Page 51 of The Royal Street Witch
And so, I lie on the couch, my toe tapping the cushion, my thoughts racing and frantic, and one minute moves at the speed of twenty and I’m going to lose it. Mercury nudges his head against my cheek, but I don’t even have the strength to pet him, so he just settles on my chest, his purr a constant reminder that I’m breathing and hoping that Bastian is doing the same.
After two hours I’m sick and it’s three in the morning, and I’m exhausted but can’t sleep. Two days ago I was yelling I was Bastian’s girl outside my car window, and now I don’t know what’s going to happen between us. My stomach rolls, waves of nausea pummeling me, torturing me. So I stand and trudge to the garden where I pull a handful of valerian, good for sleeping.
A witch that can’t grow anything,and I run to the kitchen and rip the Valerian to pieces, my fingers in an anxious frenzy. I grab butter, sugar, and vanilla and mix them in a small bowl until they are smooth. With thoughts of Bastian running through my head, I sprinkle the valerian into the mixture and whisper, “Some rest for me, until he’s free.”
I pull my intention cakes from the cupboard—a plastic container of cakes I always have ready for any occasion—and with a sadness in my bones, spread the frosting across the top of the square piece of cake between my fingers.
I exhale and take a bite as I sway to the couch. The fatigue hits me quickly with only one bite doing the trick. I place the cake on the coffee table and succumb to the sleep I enchanted to take me away.
But sleep offers me no sweet escape, no blackness to fall into, nothing but Bastian’s face against mine. I dream of him in ultraviolet, us in the sunlight, his mouth exploring me, his hands running through my hair. We are nowhere and we are everywhere all at once, but we are together—we are one and we are free.
I stay in this state, this awakened dream, and relish being with him until the lights go so bright I can only see white, until the white turns to smoke. The smoke is coming from my boots and my boots are on Bourbon Street and I’m on fire in the middle of the street—right where the holy rollers hold their signs on Friday nights—and everyone is watching me burn. But I can run; on fire I run to Comey’s and blood is dripping down the balcony of Nightwalkers onto the streets, and I look up to Cassius and it’s his tears causing the blood to pool around my boots. I scream for Bastian and I’m still on fire, my skin turning into sticky bubbles across my cheeks and my fingers reach up, my flesh smearing on my fingers and I can’t scream. Because I realize I have no tongue.
I jolt awake to Chantal’s voice and it’s now that I want to scream, but I take a moment to assess where I am. On my couch, and nightmares aren’t real.
“Aster,” her voice whispers. “Aster, it’s after one o’clock.”
I sit up quickly, opening my eyes to my cousin’s concerned expression. I fall back on the pillow and take a breath while my eyes adjust to the sunlight.
“Are you not opening the shop today?”
“Let me think,” I say, placing my hand over my face and then all that happened hits me and my hand jolts to my phone, still on my pillow.
I hold my breath as I unlock and scroll through my text messages. Still nothing from Bastian; my text has gone unanswered and now it’s daylight.
“Have you heard anything from the vampires?” I ask Chantal as she scrutinizes me, pulling on her earlobe.
“Nah, why would I hear from them?”
“Just wondering,” I sigh and feel like I could cry, and I hate that feeling.
“Jade and I walked past Comey’s around two a.m., there was nothing unusual going on. People on the terrace, the jazz club was busy. Why?” Chantal looks around the room, eyeing my intention cake, dropping a fingertip in the frosting and placing it on her tongue. “Sleep?” she asks, and this time I sit up slowly, unhooking my bra that’s digging into my side.
“Yeah, I just…” Think fast, think fast. “I made a delivery there last night and the Vampire King was there.”
“Holy fuck!” Chantal exclaims. “He hasn’t been to the Quarter in forever, forever, forever. He must have been gone when we passed. I’m sure Jade would have been able to hear him. She’s told me his thoughts are loud.”
That’s a relief. Jade’s mind reading really does come in handy. If something crazy went down, she probably would have heard.
“Yeah, maybe he was gone. It shook me, seeing him. Then I overheard him tell Nicola I looked tasty as fuck or tasty to fuck.” I cringe at the memory.
“Gross,” Chantal says, her tongue hanging from her mouth. “Well, let him just take a bite and see what happens.” Her hand affectionately rubs my leg, and something in me stills from the kindness in her, in her love for me.
“Right?”
“I think it’s weird he stays away from New Orleans. It’s the best spot for vampires.”
“I think it was the witch’s strike. He knew he was hated,” I say, having to feign small talk, pretending I’m not unglued inside. “Mother also said he prefers the bayou.” I remember the first time I saw him inside a cigar shop on Bourbon. My mom whispering in my ear, “Do you know who that is?” And now I don’t want to talk about him anymore because—Bastian. An excruciating ache pounds in my chest at the thought of him and I don’t know how I can survive the daylight without knowing if he’s okay.
“I’m going to rest a little bit more, then I can open. Don’t worry about today. I’m probably going to close early.”
“You’ve been strange lately, and I can’t tell if you’ve been miserable or positively pleasant.” Her eye cocks in her questioning way, and I scoff.
“It changes pretty quickly, huh?” I quip. “Yeah, I’m just happy as a clam.”
But whoever said clams are happy? They live their lives inside a shell until they are pried open against their will and feasted upon. That’s me. I’m a fucking clam. I’m dizzy and I swallow, the sight of the intention cakes nauseating me, and I fall back, taking deep breaths.
“I feel like you’re pulling away from me, like something’s going on.”
