Page 27 of The Royal Street Witch
“Are we still letting go?” His skin is so smooth up close, like a real-life Instagram filter, and I never noticed before the small beauty mark, just above his lip.
“Why did you choose this song?” I sigh like all the life is leaving me. This is the song of my heart.
“When he says that he’s all right, over and over again. When he talks about wanting to be free, out of his prison cell—” his eyes roam over my eyes, my mouth— “It’s always struck a chord inside of me. I thought maybe you might feel the same way sometimes.”
“I grew up knowing my mother was counting down the days until I was eighteen and she could be free again. I’ve wanted someone to love since I was a little girl.” I can’t help but laugh because here I am, dancing with Bastian again, thinking of my mother again. How easy it was for her to leave me, how much I miss her.
“You don’t have to be so alone, Aster.” His eyes seem wet and so stunning in the pitch.
“I know.” I nod repeatedly with my feet rocking back and forth while his fingers rub the back of my hand, up and down. “I know…” I don’t want to talk about it anymore, so I go silent as the guitar solo wails on.
His tongue runs along his lip, and he lowers his mouth to my ear. “You did it, Aster. You made the potion. You can do anything. You are powerful and the world is yours.”
We lock eyes as he inches away, and I want to cry and smile at the same time. My head rolls back, almost heavy from the wins of the day, and I say something before I think. “Thank you for believing in me.”
Disbelief crosses his face and then emotions fog his eyes, emotions I can’t read, and it builds and this feeling in my chest, this desire, this wanting to break out of my prison cell, to actually let go, the normal heaviness feeling a tick lighter. I find myself sinking closer to him and he’s sinking closer to me, lips wet, inching toward mine, and it builds until it’s almost bursting and finally, finally his lips are on mine and I can’t fucking breathe.
I’ve been kissed before, but not like this. Not one that I wanted so badly, one that was suppressed by a sense of duty, to finish a job and then go our separate ways. And the thought of this being almost the end of the time we’ll spend together makes me want it more.
His arm tightens around my back while our hands unclasp, and mine slides up his arm until it reaches his neck. Our tongues find each other’s, exploring, rolling while our mouths so gently move together and I moan, my heartbeat thumping in my ear. His lips taste like beer and salt and I grab a fistful of his shirt, pulling his chest closer to me, everything in my body tensing, my lips tingling with bliss, my heart seeming to sigh.
“Get it!” A drunken voice yells and we both still, lips pulling apart, eyes upon a couple cloaked in Mardi Gras beads entering our sacred space, their laughter flitting between the walls sounding amplified. And the song ends, the piano stops suddenly, and I’ve just realized what I’ve done.
I search the room for anyone besides the drunks that just walk in, but it’s only them, Bastian, and me, and suddenly it’s far too crowded. I start to step away, but Bastian grabs my hand and pulls me back.
“Don’t,” he says, “Don’t ruin the moment with your logical thoughts.”
But I have to.
Because witches and vampires can’t kiss, can’t catch feelings…can’t be athing.
Yet I find myself stepping back into his arms and he wraps them around me, and it feels good and almost right. I fight it. I look out the rickety doors onto Bourbon Street where night has almost fallen. I press my hand against his hard chest and slide it up his neck until I’m pulling his head down to mine. And I kiss him this time—a hard, intense kiss goodbye, and now he’s the one moaning in my mouth, squeezing my hips so tightly, pressing his groin against me. I pull back and meet his wanting eyes, beating green, full of desire and so I whisper because even though he could be using me, I used him too.
“I’m going to fix the potion, you’re going to pay me, and we are never going to touch again.”
There’s surprise on his face when I step away, and a smooth whistle leaves his lips as he shakes his head.
“Cold blooded,” he whispers with an antagonized grin and runs his thumb and index finger up and down his chin.
A piano key is struck, and I look to the musician who just arrived, ready to entertain the patrons of the night, and that’s my cue that night has fallen. Bastian is safe to be on his way, and I’ve got a potion to fix. The kiss was fever-inducing and breathtaking, but I’m not the type of girl that swoons.
“Letting go wasn’t so bad,” I say with a wink and walk out as the pianist starts playingBenny and the Jets.
Bourbon Street is cacophonous, but I walk alone, quiet in my own thoughts. People are everywhere, and I’m solo with what feels like a concerto of emotions playing in my head. So much to take in, so much to consider. I did it. I made the potion and now I will be financially free.
I pass Comey’s, trying not to look guilty in any way. Oksana leans inside the door frame, her thin face not acknowledging me as if I’m invisible. But I’m not invisible, my cheeks are on fire, my head running with all that transpired.
I kissed him back. I kissed him and I loved it. I loved his lips on my mine, the way we moved, how precisely we fit into each other. And it’s not just how perfectly we arranged, but it’s that I actually like the man behind the kiss. I like how much he loved his true blood brother and how he would do anything to save his made brother. I like how his eyebrows cock when he jokes, how his entire arm folds around me when we dance. I like how I can tell him things, how he listens to me. How he knows to put on a goddamn Queen song for me, and not just any Queen song, THE Queen song. I like the person he is…I like Bastian. And now I have really, really fucked up.
“YOU MISSED MY SHOW AGAIN,” Chantal drawls as her fingers make circles on the glass jewelry case.
“Someone has to clean that, you know,” I say, swatting her hand away.
With flattened fingers, she waves her palm over the glass, the fingerprints disappearing, then flares her nostrils at me.
“Careful,” I whisper as customers enter the shop. I smile at them.
They graze around for a few minutes while Chantal puts on her best saleswoman voice. Thank God for her, because I am such a shitty salesperson.Oh you don’t want it? No problem, be on your way then.
