Page 37 of The Royal Street Witch
“Why am I here, Bastian?” is all I can seem to say.
A smile cracks on his face and he shakes his head. “On the bar,” he says, nodding toward an envelope with my name written upon it so beautifully it could be a tattoo.
I check my surroundings, per usual, witch rules ingrained in my psyche, then say “Come,” and the envelope shoots into my opened hand. I know what it is before opening it, but there’s something about seeing a wire transfer receipt to my mortgage company for two hundred thousand dollars that makes me uneasy.
“You paid off my mortgage already?” My heart seems to still, a panic piercing it.
“Payment for services rendered,” he says, a smile reaching his eyes.
“I know I should be happy. But I can’t help but feel like I’ve whored myself out for this.” I pull my hair behind my ears as the crickets seem to chirp louder just to mock me.
“Have I ever treated you like a whore?” His eyes look hurt or angry. Maybe both.
“No.”
“No. You are a powerful woman and are being paid for your gifts. Can’t you make anything easy?”
“I want to be happy, but something is eating away at me about it. Like it’s wrong.”
“Jesus, your moral compass is quite surprising. Be happy, you earned it.”
I sigh, folding the envelope in half and slipping it into my purse—the purse he grasps with his hands and places on the bar. And it takes a moment, but a wave of exhilaration does finally come over me. A little late but appreciated. Two hundred thousand dollars. I can’t believe it’s real.
Then there are lips kissing my neck, my shoulders, fingers pulling on the straps of my tank top. “You’re hot,” he whispers. “Let’s cool off.” His head tilts to the pool and it looks so refreshing, I can’t help but smile and nod at the offer.
“Just get this off,” he says and pulls my shirt over my head, and my hands find themselves on his chest, feeling the beat of an undead heart. I pull down my skirt and kick off my sandals, and he grabs my hand, pulling me to the pool.
“On three. One. Two. Three.” And we jump, the water instantly cooling the fever that was rising inside of me. We pop up together, laughs on our lips, and he pushes his hair back on his head and freestyles to the shallow end. I go under and then pop back up, smoothing my hair back, wiping the water from my eyes.
He leans back, elbows resting on the ledge of the pool, cocking his head to the side, watching me like I’m prey. I look down at my wet bra, and panties, realizing I want to be preyed upon.
“Get over here,” he says and it’s like a magnet is pulling me toward him. I stand, pushing my hands straight down, commanding the water to coil in my palms to create jets that push me toward him. I keep a straight face, the use of magic always a thrill, but even more so when I can share it with someone.
“Impressive,” he says with hungry eyes as I approach, close enough to embrace him.
“Want to see something cooler? A trick my mother taught me?”
“Do you even have to ask?” Which is the response I was expecting. I swim up to him and stand, a little nervous since I haven’t done this move since I was a child in a Florida hotel pool.
“You’ll need to put your arms around my waist.” I grab his arms as he smirks and guide them around me.
“As you wish.” And he’s just so satisfied.
“Now, you’ll need to keep your feet very flat, okay? Lock your knees and don’t let go of me.”
“Oh shit, okay.” Excitement gleams from his eyes, his face plastered into an infallible smile, teeth clenched. Leaning down, he whispers in my ear, “I won’t let go,” and my stomach rolls like waves. He’s so cute when he’s excited.
“Hold on tight,” are the last words I speak before closing my eyes and breathing out. I place my palm on the surface of the water, respecting its power, sending it my gratitude, asking for its energy to transfer to mine.
And we slowly rise, water beneath our feet, power turning the pool into a water fountain and we are standing at the top. It’s a lot for me to control on my own, so we only have seconds, but it’s enough time for me to open my eyes to Bastian’s face, filled with awe, as we float ten feet above the ground, water moving beneath our feet.
That awe on his face, that’s something I rarely—if ever—get to see. Witches are unimpressed with each other’s magic and humans can’t know the truth, so this—this is exhilarating.
“You are so cool,” he whispers, arms tightening around my waist.
I feel the power depleting around me, my arms weakening, so I lower us back down, waves ripping around us.
“How do you do it?”
