Page 36 of The Neighborhood Vampire

“This is a business dispute,” Sebastian said. He pointed to the bottles behind her. “That has more to do with these empty shelves than anything we did.”

Alice gulped.

“As for the employees . . . we had no knowledge of who worked here and who didn’t. I believe the accords state we’re free to feed as long as no one dies. The last time I checked, no one died, so we aren’t in violation of anything.”

“We know you tried to enthrall us,” Hugo said.

“Enthrall you?” Sebastian asked with a knowing grin. “We would never.”

Sylvia once again placed her hand over her heart. “We merely invited you into our home, cooked a good meal, and offered you some of our finest wine. You were the ones who left in a hurry. How are we the ones at fault for anything?”

Hugo peered toward Alice as if searching for what to do next. Alice had nothing. Her mind erased all thoughts as they unraveled before her.

“We know you tried to get in the house after we left,” Hugo said.

“Was that us?” Sylvia asked.

“Are you sure?” Sebastian added. “Did you see us? How do we know you aren’t making it up?”

“It seems to us, it is you who violated the Vampire-Witch accords,” Sylvia said. “We’re merely business owners trying to eke out a living. Harassed and tormented by a witch. Thank you for confirming, by the way.”

“Confirming what?” Alice asked.

“You’re the witch of Newbury Grove.That you were the one caught riding a broomstick—in daylight—in front of a crowd of people,” Sylvia said. “Shame on you.”

Hugo slumped back in his chair.

Sylvia uncrossed her legs, placed both of her arms on the table, and leaned forward. She continued, “We’ve been looking for a witch. Someone who is on the run. Someone who is hiding. Someone we’d like to make a deal with.”

“Imagine our surprise when we came across the news headline. Well, we figured we should investigate. Maybe she was the witch we sought,” Sebastian said.

“Lo and behold, we found out there was a new wine being distributed and marketed with a witch on the label. The witch we were after loved to make wine. Isn’t that right, my love?” Sylvia asked.

“You’re correct,” Sebastian answered.

Sylvia continued, “And then there was a house for sale. A nice, lovely house that happened to be right next door to a purple house. Love, what was the witch’s favorite color?”

“Purple,” Sebastian answered.

“Well, we thought this was surely the witch we sought. We thought what a perfect place to move our operations. I had my doubts, but well, you confirmed it.” Sylvia sat back in her chair and grinned.

Alice’s heart sank. Each word, each answer, like daggers to the chest. She had been so foolish. Of course, she had to be herself. She couldn’t lie low. It nearly cost her life, and now . . . now the very people she was on the run from sat across the table from her. Her reflection was right, and she was never going to let Alice hear the end of it.

Alice’s eyes darted to Hugo. His elbows rested on the table with his head in his hands. A passing thought surged through her mind toward the devastation Hugo must be experiencing, knowing he led the Savinos here. There wasn’t time to dwell on the past. She neededa plan, something to turn the tide. Maybe they didn’t know about the spell.

No. They had to know. They had to know about the spell. They were teasing and toying with her. Waiting. Making her suffer before they mentioned it. Their ultimate bargaining chip.Don’t mention the spell.

She glared at Sylvia. “So, what do you want?”

“Immortality,” Sylvia answered, never breaking eye contact with Alice. “A decent return on my investment isn’t bad either.”

“It seems we hold all the cards. There is nothing you can offer us,” Sebastian said. “We’re very generous. Your friends, the Raskins, are free to renegotiate a new contract with us. Of course, their rates will be slightly higher. But their shelves will be fully stocked.”

“Or there is another way,” Sylvia said. “We want you to work for us.”

Alice gulped, holding her breath. Her body tightened. Her head pounded as her ears rang. Rage, anger, fear, hatred—a cocktail of mixed emotions surged through her.

“Why would I work for you?”

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