Page 27 of How to Dump a Vampire

The fox finishes her meal and delicately licks her muzzle.That was delicious!

It’s a small comfort but sincere. This curious creature appeared just when I needed a loyal friend most, and though much remains uncertain, a fragile trust now bridges the space between us.

After tidying up the breakfast dishes, I retrieve an ancient leather-bound tome from my bookcase andsettle into the armchair by the fireplace. Luna curls up around my feet, rumbling contentedly as I scratch her ears and flip open the dusty cover.

My eyes hurt from squinting at the faded lettering on these ancient parchment pages, but I’m determined to push through. There has to be some arcane ritual or alchemical formula in these books that can dissolve the unwanted bond linking me to that infuriating vampire prince. I refuse to give up!

As I struggle to focus on the obscure text, echoes of Draven’s presence stubbornly intrude—anger, frustration, and a vague sense of his location though worlds apart. I grit my teeth, pushing the unwanted sensations down.

“I’ve been at this all day, and I’ve found nothing,” I grumble, snapping the heavy tome shut and blowing errant dust motes from its musky pages. “This so-called ‘ultimate grimoire of mystical liberation’ is useless!”

I sink back into the velvet armchair, kneading my throbbing temples. The gilded candles on my reading table have burned down to nubs, their flickering light straining my vision further. How long have I been hunched over these ancient pages anyway?

At my feet, the white fox Luna lifts her head, golden eyes glinting with sympathy from where she’s curled atop a plush pillow.You should rest. Your spirit grows weary.

I wave off her concern, unable to keep still when answers feel just out of reach. “I’m fine. One more cup of tea and then back to work.”

My fox companion snorts delicately as I push myself up and totter stiffly to the kitchen cabinet. A wave of dizziness hits when I reach for the tin of aromatic tea leaves. Luna’s right. I need nourishment after all this mental exertion. With no appetite for a proper meal, the earthy floral notes of my Asrbloom tea will have to suffice. It’s not often that I let my vampire side be what sustains me—I truly love good food anyway—but right now, I don’t have time or energy for more.

I sink into a chair, sweeping a hand across my disordered work table to clear space for the tea tray I then carry over. Beyond fatigue, disheartened frustration gnaws at my patience. What if there is no magic powerful enough to overcome fate’s decree and dissolve this bond forever?

No. I refuse to surrender and remain magically tied to Prince Draven for eternity. There has to be an enchantment capable of severing even the most stubborn supernatural ties. I just need to find it. I’ll feel much more hopeful once this tea revives me.

The kettle whistles as Luna uses her snout to nudge it off the stove’s flame. I hide a smile at her resourcefulness as she trots over carrying the pot by the handle. After passing me a steaming cup, she hops up into the chair opposite.

“Isn’t that hot? I could have carried that.”

I’m a familiar, not your everyday fox. I can do things you couldn’t imagine, and carrying a teapot is the least of them. Drink up now. Can’t have you keeling over before you’re done!

Despite my anxious mood, I huff a laugh at the fox’s matter-of-fact tone, and I breathe in the tea’s soothing aroma. The vapor’s warmth against my face relaxes my furrowed brow somewhat. First, sustenance. Then, back to the books with fresh eyes.

I gulp the tea faster than advisable for the scalding temperature. The rich floral flavors and subtle spice invigorate me as promised. Within minutes, the fog of fatigue lifts, and I feel curiously energized. Draven’sthoughts and feelings are dampened enough that I can also forget he’s there. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this.

Across from me, Luna laps delicately at her own tea, neatly aligned white paws peeking out beneath her furry chest. She pauses, studying me with those uncannily sentient golden orbs.

Goodness, look at you! Practically bristling with renewed fervor. Just keep that energy in check. I can practically feel your magic rolling off of you. Are you sure your magic isn’t wild?The fox’s voice in my mind emanates wry amusement.

I roll my eyes fondly at her teasing as I eagerly tidy the empty mugs back onto the tray. She’s right. I feel so much better, and now that my mind is clear, I know just the empowering elixir to brew, found in an ancient text I forgot earlier. It’s at the back of my cabinet.

“You know me, always the picture of magical control,” I joke as I shift stacks of scrolls and tomes to unearth the handwritten grimoire I seek. Finding mystical solutions fills me with blazing purpose once more. “Actually, you don’t know me, but I promise no crockery is at risk here.”

The fox hops down, pacing alongside me.Well, if you insist on more volatile spellwork tonight, I shall observe safely from the doorway.Her mental tone turns serious.Remember to anchor yourself, or the forces you channel may grow unruly.

Energized confidence overriding caution, I pause my rifling to wink at her. “The only unruly magic here is whatever nonsense fate used to bind me to Mister Royal Undeadness and to you.”

This time, I vow silently, my power will overcome destiny itself.

Luna snorts as I pass the rest of the night in fervent mystical preparation, my earlier fatigue completely banished. Clearing space in my small cottage proves cathartic—out with the remnants of the evidence of my unwanted guest and in with new ingredients brimming with potential.

As the last pale light of evening filters through the cottage windows, I stand back to survey my handiwork. The aged oak table now holds an intricate layout of engraved crystals, vials of enchanted oils, and dried herb bundles tied with different colored ribbons to produce specific effects. I inhale deeply, the mingling scents focused yet strangely soothing.

Candles—tall tapers of pure beeswax etched with sigils for clarity—form a circle around the most frayed and arcane grimoire from my collection. I reverently open the dragonhide leather binding, its pages so ancient they feel more like worn parchment than paper. My pulse leaps when I find the ritual I seek nestled within, a shiver of destiny raising hairs on my nape.

After meticulous purification, the space hums with simmering potential. The time has come.

Centering my will, I take my place before the makeshift altar and begin meticulously combining ingredients as the ritual instructs, whispered words of power flowing from my lips to direct the brew’s purpose.

As my incantation builds, the very walls of the cottage seem to resonate and amplify the words. Added droplets of viscous oil swirl opalescent through the mixture, kindling tiny sparks. The circle of candles flares higher, their reflection dancing across the glittering crystals and glass vials.

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