Page 25 of The Royal Street Witch
“Give me this time. Give me this time, and then we’ll figure out how long it lasts. And you get paid, and I’ll talk to Cassius. Deal?”
“I can’t be seen with you.”
He grabs his hat and sunglasses from his back pocket, something I made him promise to wear when he’s out. Although as he puts them on, I doubt they will serve their purpose of disguising him. He does not blend in.
“Get your shoes on.” He looks down at my bare feet and then leans down to my ear. “Come on, let go.”
So, I decide to let go. I’ll let go for today and just for today because in a couple of hours this will be over. Bastian won’t be hanging out at my house anymore. I’ll figure out the length of time the potion works and then we’ll move on from this. We’ll say our goodbyes. Cassius and Bastian can travel the world together. And I’ll have my shop and I’ll have security and a life of my own.
“It’s so different. You don’t realize it until it’s gone.” He’s wistful when he says it, looking up at the glowing flowers hanging in pots from the balconies. “The colors…how the sun hits…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, he doesn’t have to. We’re walking down the middle of Bourbon Street with Styrofoam cups in our hands, the Hurricane already creating a buzz in my mind. “Just one,” he had said and pulled me into the Hurricane Shop where colorful flavors spun in machines along the walls. “Let’s be tourists.”
We drink and drink some more, dancing down the hot and crowded street as Bastian yells, “Blinded by the lights!” He stops at a cigar shop as I wait outside, dizzy from the liquor and the worry that someone might recognizes Bastian. I pull out my phone and try to focus on the time. We’ve been out for an hour, and sunset is another hour away.
“Has it always been this beautiful?” he asks as he jumps down from the step and lights his cigar. I look at the musicians playing in the street, the bucket boys slamming their sticks against the plastic bins, the metallic beads strewn across the street, glimmering every color of the rainbow, and I nod.
“Yes, it has. It only gets more beautiful.” I can feel my smile all the way down to my soul, and I’m feeding off his energy. I’ve never seen his teeth this much before, his grin is so wide it disappears behind his Ray-Bans.
“Thank you.” He bites the red straw and then slurps up the icy alcohol, and I just nod. And that’s when his hips sway back and forth and his shoulders follow and we dance in the street until sweat falls down my back and wets my hair, and this is what it feels like to let go.
Then he stumbles like he’s lost his balance, but we aren’t even walking. His drink falls to the ground, icy red liquor spreading around our feet, and I grab his elbow.
“You okay?” I look up at him.
With squinting eyes, he says, “Huh?” as if squinting eyes equals better hearing.
“Are you okay?” I pull his sunglasses down for a peek. His eyes are droopy, and his mouth slowly opens while it travels down to my ear. “It burns,” he whispers, and my eyes widen, my fingers digging into his elbow. “Aster, it burns.”
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” I yell over the loud tuba being played inches away. Head shaking, he pulls the hat from his head as if that would give him some relief. He’s becoming disoriented right before my eyes.
“No, no.” Groaning, I stand on my tippy toes, pulling the hat back down over his head. “Where are your dark corners?” I look around, but with so many people shoulder to shoulder, I can’t think, can’t think of a spell to cast, can only imagine a vampire dying in the middle of Bourbon Street and that would mean the ripping of my throat. I grab his hand and pull him away from the crowds to the dark side of the street, thankful for Nola and all its shade-baring terraces.
What’s the darkest place that’s the closest? Eyes scanning, heart thumping, and I wish I could stop time but that’s not how most magic works.
My mind goes to Lafitte’s—the oldest, darkest bar in the French Quarter. The back is close to pitch black, even in the daylight, and we’re only minutes away. I grab his hand and pull him in that direction—which requires passing Comey’s—with great hesitation. Thankfully no one that works the night shift is lounging out front.
“Almost there,” I say, looking back at him, his silence ensuring me that this is an emergency because he rarely shuts up.
Lafitte’s is cool and dank, and the moment we step inside I can actually breathe. I pull Bastian straight to the back, past the opened shutters, past the brick fireplace that’s three hundred years old and around a corner where a piano sits. Come nightfall, the area will be crowded and lively with a pianist taking requests. But for now, it’s just us.
I pull off Bastian’s hat and sunglasses and grab his chin between my fingers. “Still alive-ish?” I ask, looking for any markings or burns. Partying on Bourbon Street was just another stupid decision, and I’ve been making a lot of those lately.
With a hand through his hair, he pulls his chin from my fingers and nods. “That was nothing,” he coos. “I’ve had closer calls than that.” He grins and pulls his T-shirt from his wet chest in an attempt to play it off. I believe him but can still see the calming of his nerves in front of my eyes.
“That was so…”
“Fun,” he interrupts quickly, but I just shake my head and grab a rubber band from my wrist.
“Stupid. That was so stupid. And I knew it, I knew it could happen.” I pull my hair up into a high ponytail, so overheated and tipsy that I feel sick.
“It’s fine.” Bastian pulls out his phone and looks at the time. “We just have to hang out here until sunset. Less than an hour. It’s fine.” His eyes betray his fear, but I don’t point it out.
“Yeah well, you’re not the one vampires and witches will kill over this, so I can see why you’re not too concerned.”
“Stop.” He grabs my hand. “Nobody is killing anyone. We’re still celebrating. Let’s get some drinks while we wait.”
“I can fix it. I can lengthen the time. It won’t take that long, I’m sure just a little longer curing. And you guys can plan it so you know how many hours you have out.”
