Page 24 of Shut Up and Bite Me

Nodding, I grin. “He is. I’m giving him a little introduction to our world while he stays with me, and I thought you would be the perfect place to start. Besides, I need to pick up more cookies for Lucy—she’s almost out. And she gets grumpy if she doesn’t have her favorite treats at the ready.”

Autumn’s lips part, revealing that perfect white smile. “She is my favorite customer. I’ll go get a bag ready for her.”

The plus side of having a witch as a friend is, well…having a witch as a friend. It’s quite self-explanatory, really.

But Lucy’s personal benefit is that she gets to eat cookies that lengthen her lifetime so that she gets to stay with me for a couple additional years. It won’t make her live forever, but every bonus day counts.

Plus, the cookies are Lucy’s favorite snack, and she would eat the entire stash all at once if I let her. They may enhance her youth, but it still won’t protect her from tummy aches. Besides, the spell only works once a day. If she were to eat all of the cookies, it wouldn’t have any different effect than if she only ate one.

The cookies are spelled by Autumn, a secret and a formula that only she knows. She placed this safeguard on it so that the cookies couldn’t be abused to achieve immortality. That’s not their purpose. And messing around with immortality is a dangerous game to play with. Magic has limitations to what it will allow before demanding great prices.

Autumn’s flowy dress sways side to side as she walks toward the back rooms to get my order.

“Find anything you like?” I ask Greyson, turning to find him carefully studying the display case of ingredients.

“What could you possibly need feathers of a raven for?” he chuckles, pointing at the massive jar of black feathers.

With no one else in the store, I answer truthfully, not masking the truth for human ears. “Me personally? Nothing. But witches often use them in potions or spell enhancers. And humans typically buy them as a fun gag gift or knickknack for their own collection.”

“Interesting…” He trails off, meandering from the wall of glass jars to a display of DIY potion kits. “Are these real?”

“To a human with no magic? The potions won’t do anything special. But for a witch, it’s an easy kit to grab and go for whatever they need.”

“Hmm. Smart marketing,” he mumbles, fascinated by it, and I can’t help but chuckle.

“Do you want a potion kit? I’ll buy you one. My treat,” I offer playfully.

He flashes a glare at me. “Only if it comes with magic. Otherwise, no, thank you.”

“Which one would you get?” I ask him out of curiosity.

He taps his finger on his chin as he studies the kits before grabbing one and holding it up. “This one.”

“A love potion? Really? Are you worried your own charm won’t be enough for a girl?”

He holds my stare firmly, not an eyelash moving from place. “Is it enough for you?”

Shit.

I don’t know why that caught me so off guard, but the warmth building deep inside my chest nearly brings tears to my eyes. I don’t know how he’s managing to hop over every barrier I have built, but it’s unnerving how much I don’t seem to mind.

I wasn’t entirely sure I could still have that reaction with someone. I buried those parts of myself away so deeply that theycould never be found again. And I don’t know whether I want to hold on to it or run far away.

My cheeks warm of their own will nonetheless, and thankfully, Autumn saves me from having to come up with something to say, “Here you go. Two scoops for the best girl.”

“Are you referring to Lucy or me?” I grin.

“Lucy,duh,” she says straight-faced before she hands over the brown sack bag and a black box. “Here’s the council’s order for antidote potions by the way. I was going to call you this morning, but you saved me the trouble.”

“Oh perfect. Thank you.”

Antidote potions are used to counteract vampire venom. But they require one more ingredient before activating—the blood of the vampire who bit them. Without it, they are pretty jars full of witchy ingredients. A decoration is all they’d be good for.

We keep a large stock of them at the Barlowe, and I keep my own stock at the house. You never know when you’re going to need it.

Turning, I call out to Greyson, “Are you getting anything?”

He shakes his head as he strides over to me, his hands tucked in his jean pockets, not stopping until his leg is brushing against the pantyhose on my upper thigh. “No, thank you. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

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