Page 26 of The Royal Street Witch
“You’re a goddamn witch genius. Now here,” he says pulling a twenty out of his pocket. “Get us something to drink. I just need a couple of minutes, but I’ll be fine.”
When I come back with two beers, Bastian is more relaxed with his arms sprawled across the booth, an ankle resting on his knee. Upon seeing me, he sits up and takes the drinks from my hands.
“Hey, I apologize. I need to remember the risks involved for you. I just wanted to celebrate together.” The seriousness in his tone makes me uncomfortable, so I plop next to him and shrug.
“Thanks, it’s cool.”
“It’s cool? You looked like your head was going to explode.”
“Yeah well, you burning alive on Bourbon Street next to a witch would have looked even worse.”
He blows out his cheeks and picks up his beer. “Well, cheers.”
We clink bottles.
“It’s happened before…a lot?”
He swigs on his beer and then looks to the ceiling as if he’s mentally counting every occurrence. “Enough to know I never want to burn alive.”
We fall silent, so much to digest from what’s happened over the past couple of hours. The high and the low and then suddenly in the back of Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop, Bastian and I lock eyes and it’s as though the exact same thought is running through our heads.
“You did it, you really did it.” His hand clasps over my knee and shakes it, and the thrill transfers to me. “Can you believe it? Can you actually believe it?”
I sit with my mouth open, trying to find the words, because no, I can’t believe it. “I think it hasn’t fully hit me yet. I didn’t let myself get too hyped about it… I was skeptical.”
He squeezes my knee again before he leans back in the booth. “I wasn’t, I knew you would figure it out. And now, you’re gonna need a check.”
I pretend the fact that he actually believed in me doesn’t make my ears hot, make it harder to swallow.
“You just have a fat bank account to do with what you please?”
“Perks of being a monster.” His eyes float to the dark ceiling. “I can’t wait until tomorrow, to do it again. It was…everything.”
“Uh, slow down! I’ve got more to figure out and you shouldn’t do it every day. There could be side effects….”
“I’m not, I’m not. I mean, Cassius is going to—you have saved his life.”
He wets his lips and leans closer to me, and I’m reminded of his vow of a kiss so I pull my phone out to check the time. He pushes it down, and my ponytail whips my cheek while he inches closer to me.
“Bastian,” I whisper, looking at his fingers over my phone.
“You don’t want me to? Tell me you don’t want me to.”
I’m hot, so hot that I pull my hand across my wet forehead and lick my parched lips. His would fit on mine, so cold and dead and everything I can’t have.
“I’m getting some water.” I stand, pulling my hand away, and slip my phone in my back pocket. I weigh the impact kissing a vampire could have as I grab a plastic cup and fill it from a large dispenser at the end of the bar.
Chantal’s wanting prickles my memory from the night at Caged.He is highly fuckable.The damage has most certainly been done. I’ve crossed the line by creating a potion. Bastian and Cassius are going to be out on adventures far enough away…
Then a hauntingly desperate voice fills the bar. It’s almost a whisper, but it’s so wanting, so defeated, so…Freddie.
His voice croons throughout the bar, pulling me from my internal negotiations. Freddie Mercury’s voice is so vulnerable—almost a whisper but not quite, followed by a chorus of voices through the quiet. It’sSomebody to Loveand it’s my absolute favorite Queen song, but I never told Bastian that.
He’s leaning against the jukebox, arms crossed, his face vacantly beautiful. The scar on his forehead glistens, a reminder that he was once human and how flaws can be breathtaking. I swig back the water, my feet aware they are still on the hard cement, not walking to him or away from him. The piano comes in, the only instrument playing as Bastian walks up to me and offers his hand.
“May I interrupt your misery for a dance?” he laughs and pulls me against him, and I do not fight it. I’m Jell-O and he’s the spoon. A hand wraps around my waist while the other firmly holds mine. And he pulls me close, so close our bellies touch and this is not like when we danced at his house. The gloves are off. I’m putty in his hands.
“You know what Freddie does to me,” I tease as we move slowly back and forth. There’s no fancy spins or hops because this time our eyes are glued to each other’s. This time I’m melting.
