We looked around on the third level of the city, asking the occasional passing Iman to show us where Lemuel’s bookstore was. One young Iman girl pointed us the right way, and, shortly after we’d left Cynara and Hera back at the South Bend Inn, we found the old Iman’s place.

The lights were off. Heron and I quickly circled the house, listening and looking for any sign of movement inside, but the place was empty.

“We need to get inside, though,” I said, checking to see if anyone was coming by. Lemuel’s house was on a relatively secluded street, and the evening shade did a pretty good job of further concealing it. “I have to catch his scent from an object he has touched.”

“Okay, I can help with that.” Fiona smirked and produced a pin from her hair, which she used to pick the lock on the main door, while Heron and I kept a lookout.

The lock’s mechanism surrendered with a click, and Fiona pushed the door open. We went inside and began our survey of the place, without turning any lights on. The bookstore was on the ground floor—a quaint little place with wooden shelves and racks loaded with a variety of books, scrolls, and literary papers. Judging by the titles, there were some Imen works being sold; the Imen author names carried the mention of their species on the covers. I figured the titles were necessary to differentiate between the Maras and Imen.

There was a small reception desk in a corner, behind a circular staircase leading upstairs. Farther to the right, there was a kitchen area separated from the bookstore with a wooden panel, on which various literary scenes were illustrated in broad and colorful brush strokes. The opposite corner held a reading space, complete with a bench and two velvet armchairs, and molten candles on a side table.

Heron followed me upstairs, while Fiona kept looking through the shelves.

“Maybe there’s something useful here about the asteroid belt,” she whispered before I started up the stairs.

“Fair enough,” I replied. “I’ll look for something of Lemuel’s in the meantime.”

The top floor was spacious and modestly furnished, with a bedroom, an open living room, a kitchenette, and a tiled bathroom. I found a coat thrown on the armrest of one of the lounge chairs, and briefly sniffed it. Lemuel’s scent reminded me of crisp autumn mornings, a mixture of burnt wood, fallen leaves, and crushed grapes filling my senses.

“Got it?” Heron watched me, his jade eyes flickering with curiosity. I gave him a brief nod, and he moved back toward the stairs. “Let’s go, then.”

I followed him back to the ground floor, where Fiona was sifting through the bookshelves, checking each volume carefully before putting it back.

“We’re going to track Lemuel,” I said slowly. “Do you want to stay here and keep looking through the books, Fi? Or do you want to come with us? It’s up to you.”

“I’ll stay here.” She gave me a reassuring smile. “If anything, I’ll see you two later, at the infirmary. I’ve got that dinner to get to, anyway, so I’ll just hang out here until it’s time to go change.”

“Ah, yes, you’ll have to get all pretty and fabulous to knock Vincent off his feet.” Heron grinned playfully, and I gave up on nudging him for his taunts. I actually found his banter attempts cute, even endearing at times. His sense of humor and lightheartedness made our compulsory stay on Neraka a bit more bearable.

“At least I’ll be treated to a fancy dinner and not be roaming through this wretched city at night, unlike other people I know,” Fiona shot back, wiggling her eyebrows.

I chuckled as we left her in the bookstore and took to the streets to look for Lemuel. His scent lingered heavily in the air, and I could confidently follow it down the alley leading into the western part of the third level.

“Do you think Lemuel is keeping those hidden archives back there?” Heron asked as we walked through a thinning crowd of Imen and Maras. Most were going home, but some wore black uniforms and were headed to the city’s inns and bars for the night shift—I could tell from the crisp scent of fresh laundry, along with the fragrances and other toiletries they’d used to look their part as servants in certain establishments.

“In the bookstore, you mean?” I asked, and he replied with a nod. “Maybe, but not in plain sight, and we don’t have Harper to help us with her True Sight. If he’s keeping them at his place, they’re well hidden. Lemuel doesn’t strike me as a careless Iman, based on what scents I caught in his house.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he uses a lot of detergents around the place, and those substances can really throw a tracker’s nose off the grand prize,” I said. “It’s why I needed to sniff his coat to get a good trail. You wouldn’t notice it at first, but that bookstore would normally smell like old books, ink soaked into pages, and even a little mold and dust from the older stuff he keeps in there. But it smells of… brandy and lime, incense and something akin to bleach. That place was scrubbed clean.”

“Maybe he was doing some spring cleaning in there.” Heron gave me an amused sideways glance as we turned left into another alley.

We passed a local tavern and a couple of stores, and Lemuel’s scent got stronger.

“Not with that many cleaning products.” I smirked. “It’s a masking tactic that some animals use to throw predators off their tracks. It’s used by species across the worlds we know, and this one is no exception. The scents I caught in his house were strong and permanent, seeping into the structural beams and every other inch of wood in there. He’s definitely hiding something.”

