Page 13 of The Royal Street Witch
“What’s wrong with denim?” he asks, and it tickles me, how he says it, hands in the pockets of his slacks. There’s nothing wrong with denim, it’s just that vampires are annoyingly formal most of the time, and I admit, I liked seeing him dressed casually. But I keep my face emotionless, ignoring him as he has ignored me.
“Right on time,” I fold my arms across my chest and lean against the doorframe.
Tonight, the intensity in his eyes isn’t quite as strong as last night, with a far more relaxed air around him.
“You put a spell on my conquest, and you laughed at my jeans.”
“Did I?”
“Were you jealous?” He says it slowly, his tongue wetting his bottom lip, stepping closer.
Heat rises to my cheeks as my toe slides up the back of my other leg. “Now that’s much funnier than seeing you in denim!”
His lips split into a sneer and he shakes his head. “Right. Are you going to invite me in?”
Jerking my eyes toward the inside of my house, I widen the door, and he slips in beside me.
“Up the stairs and straight back,” I instruct, locking the door.
Following him up to my apartment and into my living room fills me with a combination of regret and a strange sense of exhilaration. Can I really do this? Can I actually follow through with it?
He stops at the bookcases filled with vials of herbs, books, and oils lined from floor to ceiling. My grandmother’s spells hang in gold Victorian frames, dried flowers wrap around the crystal chandelier, monstera, snake plants and ivy grow from pots in every corner of the room. I’m nervous as he studies the space as if I’m being judged by the enemy in my den. A snake in my grass.
“So this is literally where the magic happens?” His hands slip into the pockets of his slacks as he gazes upon a tall shelf of books.
“Most of it.” I can’t help but smile, and he looks at me coyly.
“And what’s going on over here?” he asks, pointing to a shelf on my bookcase, one line with dead plants.
“Oh, it’s a project I’m working on,” I say, scratching my throat. Why didn’t I move those out of here? I’m a damn good witch, but I can’t seem to grow plants without the help of magic. It’s a flaw that plagues me.
“It looks like a plant morgue. Are you torturing the poor things?”
“It’s a project.” I need to change the subject, immediately. “Let’s get started. I’ve got a few questions. If they seem redundant or have obvious answers, don’t be offended. So much of what we know of vampires comes from rumor or folklore. I need to know some of your inner workings if we want this potion to work.”
His eyebrows pull together, processing what I’m asking—and that’s for his secrets, the kind vampires like to keep witches confused. I’ve done some of my own research, but still need information straight from the source.
“That’s tricky,” he whispers, the first time I’ve seen him hesitant.
“You’re in my house, asking for my magic. Things are a little trickier for me.” My hand rests on my hip, and I’m suddenly reminded of my mother. I promptly slide it to my side and grab my notebook and pen to keep my hands busy.
“You’re right, you’re right.”
“I am. And it’s not anything crazy. I just don’t want to kill you in the process.”
“Yes, please don’t do that,” he laughs and rubs his chin. I sit on the couch and he follows suit, turning toward me, and I try to keep my most professional face on.
“Okay. It’s only a few questions. I know that garlic isn’t a real threat. What about silver?”
“Silver is no threat. We just prefer gold.” Eyeing his rings, I want to ask if they have a special sentiment, but I press on.
“Stakes through the heart. Do they have to be wood?”
“They do,” he nods. “Wood is holy, the most natural of resources. Once inside our bodies, we can’t fight it.”
“What’s the real process of turning a human into a vampire?”
“A vampire must bite the human, then the human must drink the vampire’s blood. It’s the mutual exchange of blood that turns humans into vampires.”
