Cursed to Love You

Chapter 3: Sanctuary

Clara's hands trembled slightly as she unlocked the back entrance to her shop. Not from the cold rain that had soaked them both, but from the weight of what she was about to do. No hunter had ever crossed this threshold—she'd made sure of that through carefully layered wards and misdirection spells. Yet here she was, about to reveal something of her defenses to a man who, by his very nature, was trained to destroy them.

"The wards," James said quietly behind her. "They're not just protection, are they?"

She glanced back at him, noting how he stood relaxed but alert, taking in every detail. One hand rested casually near his coat pocket—where, she was certain, he kept something designed to incapacitate witches.
"Worried?" she asked, keeping her tone light despite the tension coiling in her stomach.

"Professional interest." His gray eyes met hers steadily. "I've never seen barrier work quite like this."

"And I've never invited a hunter past them," she replied. "Seems we're both in unfamiliar territory."

The door swung open with a soft chime of hidden bells. Clara led him through the darkened shop, past the public space with its innocent herbs and tinctures, to a door behind the counter that looked like a simple storage closet. To her magical sight, it blazed with protective spells. She noticed how James's steps slowed as they approached it, his hunter senses undoubtedly registering the concentration of power.

"Before we go further," she said, turning to face him, "I need your word. Hunter to witch. What you see here stays between us." She kept her hand near her amethyst pendant, ready to trigger the emergency wards if necessary. Trust only went so far.

James studied her face in the dim light filtering through the shop windows. Rain drummed against the glass, and somewhere distant, thunder rolled. "Unless it threatens innocent lives," he said finally. "Then all bets are off."

It wasn't the complete assurance she'd hoped for, but it was honest. Clara pressed her palm to the door, whispering words in an ancient language that made the air shimmer. "Then welcome to my real shop, James Constantine."

The door swung open to reveal a narrow staircase, illuminated by globes of soft magical light that floated near the ceiling. As they ascended, the magical energy grew thicker, more tangible. Clara felt James tense behind her, his hunter's energy flaring defensively against the concentration of power. She kept part of her attention on him, ready to activate her defenses if needed.

The upper room took most hunters years to find, if they found it at all. Here, magic flowed freely. Crystals hummed with stored power. Rare herbs that shouldn't exist in this century grew in containers along the walls.
Books of true magic, not the tourist-trap nonsense sold below, lined shelves of dark wood. And everywhere, protection spells glowed like constellations to Clara's magical sight.

"A sanctuary," James said, turning slowly to take it all in. His hand had moved closer to his pocket. "Hidden in plain sight."

"Sometimes the best defense is making people see what they expect." Clara moved to the work table, lighting candles with a gesture. She watched his reaction carefully, but he showed no alarm at the casual display of magic. Interesting.

"The magical signature here," he said, moving to examine a shelf of crystals without touching them. "It's... clean. Structured. Not what I'd expect from a wild magic practitioner."

Clara's hands stilled over the candles. He'd identified her magic type—and with it, likely guessed at formal training. A coven background. She kept her voice carefully neutral. "We all have our surprises. Like a hunter who seeks healing from a witch."

"Touché." A ghost of a smile touched his lips, though his eyes remained watchful. "Though you can't blame me for wondering why a witch powerful enough to maintain all this chooses to hide in a tourist shop."

"The same reason a hunter capable of sensing magical signatures this clearly works alone?" She met his gaze steadily. "We all have our reasons for choosing solitude, Mr. Constantine."

Thunder crashed closer now, making the magical lights flicker. Something passed behind James's eyes—recognition, perhaps, or memory. His hand touched his pendant briefly before dropping away. Clara noted the gesture, filed it away with other observations about this unusual hunter.

"The coven we're tracking," he said, changing the subject. "They're getting stronger. More ambitious. That ritual site we found—it's not just dark magic they're working with. It's something older."

Clara moved to a cabinet, removing a carefully warded grimoire. She hesitated, then opened it to a page of diagrams. Not everything, but enough to show good faith. "The magical disturbances follow a pattern. One I've seen before."

James approached carefully, maintaining a respectful distance that acknowledged both their tentative alliance and their inherent opposition. "These formations—" He gestured to the diagrams without touching the book. "They're creating a focus point. Drawing power to—"

"Here." Clara indicated the map. "My shop sits at the convergence."

Their eyes met in the candlelight, understanding passing between them. This wasn't coincidence. The dark coven had chosen this location deliberately.
Whether they knew about Clara's sanctuary or simply felt the concentration of power, they were drawing closer.

A massive thunderclap shook the building, and the magical lights flickered wildly. Clara's wards flared in response, and she felt James shift his stance, hunter's training recognizing a potential threat. But it wasn't just the storm setting off her warnings.

"Something's wrong," she said, moving to the window. "The magical currents are—"

She broke off as she saw it. Through the rain-streaked glass, a sickly green light pulsed from the direction of the ritual site. Dark magic crackled against her wards like black lightning, carrying with it a message that made her blood run cold.

We see you, little witch.

James was beside her instantly, his hand now openly on his weapon. "What is it?"

But before she could answer, a scream cut through the storm—terrifyingly human, charged with magical agony. The dark coven had found another victim. And they were doing it close to her sanctuary for a reason.
They were drawing her out.

"I have to stop them," Clara said, already moving toward the stairs. But James caught her arm. She tensed at the contact, magic rising instinctively.

"It's a trap," he said, releasing her immediately, respecting the boundary. "You know it is."

"I know." She met his gaze steadily. "But I can't let them hurt someone. Not when I can do something about it."

For a moment, she thought he would try to stop her—his duty as a hunter warring visibly with whatever instincts had led him to trust her this far. Instead, he drew one of his silver daggers and offered it to her, hilt first. "Then we work together. Just for tonight. Hunter and witch against something worse than either of us."

Clara took the blade carefully, feeling the blessed silver hum against her magic—not accepting, not yet, but not rejecting either. Like them, it was an uneasy alliance born of necessity. "Together," she agreed. "For tonight."

They descended into the storm, leaving the sanctuary's candles burning behind them, their light a beacon in the magical darkness that was descending on Salem. Neither fully trusted the other—couldn't afford to, given what they were. But as another scream pierced the night, Clara knew that sometimes survival meant taking calculated risks.

She just hoped she'd calculated correctly.