Page 12 of The Royal Street Witch
“Little one,” I whisper while blowing on my fingers. “You are safe. You are loved. You are well.” My fingers touch the crown of his head, and I gently drag them over his tiny nose and down to his chin. The crying ceases, his eyes growing heavy with peaceful exhaustion.
Once the orb and I are outside the house, I whisper it my thanks for its service. The tears of a baby are not always easy to find if you don’t have any babies in your life, and orbs can find things so much easier than witches can. It glows brighter for a moment and then turns back to the cemetery where it came from. I look up to the bedroom of the child and pour all my good intentions into the home, hoping that some sort of peace can be restored. I turn on my boot and make my way down the street.
Once I’m safely home, I pull out Winnie, the tear-filled handkerchief, and begin a spell that numbs the senses of surrounding witches, especially Jade’s mind reading. A spell that’ll hopefully keep me safe from my dealings with Bastian because another rule will be broken, another step I can never come back from.
IT’S A GLINT OF FANGthat catches my eye as Bastian appears while I sit inside Caged, a goth bar in the Quarter. The red lighting reflects off his face, his jawline looking sharper than usual, and when he smiles, I see it again, and it’s like a bag of bones settle inside my stomach, the damage two teeth can cause, the danger of it all.
Women of all ages dance inside the numerous cages that line the small room, while plaster gargoyles look on as if they’re ready to feed.
“It’s the HWIC,” he says, and I snicker, drumming my fingers on the bar, trying to avoid eye contact. Bastian leans in to whisper in my ear as the new bartender’s patent leather dress squeaks by us. “You look well.”
I finally look up at him, not pleased that he’s once again speaking to me in public because Chantal is in the bathroom, but I’m taken aback by his stark white T-shirt and…jeans. He’s actually wearing jeans. I look up and down again in disbelief. “Is that denim you’re wearing?”
“Ha. Ha,” he answers dryly as his head follows a young group of ladies to the bar, and it becomes apparent that tonight, he’s on the prowl.
“Why are you speaking to me? Did you forget you’re not supposed to speak to me in public?”
“You’re always alone,” he says, ignoring my question as he stares at my drink and the empty seat next to me. “You could use company. Let’s start working on our arrangement. I’ll be by at midnight.” His eyes make their way to the girls again, and I’m offended that he’s telling me he’s coming over, not asking me.
“I’m not always alone, for one,” I say which is mostly a lie. “And for two, witches are solitary. We don’t need a pack of incesty fuckwads always surrounding us to keep us company.” Which is true. Vampires are so annoyingly co-dependent.
Bastian clutches his chest as if I’ve shot him in the heart. “Ouch, that hurts.” He says it almost seriously, until his top lip curls up and eyebrows rise with amusement. “I can’t deny that it’s true. Except for the incest part.” He looks confused and entertained, and he opens his mouth to speak just as a hiss bellows between us, and it’s coming from the throat of my cousin.
Bastian backs away as she sits in the empty seat, an agitated look on her face.
“Why you here?” she asks Bastian as if she knows him, but she doesn’t. She does know he’s a vampire, though—something witches can sense.
“Cousin, he’s just—”
“Passing by,” he whispers curtly, aware he’s in front of two witches now. He nods, excusing himself. “See you…around, Aster. Cousin.” He walks to the end of the bar and stands next to the group of girls, quickly striking up a conversation with one.
“He’s Nicola’s son, back for a while.” It’s obvious I would know him from my visits there dropping off product, but I also want to cover my tracks. Vampires and witches are meant to have a natural repulsion for each other, one that is evident on Chantal’s face. I don’t have it like she does, though a devious smile envelops her.
“He is so fuckable. It’s really such a waste.”
I slowly look down the bar at him, now laughing with a black-haired girl. “He is,” I catch myself saying and then shake my head. I want to tell Chantal about what I’m doing, but once I do there’s no going back, and I don’t want to hear about the terrible mistake I’m making. But mostly, I don’t want her to be in any kind of danger. The less she knows, the more I protect her. I look again at him, his finger caressing the girl’s knee, his eyes upon her so intensely, like he wants to know her life story. It’s an unspoken rule to look the other way from vampire and witch dealings. See a vampire feeding on a human in an alley? Look the other way. If they see us ripping the toenails from a man (who most likely would deserve it) they are to do the same. We aren’t to meddle in each other’s business, but the way Bastian is looking at that girl causes a swelling in my chest with a wave of fluid anger I can’t quell.
Who the fuck does he think he is?Tellingme he’s coming over and notaskingme?
No. No, that’s not how this arrangement is going to work, and if I’m going all in then I better start putting my foot down now.
I close my eyes and focus on the black-haired girl—on the pit of her stomach, on the acid that lies there, on the deep purple lipstick smeared across her lips.
Boil…boiling fiery heat, up and up and boiling, raging up and over. Eyes opening, a current shoots between her and me, and she’s suddenly on her feet, an overwhelming feeling of repulsion consuming her, the thought of another second speaking to Bastian, turning her stomach. She yells something to her friends and bolts out the door. I chuckle as I stir my drink.
I meet eyes with Bastian, and he glowers at me with suspicion. I just turn back to Chantal who is typing feverishly on her phone. I should be ashamed, I should be worried because I’m crossing every goddamn line, but I just don’t fucking care right now.
“Let’s dance,” I tell Chantal, downing my rum and Coke and pulling her toward the small dance area. Right as I’m about to pass Bastian seated on his barstool, I lower my lips to his ears.
“I think your girlfriend found you revolting.”
He licks his lips, not meeting my eyes, sipping a clear liquid.
“I decide when you come to my house. I’m busy tonight. You may come over tomorrow at sundown. Be prepared to answer some questions.” The corner of his eye briefly meets mine before I move slowly to the dance floor. Chantal grabs a hold of my hands, and we move our bodies to the music with an alcohol-induced freedom.
He’s watching me and I like it, so I sway, a tight smile on my lips, and now his eyes are hungry, glaring at me and my god, he’s so sexy. And I see it again, danger, emitting from his body. Clenched jaw, flared nostrils, breathing heavily. He’s no longer the fun vampire I don’t understand. He’s dangerous, and it should open my eyes to what I’m getting involved in, make me hesitant, yet it doesn’t. I only want more and I’m grinding my hips and I can’t break free from him. His gaze is so intense. I’m trapped like prey, and it makes my heart race from fear and excitement. His fingers dig into his thigh, his tongue slides across his lips, and I’ve drunk too much and I’m causing a scene. I close my eyes and when I look back over at him, he’s gone.
Bastian shows up at sundown the next day, just as I instructed, and when I open the door, I’m prepared for him. I’ve been looking through Winnie for at least an hour, trying to get an idea of where to start. I’m at a total loss, having never created a potion like this before, but I know the first step is getting to know Bastian and more about vampires.
