Page 42 of The Royal Street Witch
His eyebrows pull together, scrutinizing. “A witch that can’t grow things?”
“My secret is out. Have I fallen from my pedestal yet?” But he only shakes his head.
“Aster, do you like being with me? Because I suspect that you do.” His arm slides down my naked side and grips my hip.
“No. Hate it. Every minute of it.” But my eyes belie the statement, and he squeezes my hip again with a force in his eyes. “When I’m not with you. I’m probably thinking about you. There. Is that better?” I lie back this time, crossing my arms over my bare breasts, staring at the ceiling.
His finger glides along my arm, his eyes thoughtful. “I just think there’s something here. Something more than just sleeping with each other. More than just a taste.”
The best taste I’ve ever had. And the sad part is Bastian is free to have his fantasies and live a charmed life. That’s not my reality.
“There is. But you’ll be leaving soon. And I’ll still be here. And that’s just how it has to be.” I turn on my side and now it’s him looking up at the ceiling. “So we’ll enjoy it while we can, right?”
He grabs my hand and runs it along his chest. “Yes,” he agrees softly, and I slide my foot up and down his calf. “I’m speaking with him tomorrow.” His voice is short, like he’s already had enough of me.
“I’m not heartless, you know,” I say, placing my chin on his chest, looking in his miraculous eyes. “I just know how this ends. I’ve seen it a hundred times before with my mother. With her affairs, especially with married men. You are like a married man. Unavailable. I have to be careful with my heart, with my livelihood.”
“I get it. There’s nothing careful about giving yourself to someone,” he snorts. “It’s one of the riskiest things a person can do. But the most rewarding, right?”
“Such a romantic,” I say, and he groans but turns on his side and brings his lips to mine and kisses me so softly, so carefully.
“Has someone broken you?” It’s a whisper between our mouths, coming out of his like poetry. “I’ve been broken.”
“I can’t be broken. I’ve got a legacy depending on me.” I want to tell him about the child I’m supposed to have, supposed to have already had. That my mother is getting more and more impatient with me. That Violetta is pressing in on the both of us. But instead, I grab his hair and press his lips to mine so we can both forget that he’s been broken and I’ve never allowed myself to even get close.
I HAVE FAITH IN MYwork, but none in Cassius. And though Bastian seems to believe that Cassius will be overjoyed by the potion I created, I know better. And so, I’m a wreck, so nervous I feel like vomiting every time I envision Bastian telling Cassius about the potion.
“What’s wrong with you?” Chantal asks as I count the hours until sundown.
“Nothing? Nothing,” I say an octave too high and she shakes her head.
“I came by last night. Where were you?” She pops her gum in an innocent way, but because I’m guilty, my body flashes hot and I look down at the citrine necklace in my hand.
I was in Bastian Delacroix’s bed, I want to say.
“At Caged,” I say instead, thinking fast. “Jade was there.”
“Why didn’t you ask me to come?” Her lips are open, suspicion crinkling her forehead.
“I just went out to see Cherry and Jade happened to be there. I’m sorry.” I make a sad face, real guilt coursing through my heart, a sorrow beating inside me from all the lies.
It’s on her lips, I can read her. She wants to say,You’ve been acting weird lately.But she shrugs instead, turning on her smile when a customer walks in, and I’m saved for the time being.
After closing, I go up to my apartment and wait for the sun to go down.
Chantal’s questions cut me. Lying to her cuts me and now I’m feeling worse than I did than earlier. Working on spells is the only thing I can lose myself in, so that’s what I do. Reading about the two forbidden spells, the ones no witch can ever practice without immediate repercussions, is fascinating enough to derail my mind for the time being.
The first is actual time travel, one my mother had warned me about before.
“Going back one second in time could change the outcome of the universe and it’s never, ever to be tampered with,” she had said as she tapped her finger on my nose.
“I want to meet Elvis,” I had said, having grown up onBlue HawaiiandViva Las Vegas.
She curled her lip in true Elvis fashion and said, “That’ll never happen, baby.” In her worst, deep and shaky Elvis impersonation.
The second forbidden spell is necromancy. Raising the dead, though dangerous and banned, has always piqued my interest. It’s gruesome and mysterious, and I’ve often ruminated over how it’s done.
Paging through Winnie while Mercury’s tails flops around my fingers and researching necromancy is interesting enough to keep my mind at bay until there’s a pounding on my door. That’s when my heart stops.
