. I'd made it here in one piece, and someone had grudgingly agreed to teach me. It was a victory. A small one, but I'd take what I could at this point.

I realized I was standing there like an idiot, watching Luke talk on the phone when I should have been hightailing it out of there. We'd completed our business. He might have reservations, but he'd taken my money and agreed to teach me. I had no reason to linger. If I hung around, he might change his mind, yet here I was—staying and staring.

Luke was good looking, with piercing, dark gray eyes, blond hair, and a rugged jaw. He had broad shoulders, and a long scar ran down his left shoulder, the end of it lost beneath his tank top. And for a brief moment, I wondered how far down his body that scar ran. At the thought, I felt my cheeks get hot and realized I was standing there staring at him and blushing. I gave myself a mental shake and reminded myself that he was a death dealer—not someone to be trusted. I didn't know if all the rumors I had heard about his kind were true, but I did know for sure that death dealers were to be avoided. He dealt in dark magic—magic that my people both feared and hated.

I realized in horror that the phone conversation was over, and Luke was talking to me, but I had been so caught up in my thoughts that I had missed everything he said.

I felt another blush spread across my cheeks. Like an idiot, I mumbled, "Uh, what?"

"You can't go back out in the streets." He looked dead serious.

"Who's going to stop me?" I regained my composure, but my voice was more than a bit defensive.

"The Triads. I just got a call from a neighbor. The Triads are hanging out down the block." He walked around the counter until he stood in front of me. "You'll have to stay here. At least for a couple hours until they clear out."

No way was I staying, I had what I came for, and now it was time to leave. The Triads didn't scare me. I was a healer, and even they had a code against harming healers.

But I'm not a healer anymore, I reminded myself. I was going to delve into the forbidden magics—I would soon become someone on the fringe of society.

A wave of exhaustion suddenly hit me. I grabbed the corner of the closest table to steady myself. Making the decision to come here, surviving the last few days, convincing Luke to take me on, it all had taken the energy out of me. The anger, the desperation, the determination—everything suddenly evaporated.

"Colina, are you okay?" Darla asked, coming to my side.

My words came out in a harsh whisper, "I'm fine. I skipped a couple meals."

It had been at least three days since I'd eaten. Every time I tried to eat, the memories came, and nausea set in.

"I felt dizzy for a second. There's no need to make a fuss." My voice sounded unbelievably weak even to my own ears.

Darla's fingers grazed across my forehead. "She's not okay. Luke, bring her upstairs."

I began to slump, and Luke reached out and put an arm around my waist, supporting me.

I tried to pull myself out of his grip, but he was extremely strong. "You can let me go. I'm okay."

"Darla, lock up the shop. With the Triads out there, the best thing to do is lock up and sit tight until they get bored and move on." He ignored my protest and began to lead me behind the counter and through the doorway into a small hallway. I felt like a helpless rag doll in his arms as he moved us along the hall to the foot of a wooden staircase.

"Since you can't leave, you might as well come upstairs. We haven't had a chance to eat. We can get some food into you. Can you make it up the stairs?" The harshness had gone from his voice. He sounded almost kind.

"I'm fine. I just need to—" I couldn't finish the sentence as the world around me started to fade away.

"Hey, don't pass out on me." He leaned down and lifted me into his arms. He carried me up the stairs and delivered me across a large room onto a brown couch sitting against a brightly painted red wall.

I needed a moment to catch my breath and gather my strength. Showing so much weakness in front of strangers embarrassed me. I had been an idiot to go so long without food. Sleeping was also something I hadn't done a lot of lately. Every time I closed my eyes, nightmares rushed in. It wasn't surprising that my body suddenly rebelled and gave way. I told myself I would lie here for a minute or two, catch my breath, and then head out.

Suddenly Luke was standing over me. He had a bottle of soda in one hand and a plastic cup in the other. He handed them to me. "We've got some cheese and salami in the fridge. Darla picked up some fresh bread at the local bakery this morning."

What choice did I have? If I kept going this way, I'd end up passed out on the streets.

I looked up at him and forced a smile. "Thanks for the dinner invite. I accept."