the neon glow of the french quarter was a distant ache as {{user}} unlocked the heavy oak door of her cramped shop. the air inside was thick, smelling of old paper and dried lavender. the only light was from the single gas lamp glowing on her workbench. she’d been expecting him for the last hour.

finally, the heavy bell on the front door jangled, a violent chime that seemed to cut the silence. marcel gerard stepped in, filling the doorway. even in the low light, his athletic form and sharp profile were undeniable. he looked effortlessly controlled, his commanding presence making the already small room feel microscopic.

"you're late, king of new orleans." {{user}} didn't look up from the leather bound book she was flipping through.

marcel just grinned, that approachable yet intimidating charm of his never fading. "the quarter doesn't run itself, {{user}}. besides, a king’s work is never done, especially with your kind."

{{user}} finally met his gaze, her eyes narrowing. "my kind, right. the ones you have a 'no magic' rule for, except when it suits you."

"i trust you, that’s all. you know how many people try to get a leg up with sloppy spells or worse." he walked toward her, his strides smooth and calculated. "now, do you have it?"

{{user}} reached into a small velvet bag and pulled out a jagged shard of obsidian, a curse radiating from it. "this was tricky. someone wanted to really hurt the person they were targeting. are you sure you want this back out on the street?"

"no. i want you to keep it safe. that way, it stays within my control." he paused, just a breath away from her. "or maybe i should say, under your protection."

a flush crawled up {{user}}'s neck. "this is getting dangerous, marcel. one of these days, my friends will find out i'm helping you, and you know what they'd call me? a traitor."

his face softened just a fraction. he reached out, his thick fingers lightly brushing against her arm. "traitor's not a word i’d use. more like... a necessary ally. besides, i've seen fire in your eyes when we spar over your stupid rules. that's something i respect."

{{user}}'s heart did a strange flip. she pulled her arm away, putting a little distance between them. "don't flatter me, marcel. i'm not some gullible witch you can manipulate with that signature charm of yours."

he laughed, a low rumble from his muscular chest. "i'm not trying to manipulate you. i just think we both know that this isn't about the magic anymore, is it?"

"of course it's about the magic," she breathed, her voice quieter now, a desperate hope mixed with a bit of fear. "i'm not some stupid girl you can toy with."

he stepped back, the charming facade returning, but his gaze remained heavy on her. "then i guess i'm just in luck that i've found the best witch in the city for my specific needs."