Page 2 of Spice
“Sure!” I say, overly bright, still flustered.
“Extra spices on top, if you don’t mind,” he adds, rocking back on his heels. Every time he looks at me, I can feel it, even with my back turned as I start the espresso machine. It’s a caress, like someone’s dragging silk over my skin every time his gaze lands on me. My hands shake slightly as I go through the motions I’ve done thousands of times. I brew the espresso, I heat the milk, I pour the syrup, spilling a few drops on the counter thanks to my unsteady hands. I finish making the drink and then top it with whipped cream.
The spices tingle against my fingers as I sprinkle them over the drink. I whisper a different spell for this man than I did my previous customer.
“May your darkness lead you to the light you seek.” The spices shimmer, longer and brighter this time for some reason. I’m too discombobulated to wonder why.
I set the drink on the counter, sliding it toward him as he reaches for it at the same time. Our fingers brush, and heat races up my arm as a bright orange spark jumps in the air between us, disappearing with a small snap. I pull my hand back, feeling as though I’ve been shocked.
What the hell was that?
My magic reacting with his? Or…something more?
He stares briefly at the space where my hand was a moment ago, a muscle in his jaw working as he seems to be wondering the same thing. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.
“Thank you,” he says, picking up his drink. I guess we’re not going to talk about the actual spark that just flew out of our skin? Cool.
I open my mouth, but what am I supposed to say?Did you just shock me, or is your hotness causing me to hallucinate?
He lifts the drink to his mouth, taking a small sip. He swallows, staring at the copious amount of spices dotting the whipped cream. The ones I enchanted and sprinkled on his drink. Mug poised mid-air, his eyes go wide. His nostrils flare, and his lips part. His entire expression changes, from broody disinterest to shocked wonder.
The change only makes him more beautiful.
“You. It’s you.”
“Me?” I ask, pointing awkwardly at myself.
He sets the mug down, a bit of his drink sloshing over the side. “What’s your last name?” he asks. His voice is quiet, but no less demanding for its lack of volume.
“My mother told me never talk to strangers, even ones as hot as you,” I say. Oh, goddess. Am I flirting? What even is that?
“Is your last name Ashwood?” he asks, seemingly undeterred by my less than dazzling attempt at banter.
I go still, eyes locked on him. “Uh…yes?” It comes out like a question, like I need him to confirm my own last name for me. He stares at me, his gaze hot and intent. That panicked sensation starts to creep up again, and I look away, laughing awkwardly.
He leans on the counter, palms splayed, and I see the flicker of something in his aura. A golden glimmer that wasn’t there before.
Hope?
“My name’s Ezra Blackwood, and fifty years ago, Cordelia Ashwood cursed me.”
I gasp when he says my grandmother’s name.
“I need…I need a descendant of the witch who cursed me to break it. You’re her bloodline. I can feel it.” He inhales a shaky breath, and that shimmer of gold pulses again.
“Wait, back it up a second,” I say, frowning. “Fifty years ago? You look fortyish.”
This has to be some kind of Halloween prank, and honestly, it’s not very funny.
We stare at each other for a moment, that connection pulsing between us. I feel like my entire body is a magnet, being pulled towards him.
“I’m two-hundred and forty-one years old.”
My eyebrows raise. “You’re immortal?” I could sense that he was powerful, but immortality is extremely rare, even among the most powerful in our communities.
“Not quite. I just age very, very slowly.” He peers at me, leaning in closer. “I don’t know why this is shocking to you. I can smell your Everwane blood.”
“You can smell my blood? And what…what’s an Everwane?” My head is swimming. I’m horny and confused and intrigued and a little scared.
