Page 21 of The Royal Street Witch
“You’ve never been on a vacation?” He stares, exasperated, and I sit up. So many lines are being crossed, but I’m starting to think maybe Bastian isn’t the enemy I was raised to think he was. Other vampires, definitely. But maybe not Bastian.
“When I was a kid, we went to the bayou to visit family for a few weekends. My grandmother took me to Disney World once, but my mother got in trouble for enchanting one of the rides not to stop, so my grandmother made us leave.”
“Your mother did that?” he laughs.
“Yeah. She was more trouble than I was. It was the teacups. This little girl stuck her tongue out at me, so my mom kept her cup spinning until my grandmother had to scream in the crowd to make her stop. That was the last vacation I ever had.”
Bastian blows out his cheeks as his long fingers drum the table. “Where’s your mother now?”
“Fuck if I know. She travels the world while I run the store.” I sneer at that. At my mother getting to live out her dreams while I’m weighed with the responsibility to not only keep the family name alive but the family business as well. But I’m paying my dues, and every witch before had to pay their dues.
Why does it hurt me so that she left? Why is it like I’m being cut open when I have to talk about her? And why is he looking at me like he’s so interested? Okay, I’m spiraling. Fuck. But his eyes, they are hypnotic, and I need to pull my shit together, yet I still whisper, “Aventurine.”
“Adventurian?” he mumbles, eyes squinting.
I lick my lips and rub my eyes, wondering why I said my nickname for his eyes, but liquor is quicker so I swallow. “No, Aventurine. It’s a stone. The same color as your eyes.”
He leans in, his ass sliding back in the chair, his knees bending as he pulls closer to me. “You like my aventurine eyes, do you?” He’s teasing and I slit my eyes. But I do. I really, really do.
“I should sew your mouth shut,” I laugh. “It’s funny because I can.” I giggle more.
“Do you want to marry me and my aventurine eyes?” he sings, and I groan, bewildered that he would say something like that.
“Our children would be ravishing. With your red hair and my aventurine eyes. In fact, that’s what we’ll name our first daughter. Aventurine. I like it. It sounds like a feminine form of adventure and it has meaning. The eyes you can’t get enough of. She will run the world.” It’s very matter of fact like this can happen—no, this will happen.
My mouth hangs open from what just spewed out of his. The silence thick between us, thick as the humid Louisiana air because I don’t know what to say and I don’t even hate what he said. Not even a little. I know what’s happening here, I know if I let him, he would kiss me. He would fuck me. I know I would like it. Alcohol is amplifying so much, but that dance in his kitchen crosses my mind. His arm around my waist, it’s all dizzying, really, so I laugh, because what kind of words can follow up those?
“You can’t have children,” is my response and it sounds cold after what he’s said.
An almost wounded look crosses his face and he sits up straighter, clearing his throat. “Right,” he says and downs another shot.
Vampires and witches can’t flirt. We aren’t even supposed to speak. I almost say something, but he speaks first, mischief heavy in his voice. “I wanna see a trick.”
“Huh?” I say, feeling more than tipsy and confused.
“Make a kangaroo appear or a strike of lightning, right here.” He points to the center of the table.
I lean in and slowly say, “I’m not a monkey. I don’t do tricks.”
“I’ve seen little things you do. Move lock switches, stir water. Maybe your magic isn’t as powerful as I thought.”
If cutting him would scar, I would have done it. He’s different now—arrogant, and I want to make him bleed. “Reverse psychology won’t work on me either.” But as soon as those words leave my lips, I want to show him, to prove myself. I don’t trip myself on thewhys. Tequila won’t let me.
“I can’t make a kangaroo appear. That would be stupid.”
“Well, what can you do?”
“I can conjure, make potions and spells. I can’t create life; there are laws of nature, things that we simply don’t have the power to do. And there’s cosmic law—things we shouldn’t do. We can’t create things out of thin air. Your kangaroo would have to come from somewhere. We can’t create money, and we can’t cure disease. We’re stronger together, that’s why it’s beneficial to have a coven. And we need other witches to accomplish certain things, otherwise, we deplete our powers. And I don’t owe you shit. You don’t know a thing about magic.” I inhale after my alcohol induced word vomit and lick my teeth.
He just slides forward in his chair, creating a temple with his fingers and says, “Make a believer out of me.”
And those words are all it takes for me to defy every known witch law. We aren’t supposed to prove our powers to anyone or thing, but it’s his lucky day because I’m drunk and feeling mischievous myself. “Fine,” I blurt, “scoot closer.”
Those tempestuous eyes smile with victory and he stands, pulling the heavy chair closer, its feet groaning against the brick the only sound between us.
“I can mentally take you back in time. Only for a few seconds, only to a moment you want to revisit.”
His head cocks, an eyebrow rising. “You’re kidding me.”