“That nose of yours is fantastic, I swear.” Heron shook his head slowly, amazed. “I mean, I thought I was a good tracker, but then you came along. I am literally in awe of you.”

“Thank you.” I gave him a warm smile, feeling my cheeks burn under his intense gaze. “I was always fascinated with chemistry and the olfactory sense… The two just came naturally to me, I guess. When I was given the option to further hone this skill, I took it.”

“It’s a good thing you did.” He nodded. “Your contributions so far have been extraordinary.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, but yeah, I guess I can hold my own on this team.” I giggled, trying to maintain some sense of modesty under his barrage of compliments.

A couple of minutes went by in absolute silence. I stole a glance at Heron, and he looked as though he were trying to say something, but couldn’t find the right words.

“Avril,” he finally spoke, “have you ever thought about a soulmate?”

The question made me feel nervous, mainly because I didn’t understand its purpose, but also because I found myself instinctively looking at him as I tried to formulate an answer. My feelings for him were developing at an alarmingly rapid pace, and I knew, deep down, that my answer would be yes.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean, have you thought about having someone in your life, someone you’d want to spend an eternity with?” His gaze was clouded as he studied my expression, and I felt vulnerable all of a sudden.

“No… Yes… Okay, yes, I have thought about it.” I surrendered. What was the point in lying, anyway? We were stuck on this planet, and the future was so murky, so unclear, it felt like a disservice to myself if I denied it. You only get one life, and so on…

“What would that person be like?” he replied, then stared at the road ahead. The streetlamps cast a yellowish light over the cobblestone, and long shadows crossed the alley from various angles.

“I haven’t given it that much thought, but… I don’t know, if I were to make up a profile right now, off the top of my head, I guess he’d have to be someone who can accept me exactly the way I am… my curiosity, my strong opinions, and my quirks included.”

Heron didn’t say anything for a while, and, upon analyzing what I’d just said, I realized my statement felt incomplete.

“Of course,” I continued, “I would reciprocate. I’d accept him. I’d… love him, both his good and bad sides. I just can’t get more specific because, to be honest, I’m still trying to figure it out. I’ve never been in love with anyone before, Heron. I don’t know what that’s supposed to feel like, exactly. I also know I’ve got a very long life ahead of me, and I just don’t see myself rushing into anything…”

That was my defense mechanism rearing its not-so-pretty head. Alarm signals went off whenever I looked at Heron, opposing the butterflies squirming in my stomach and the frantic beats of my heart. He nodded slowly. I caught a glimpse of what seemed like disappointment in his eyes as he looked down and scratched the back of his neck.

“That… That makes sense,” he muttered.

I stilled and caught his forearm, stopping him in his tracks. Something felt a little off.

“What’s up?” he whispered.

“I think we’re being followed,” I replied, then looked over my shoulder.

The street was getting crowded with dozens of Imen of all ages. There must have been a gathering of sorts nearby. I started walking but didn’t let go of Heron’s arm. We slipped through the stream of people and made a sharp left turn, hiding between the walls of two neighboring houses.

The space was narrow, forcing Heron to stand extremely close to me. His chest pressed against mine, and I felt the heat from his hard body simmering into me. Our proximity seemed to affect us both, as he lowered his head slowly. I was looking to the right when I felt his breath on my cheek and turned my head, my nose touching his.

I found myself drowning in his jade eyes. His hands rested on my hips. The world gradually dissolved around us, and I found comfort in the shield of his body for a few moments. We stayed like that for what seemed like eons, until his lips inched closer and almost touched mine. My heart jumped in my throat as I struggled to breathe. I wanted him to kiss me—so badly that I nearly missed Lemuel’s scent getting stronger.

“He’s here,” I croaked, my lips parting beneath his.

Heron was losing control, but he tried to make sense of what I’d just said, while his eyes were fixed on mine.

“Wha… What?” he managed.

“Lemuel is here. He’s coming this way,” I whispered.

He lifted his head and looked out into the street. His arm shot out just as an old Iman passed by us. Heron grabbed him by his lapel and pulled him into the tight space with us. Lemuel whimpered as Heron immobilized him, pushing him against the wall.

Our little hiding spot was suddenly even more crowded, and I was too close to Heron for my mind to stay clear—and that was a challenge, because we’d just found Lemuel, as he’d followed us around. I shook my head and forced myself back into focus.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” I said softly.

Lemuel squirmed and tried to free himself, but he didn’t stand a chance against Heron. The old Iman froze when he realized he was dealing with a Mara. The horror on his face was almost heartbreaking—this creature was terrified of Heron’s kind, and I knew it had something to do with the Exiled Maras.

“Don’t… Please… I wasn’t looking to do any harm…” Lemuel breathed, his eyes wide and glassy. He was in his late sixties, tufts of white hair poking out from beneath his dark brown hat, wrinkles drawing shadows across his features. His body trembled with fear, and I put my hand on his shoulder to try to calm him down.

