Page 66 of The Royal Street Witch
“I was able to cast a spell to make the bleeding slow to a drip, but I can’t stop the bleeding on my own. What do I do?”
“Let him feed on you! Go!”
“I can’t! My blood is cursed!”
The regret, like a dagger to my heart, and his silence is worse than his rage. But then I get one slow and steady statement.
“You two are my fucking nightmare.”
“What do I do?”
“There’s nothing you can do! And I can’t even fly there and back in time by sunrise!” He goes silent and I know he’s thinking, but I really want to scream, just scream at him, scream at anyone because my heart is going to rip out of my chest and I can’t catch my breath. I sink to the bed, place my head between my legs, and try to inhale deeply as tears drip up my forehead.
“I’ll see if I can get someone there to fly you guys home. He needs vampire blood to start healing him. Text me the address and keep my fucking BROTHER ALIVE.”
The line goes dead and I frantically text him the hotel we are staying at and want to scream into the pillow but—Bastian, so I slip both our phones into the pocket of my robe and run back to the bathroom floor.
The blood is dripping so slowly from his dry lips, the cracks filled with dried blood, and I drop my forehead to his.
“Your asshole brother is figuring this out, baby. He’ll help us.” I kiss his lips but he still can’t focus on me, and I try to think of another spell, something else to save him, but it’s like my brain is a slug, sticky and thick, so I just run my fingers across his eyebrows and I hold him, hold him so tight. He’s still there, and it will be okay, it will be okay. And this is the cost of my creation. I’m killing him and I wish, wish that I had said no. Those months ago, inside The Jazz House. Said no to Bastian’s request because now he’s practically dying in my arms. But saying yes gave him to me, gave me a love so deep, so penetrating, so fucking true.
The bathroom is covered in blood and if we have to move him, he’ll need to be cleaned up. I can’t just sit here and wait so I get up and wet a towel with warm water and pull it across his face, cleaning the blood streaks, and he only looks paler now. Cheeks sunken, eyes hallowed and staring blankly at the ceiling. Once his face is clean, I move to his chest, my hand slowly wiping away the blood, the pieces of him. Vampire blood is a different consistency than human blood and seems to take longer to dry. It’s all over the floor, and you could soak in the amount in the bathtub.
A phone rings and I almost jump as my hand pulls both phones from my pocket, and it’s Cassius calling Bastian.
“Just listen,” he orders. “Curtis lives in the city, he’s going to get you guys on a private jet about twenty minutes away. No commercial flights, so you won’t have to deal with a lot of people. He owes me, so he’s been advised not to ask any questions. If he does, don’t answer. He’ll be alone because he’s the only one I trust to keep his mouth closed and will be there in fifteen minutes.” The words storm out and I’m trying to keep up. “We can’t waste a goddamn second, do you get it? Curtis will give Bastian blood to start the healing process, but he needs to be home, watched, and properly cared for. Be ready, got it?”
“Fifteen minutes?” I say as my eyes look at Bastian’s blood-soaked clothes and the crimson stained bathroom.
“Be ready,” he says, and the line goes dead and I grab Bastian’s hand.
“Someone is coming to help us. Bastian, can you hear me?” I squeeze his hand and he just stares at the at the bathtub, the blood still dripping from his mouth, his body stiff, and I cry so fucking hard my chest feels like it’s been punched.
I stand, wiping the tears from my face, and push out the terror of what losing him would be like. I have to get us ready.
I close my eyes, spread out my hands, and command, “Weightless,” placing every speck of energy on Bastian’s body. Once I feel the spell form, I raise my arms and open my eyes to Bastian’s body lifting from the ground. I weave an invisible web in my mind, wall to wall, beneath his body. It knots and folds and hangs, building underneath him—holding his body in the air, as if he’s lying on a hammock.
After I pull his stained sweats and boxers off, I wash my hands then run into the room and rifle through his suitcase until I find another pair of each, as well as a shirt, socks, and sneakers.
I grab whatever towels we have and throw them on the floor to soak up the blood so I don’t slip, return to him, clean and dress him, floating in the air, pulling on his clothes as blood still drips from his mouth to the floor.
“I love you, I love you,” is all I can manage to get out.
Once he’s dressed, I push him through the bathroom door, still floating, light as a feather, onto the bed, ordering the webs to disintegrate.
“Pack,” I say as his clothes begin to pile onto themselves into his luggage, and I look to grab anything of importance from the bathroom, but there’s nothing. A razor, shampoo, nothing that matters.
I look at myself in the mirror, turn the water on, and wash my arms and face. My hair is stiff with dried blood so I pull it up into a messy bun, hoping to hide the evidence.
I strip in the bathroom and run to my bag, pulling out leggings and a sweatshirt, and just as I finish, there’s a knock on the door. Walking slowly to the peephole, I swallow, my finger going to that hollow in my neck, that one Bastian loves to kiss.
He must sense my approach because right as my fingers trace the doorknob I hear, “It’s Curtis.” The voice is deep and dignified. I pull the door open to a man that looks more like he’s running for Congress rather than a vampire, and I worry that I’ve been duped.
“Aster?” he says with an eyebrow arching up, and I jerk my chin down and take a step back.
Curtis is so very tall in a grey suit with a red tie around his neck. He pushes up his Harry Potter style glasses and extends a professional hand in my direction. “Pleasure to meet you,” he says.
“He’s on the bed,” I spurt out because my heart is beating at a dangerous pace, and the idea of this man being a vampire has me skeptical.
