Free Poison in the Blood by Robyn Bachar

group larger than one made up of my children, nieces and nephews. Thankfully my years of being the eldest sister had blessed me with a loud speaking voice, and my time as a mother had given me a strong constitution. After enduring the irritable antics of colicky twins, little else seemed intimidating.
    I had chosen several short poems to read that had a great deal of personal meaning to me. They were my attempts to reconcile the joy of finding my soul mate with the fear of losing him. Though I tried to focus on enjoying the moment in my time with Michael, every joy had been shadowed by the knowledge that it would not last, as though the Grim Reaper loomed behind each happiness. I poured that pain into my reading, and I succeeded in making my audience teary-eyed, many producing handkerchiefs.
    Fortunately I also succeeded in spotting something interesting. There, just out of the corner of my eye, I spied a shadow against the wall that had no logical reason to be in that particular spot. Thanks to my near-death experience at the hands of master necromancer Mr. Farrell, I knew that masters could hide themselves within shadows. Afraid of spooking the shadow, I kept my focus on the room, and continued to watch the shadow in my periphery. I wished that I had some way to signal Miss Dubois and alert her to the shadow’s presence, but it would have to wait.
    The shadow crept closer as I neared the end of my reading, allowing me to spy a few more details. It was in the shape of a slender man, but I lost track of it as I answered questions from the crowd. When I rejoined Miss Dubois I had no idea where the shadow had gone. I leaned close as though about to share a confidence.
    “I saw someone concealed in the shadows during the reading,” I informed her in an excited whisper.
    “Where?”
    I described the spot on the wall where it had first stood, and how it had moved closer. Miss Dubois nodded, her expression stoic, and she asked me to wait while she examined the area.
    Miss Thistlegoode kept me company as the guardian wandered off. I folded my hands tightly as I fought the urge to offer to match the young witch—it was almost second nature to me, because matchmaking was the main outlet I had for my magic.
    “Oh, Mr. Paris, how lovely to see you again,” Miss Thistlegoode exclaimed.
    I turned and spotted a handsome young gentleman. He had the perfect golden curls of a cherub, and eyes that were a singular shade of violet. I had never seen such eyes before, and they sparkled with life and mischief.
    Mr. Paris smiled, revealing gleaming, perfect white teeth, and he bowed politely. “Miss Rose, that was a stellar reading. Simply smashing! Where have you been hiding yourself from our little group before this?”
    “Thank you, Mr. Paris, that is very kind of you. I haven’t had much time to devote to my writing, but with such kind reactions as these perhaps I should rethink my efforts.”
    There was something overwhelming about his presence. It wasn’t the strength that Miss Dubois and Dr. Bennett exuded, but something altogether different from anything I had experienced before.
    “You certainly should. A talent such as yours should be treasured.” Boldly he took my hand and raised it to his lips, brushing a kiss against my fingers. A few years ago I might have swooned at the gesture, but knowing that I had a soul mate, even one that was at the moment a bloodthirsty creature of the night, kept me steady. I smiled politely and batted my lashes and wished for Miss Dubois’s parasol to nudge him away with.
    “Unfortunately my family often feels that my poetry is a petty hobby and not a talent,” I said. It was true enough. “Except for my sister, of course, who has always supported me. Have you met my sister Delia?” I motioned for Miss Dubois to join us, and Mr. Paris tucked my hand into the crook of his arm and began leading me away.
    “There is plenty of time for that. I am sure you must be winded after your reading. The