Page 4 of The Royal Street Witch
Masculine and confident, but not in a toxic way. In a way that makes him approachable and charming. A way that makes him too easy to talk to.
“Witches don’t tell their secrets to vampires.”
The corner of his pouty mouth curls up into a grin, baring his white teeth. Bastian is different from the others, something I’ve always remembered. He once pulled a quarter out of my ear, that old magic trick not impressing my ten-year-old self whatsoever. What was impressive was how he treated me, joked with me—much to our mothers’ chagrin. Because there was to be no joking, no laughing, and no friendship between witches and vampires. He was a rarity for a rather solemn species.
“The moon charges the quartz and water. We then use the water for healing spells and blessings.”
He looks at me suspiciously because I’ve divulged insider information.
“Oh, come on, you can google that.” I laugh because I wouldn’t tell Bastian my real secret spells.
“Like a type of holy water?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“Holy water is blessed by priests. I’m no priest.”
“I knew that,” he says with a mischievous wink. It sets something off in me, like when you make eye contact with a crush in high school. There’s a scar on his forehead that runs from his hairline to his eyebrow, and it suits him, like it has been there since he was born. I could get lost staring at him, so I clear my throat.
“I’m closing up for the night. Will you be making a purchase?” I’m certain that’s not why he’s here. But whyishe here?
“Can we talk? For a moment?”
I look at the time, sighing. “Okay,” I say, my defenses pricking. My garnet stays pain free, enchanted to sting if I’m in harm’s way. “Hold on,” I tell him then nod to the shop door.
“Lock,” I command, and the deadbolt turns. “Lights.” The room dims. “Talk,” I say, turning to Bastian, and he almost flinches as though I’ve put a spell on him.
“Magic makes one so lazy,” he titters, and I roll my eyes.
“Energy conservation is vital. Talk,” I repeat, and this time he knows he’s not under a spell, his chin nodding to his chest, an eyebrow raising.
“Not a little girl anymore.” He’s speaking more to himself and I blink incessantly, because he’s studying me and I don’t like it.
“Yeah, you’re not as tall as I remember. Or as handsome.”
A liquid hot smile pulls on his lips, because he’s pretty fucking tall and handsome and he knows it.
“Sure,” he laughs, amused by my tiny jab, his face fixing on mine. It’s not like we knew each other well back then, but I was a little witch, and all the vampires looked at me with either disdain or curiosity. The little witch that accompanied her mother to a bar in the French Quarter. Delta Wildes, my mother sold potions and creams from one hand with a firm grasp on me with the other.
“It’s been a long time, Aster. Since I’ve been back home.” He looks out the window, as though a melancholy is taking over him. I follow his gaze to a couple walking by the window, hand in hand. “A long time since I’ve seen my brother.”
Cassius surfaces from last night, sitting in his chair, an entire room of vampires frazzled, yet he didn’t move. On my visits, he’s always polite, but never friendly; beautiful in a haunting way, in the way you’d expect vampires to be. But Bastian is his opposite in character, and now, looks vulnerable. A big vampire no-no.
Unsure where he’s going with this, I maintain silence as Bastian straightens from his lean on the counter.
“What do you think of him?”
I laugh. “Uh, I don’t. We don’t know each other enough for me to have an opinion of him. You’ve been gone too long. You’ve forgotten how it works.”
“How does it work, again?” Catching my eyes, he looks almost innocent, like a lost boy, and I could almost soften. But a witch can never forget how dangerous a vampire is. He’s so fast, he could break my neck in seconds. So I swallow, my fingers pressing into my throat.
“I drop off the goods—I get paid and leave. There’s no in-between. We don’t even acknowledge each other on the street.”
“Ridiculous,” Bastian sighs.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because we need each other. To survive.”
“I don’t need you to survive. I can do that on my own.”
