Page 35 of The Royal Street Witch
His eyes slit, head cocking to the side. He grabs his spoon hastily with the hand I just rebuffed.
“Now that it’s fixed, I need to pay you.”
I just nod, because just thinking about that final payment and all it means makes my stomach float.
“You sure it’ll have the same effect on Cassius, even though you used my blood?” It comes out very business-like, very matter of fact, so I answer accordingly.
“What matters are the blood tears of desire, not whom they belonged to.”
He shovels grits in his mouth, and I feel guilty for upsetting him, for ruining something he hasn’t done in decades. Part of me can’t believe that I can have such an effect on him—HIM.
“I’m sorry,” I sputter out. “It’s not easy for me. Not at all. And it’s more scary than anything. What has transpired over the last twenty-four hours is fucking terrifying, but also…” Fuck, I’m hesitant, but he can sniff it out like a dog and it goads me.
“Say it,” he orders as if he knows.
Dragging my nails along my skull and leaning in, I slither my other hand across the table, this time caging his in mine. “Electrifying. Something I could get addicted to. Something I could want every day of my life. Yet I know how this ends. So I have to close myself off to it. But please, don’t get the impression that it didn’t mean anything to me. It meant everything.”
I can’t believe I allowed the words to slip out of my mouth, and he blinks repeatedly, taking it in and turns his hand so mine falls into his, and he rubs his thumb along my fingers.
“Well, that certainly made up for the playing house comment.”
And I sigh. “So can you taste the grits?” I ask, and he rolls his eyes.
“A little.” His lips seem to pale right before my eyes, and my heart flutters a little.
“We should get you back soon. Your three-hour window is almost up.”
“Yeah, I’m getting tired,” he says in a low voice, and I realize this is usually the time he’s sleeping. His eyes are drooping, drunk-like, and I wave for the bill, not wanting a repeat of the other night on Bourbon Street.
We Uber to his house in the Garden District, his face plastered to the window, silently taking it all in. The way the sun trickles through the oaks, the breeze wrestling the leaves amid the cloudless sky. It’s like I’m noticing it through his eyes as well, the pops of the thick white petals on the magnolia trees, ferns spawning from cement walls.
Once in front of his house, he sighs at the sight—in its daylight glory.
“She’s magnificent,” he says and turns to me. “Come inside.” It’s almost a command, but I step back to create some space so I don’t get ensnared.
“I’ve got to open the store,” I breathe out. His cheeks are gaunt so I reach up to feel them. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like shit. Do you feel okay?”
A chuckle escapes his lips as he leans on his fence. “Yeah, it’s because I should be asleep by now. We need sleep like you do, to recharge and regenerate, otherwise we grow weak and nobody wants a weak vampire.”
“I certainly don’t,” I say, pushing a hair from his brow, my heart squeezing because the simplest touch feels so intimate—but that’s what we are now. Intimate. We’ve crossed the line of friendship. “You need rest and to get out of this sun. Call me later.” I want to kiss him, but it’s daylight and what if someone is lurking in his house? These vampires have no boundaries.
He places his hand over mine and nods. “It meant everything to me too. But the difference is that you see this is a problem and I don’t. Good thing I’m an excellent problem solver.” A squeeze of my hand and I pull it from his, turning to walk away.
“I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go.”
“Get out of the sun,” I say, shaking my head and hiding my smile.
WORK IS A BORE COMPAREDto the last twenty-four hours of my life with Bastian. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if every day was like that. Having someone that saw me—truly saw me—and desired me. Someone to witness my life and fill it with pleasure and electricity and connection.
I go about my daily routine. I sell jewelry to tourists, I cure potions for Nicola, I text Chantal and my mother. I am lonelier than I have ever been. I sit at the cash register and realize that it’s only been a few hours since I left him at his house. I yearn for his fingers digging into me, his fangs pressing so dangerously against my skin. My blood would kill him, yet the memory of them running across my bare shoulders ignites a fire inside I can’t snuff.
I wonder what he’s doing. If he’s still sleeping, if he’s fed. Where he got sustenance after he left my bed last night. I wonder if watching him feed would bother me, would disturb me, if I could handle it. Suddenly filled with more questions than I have a right to ask and careless, that’s what I’m becoming. Careless like—like how Bastian seems careless too. Taking risks, giant risks, like the pursuit of not only my potions and magic, but…me. If he’s so careless with this delicate of a situation, how is he in his nightly life? Am I the forbidden fruit he must taste? Just another conquest in a never-ending life of conquests?
Knock, knock. Whatcha doin?
A text comes from my mother, and I feel like I’m caught, heart dropping to my knees. I run to the shop door, closing out the sounds of the horns being played outside, their song suddenly overwhelming me. I sit back at the counter and hold my phone for a few seconds, staring at her words, her piteous check on me.
I type,Maybe if you were here, you would know, but quickly erase it, a hammering of guilt pounding me for betraying her, betraying my grandmother.