“We’re not going to hurt you, I promise.” I felt the need to repeat myself. “Why were you following us?”

“I saw you coming out of my house,” Lemuel replied, his voice barely audible. The crowd in the street was quite loud—a mixture of laughter and friendly words as the Imen praised the quality of a play they’d just watched, based on the fragments of theater-related conversation that trickled into our nook. “I just wanted to know what you were looking for…”

“We were looking for you, Lemuel,” I said, keeping my tone as gentle as possible. “Cynara and Hera told us where to find you. We need your help.”

“I… How could I possibly help you?”

“We need to see the Imen archives you’ve been keeping away from the Maras,” Heron replied. “The girls told us you’re quite the collector.”

“How… How did you know? Did they tell you? How did you know to ask them about…” Lemuel’s voice trailed off, and his jaw dropped. “Hera and Cynara willingly told you? How is that possible?”

“Because they wanted to help us help them… help you, and every other innocent creature in this city,” I said. “We need to read those archives; we need to understand what the Imen know about the daemons, in particular. The Maras don’t know anything, and they’re getting killed off one by one by these monsters. We’re going to end this, once and for all, but we need all the information you can give us about them.”

“But… But it’s just old wives’ tales… folklore, legends, and myths… I don’t know how it could help.” The old Iman shook his head slowly.

“It doesn’t matter. We need to read everything you have,” I replied. “Please, you have to help us. We have a shot at bringing this to an end, but we need your help.”

Lemuel looked away, avoiding Heron’s persistent gaze. I had a feeling he was afraid of getting mind-bent.

“I… I can’t… If I reveal the archives, my people will be in trouble.” He sighed, his bony shoulders dropping.

“How? Why?” I asked, and Lemuel looked at us with confusion, his brow furrowed.

“I… I don’t know. I just know I have to keep it a secret. No one can know.”

“I can mind-bend it out of you right now if I want to,” Heron warned him. “But I won’t. I am asking you nicely. We are asking you nicely because we trust you. Trust us, too. We have no intention of telling anyone anything about your archives. We don’t work for the Maras, and we don’t work for you. All we want to do is stop the daemons from attacking your city.”

The old Iman gave it some thought, his worried gaze darting between Heron and me. He eventually gave us both a brief nod, and Heron moved back, releasing him.

“We simply need to know more about the written history of your people,” I added, “daemons and all. Please, help us.”

“I don’t keep them at the bookstore,” Lemuel conceded. “Come with me.”

He left the narrow space between houses, and we followed him back down the alley from which we’d come. Heron moved to his left side, and I kept to his right, keeping him between us, both to protect him and to quickly restrain him if he decided to run off.

“Where do you keep them, then?” I asked.

“I have a studio on the first level,” Lemuel replied. I frowned slightly, wondering why he’d gone to such efforts to conceal any clandestine scents in his bookstore, if the archive wasn’t even there. “I couldn’t risk a raid, so I purchased a floor in a small townhouse below, under my niece’s name. I keep everything there.”

“Then what are you hiding in the bookstore?” I muttered, making sure no passersby overheard us. Lemuel gave me a surprised look, and I raised my eyebrow at him. “Come on, you’ve doused the place in cleaning solutions repeatedly, and, judging by the mess in your house upstairs, you’re not exactly a germaphobe.”

“A germ-what?” He blinked several times in confusion.

“Answer the question, Lemuel,” Heron interjected, his voice firm as he scowled at the old Iman.

“I… I can’t tell you.”

“I can make you tell me,” Heron shot back.

“Okay, just don’t make me tell you here. Have some patience, and I will explain!” Lemuel was getting frustrated and grouchy. I stifled a grin and gave Heron a sideways glance. He, too, was slightly amused.

Lemuel was the typical grumpy old dude who didn’t like being questioned and whose survival instincts had probably kept him alive up until now. From what I remembered, based on the interviews we’d had with House Roho’s servants, few Imen lived past the age of forty or fifty. I had a feeling Lemuel knew a lot more than what he was telling us, but he was right. We were in the middle of an alley filled with people. It wasn’t the right time to discuss such details.

As night fell, the sky got darker and stars twinkled overhead, trailing the first moon. We escorted Lemuel down to the first level, deep in the bowels of the so-called slums of the city.

The streets got narrower, with fewer light sources. Heron and I ended up walking next to each other, Lemuel in front of us.

“It’s just two hundred feet away,” the old Iman said.

My arms brushed against Heron’s occasionally, sparking tingling sensations that rushed through my whole body, then gathered in the back of my throat.

We’d almost kissed, and I didn’t know what to do with that anymore. Was it just a moment’s impulse? Or was Heron orbiting toward me for some reason? Either way, the more I thought about it, the more anxious I got. The more I wanted a kiss to actually happen.

I’d felt his lips against mine back at Jovi and Anjani’s wedding.

And that’s something impossible to forget…