Page 29 of The Royal Street Witch
“Jesus, Chantal!” Jade says and then looks at me as she shakes her head. “How do you put up with her?”
I swallow, playing it cool, and stir my drink. “Patience and alcohol.”
Jade laughs, raising her beer. “On that note, cheers!” We clink glasses, and I look at her white tank top, her large chest probably full of milk for her second child. “Don’t worry,” she whispers in my ear. “I pump and dump.”
“I’m not worried,” I laugh because that hadn’t even crossed my mind. The fact that she’s already produced two children at the age of twenty-two does though. And Jade really is so even-tempered and low-key, but with a very Laura Croft aesthetic. A witch that looks like a video game character with an easy-going personality.
“Let’s go dancing!” Chantal yells as if she didn’t just dance on stage for an hour straight.
“Gotta get back to the babies,” Jade says, and I’m relieved she’s leaving. I don’t want to spend any extra time with a mind reading witch when I am so guilty of a crime against the coven, spell or no spell.
I look at my phone. It’s still early, so I nod to Chantal, and we make our way down the street, slipping into the first place that’s packed with bodies and music.
I grab a seat in the back while Chantal and Asha push to the front of the stage. I scan the packed club—bodies filling the tables in front of the stage and lining the walls, dancing to Top 40 Hits.
I feel a little bothered about running into Jade, but our circle is very small. I’m bound to run into her, and the thing is, I really like her. I can’t help but feel like I’m betraying my own, so I take a deep breath and look across the bar.
And I seethem.
Cassius first, seated with his back against the bar, an elbow leaning on the bar top, his expression bored. The guy sticks out in a place like this, all dressed up with his long hair perfectly parted down the middle and his aura of gloom.
And next to him is the man comprised of total opposite qualities. Bastian leans down to whisper in his brother’s ear and then looks back to the band, bopping his head and swigging from his beer.
I should be annoyed because Cassius is here, but seeing Bastian is like seeing a glass of ice-cold water in a desert. He’s refreshing and everything I want right now, and I just need to admit to myself how much I want his hands on me again.
I don’t look away, curious if they’ve spotted me before I’ve spotted them, but they are communicating yet barely moving their lips. I’m reminded of the old days, back when Mother was in charge, and it occurs to me that the only times I’ve ever seen Cassius smile is because Bastian is the cause. I feel their bond from here, feel the comfort Cassius has, sitting next to Bastian, and it’s almost mesmerizing to watch.
He smiles. He actually fucking smiles and then he shrugs. Bastian grabs the back of his brother’s neck and shakes it a little, and Cassius shares a grin full of teeth and have I ever seen his teeth before? Here it is, first-hand—witnessing the brotherly love that means so much to Bastian. It catches me off guard and I wonder if Bastian has told Cassius yet, if that’s why he’s brought him.
I suppose the staring is a bit much because Bastian cocks his head and then looks right into my eyes, across the room, and thank God the place is so dark because I go red hot inside and I’m sure my cheeks are the same. He lifts his beer in cheers, a small grin on his lips, then takes a sip, his expression turning serious, his eyes not leaving mine.
Licking my lips, I nod at him while Cassius stands and whispers in Bastian’s ear, and I get the feeling that he didn’t expect to see me here. I pull my hair behind my ear and try to focus on Chantal and Asha dancing, and how the fuck am I supposed to meet Bastian with Cassius and Chantal here? I feel pinned against the wall and suddenly aggravated so I down the drink, hoping it will relax me.
My mind wanders to the night in my courtyard, when Bastian cried his blood tears, and I’m yearning for that night right now and the kiss—that fucking kiss at Lafitte’s, and Chantal’s yelling my name and I’m going to need to bolt out of here.
“Another?” a guy in a button-up collared shirt and jeans asks me. “What are you drinking?”
“I’m good,” I say, focusing on Chantal.
He’s silent for a moment, and I finally look into his eyes because avoidance isn’t making him walk away.
“Okay, so I won’t bother you. I just watched you walk in with your girlfriends—”
I laugh at that because who says girlfriends anymore? And his lips seep into a smile. “Something funny ’bout that?”
“No, continue,” I say because now I’m curious.
“Okay, I saw you walk in with yourfriendsand I thought, wow. You know I’m not usually into goth babes, but you—wow.”
“Goth babes?” Now I am laughing, and my hand reaches to flick his cowboy hat up. He’s handsome in a rugged way, with leathery tan skin that makes his blue eyes pop. “Well, I’m not usually into cowboys.” Just vampires these days, and my eyes flit to Bastian who is watching with a predator-like intensity that fills my gut with helium. He’s whispering in Cassius’s ear now, his expression turning grim.
“Well, maybe that needs to change.” He pulls a pen from his back pocket and scrawls across a napkin. “I’m here for a few weeks from Nashville, playing some bluegrass on Bourbon. Come see me.” He slides so close to me, too close, and slips the napkin in my jean pocket. “Please.”
Letting him do that was stupid because I’m not interested in him at all. I try thinking of an excuse, but before I spew some random bullshit, an elegant hand with an obsidian ring rests on the guys shoulder, and I look up to Bastian leaning down to the guy’s ear. “That’s my seat,” he says so seriously I almost believe him.
The guy wrinkles his nose in defiance, but the moment he sees the face that the voice is coming from, his demeanor changes. “S-sorry, man,” he says, popping up like a kernel of popcorn. “Just restin’ my legs.”
“Uh-huh,” Bastian says and slides his hands in his pockets as the guy leaves the table.
