Page 13 of Fated Protector

I know that's not the best description, but she's like a jumpy flea poking around under my skin. She represents everything I hate about the outside world – the focus on prestige, career advancement, and money. All of us ‘eclectic’ folk existed right under her nose, and she never figured it out.

I should hate her. But I don't.

I sit on the edge of the couch, sipping at instant coffee that tastes like swamp sludge. It ain’t worth keeping fresh coffee beans in any of my hideouts. Either the mice find them, or they grow too stale. Instant coffee it is, and I just suffer through swallowing the occasional clump or two.

I let Anna have my bed last night. I don't think I've ever done that in my whole life. She just looked so tired and sad, and the next thing I know, I'm treating her like she's a revered hotel guest at Château du Jack. Pathetic of me.

She scares the hell out of me, too. There are times I look at her, and all I want to do is run my hands through her dark hair and mess up that stodgy old bun of hers. Hair like that deserves to be let loose and fondled. I want to kiss her, but that shouldn't make a difference. I've kissed a lot of people. I want to fuck her, but I’ve fucked a lot of people.

None of them made me feelitchy.

"I knew your mama was the one," my Pa always says to my brother and me, "because when I saw her, it felt like a lightning strike smashed into my skin.”

I definitely am a victim of that lightning strike. I feel like a giant bolt of electricity has hit me in the small of my back and wriggled up my spine like an eel. I just feel…itchy.

It scares the shit out of me. Because in my world, that can only mean one thing, and I refuse to accept that she's the one.

I need to take her back to her store, whether she likes it or not. I need to find a spell that will transfer ownership of the store to me. I love that store, and it should be mine. Anna had never even heard of it until a few days ago. Once the store is handed over, I’ll send her packing back to New York and find another way to scratch that itch.

ANNA

I am being watched. I can feel it, that prickly sensation across my scalp that spurs a series of shivers. I blink open my eyes–and come face to face with a little gray house mouse.

I shriek, sitting up in the bed and scooching toward the side away from the mouse. Footsteps thunder down the hallway, and the door bursts open, nearly exploding off the hinges. Jack stands there with his teeth bared, his dagger Lucky in one hand and his other hand held up in a clawed position as if he were going to scratch someone to death. It’s not quite Muay Thai, but if it works, it works.

“Where is it?” he growls, wild eyes darting over every corner of his little bedroom. “How did it get in?”

I point at the mouse, feeling a little foolish. I was chased by a fearsome Grunch yesterday, and today I’m squealing about a rodent. I need to get some perspective, and quickly.

Jack drops his arms and stares at the mouse; his head cocked to the side. “You screamed about a little ol’ mouse?”

I nod, cheeks heating like a frying pan. He takes a tentative step towards the mouse, who peers back at him with just as much curiosity.

“So you’re the one who got into the corn flakes,” he mutters, shaking his head. His hand raises again, and I clap my hands over my mouth to stifle another frightened yell. Not that it helps, because his hand swipes down faster than I’ve ever seen any person move, and I shriek again. When it’s all over, Jack has his hands cupped around the shuddering creature, clicking his tongue at it.

“I’ll put this guy outside,” he says, shooting me a cool look. “Get dressed. We’re going back to the store.”

I nod and avert my eyes. I bet Miss Sasha Boudreaux, vampire hunter extraordinaire, never made a fuss about a tiny mouse. A longing for my cushy apartment in New York overwhelms me. I’m out of my league here, and there doesn’t seem to be an escape any time soon.

* * *

Surprisingly,the damage from the Grunch in the store is minimal. I thought the entire store would be an irrevocable mess, but all that shows evidence of the attack is an overturned bookshelf and a chair with a broken leg that isn’t repairable. Jack sets the shelf upright as if he were picking up a pillow, not a heavy piece of furniture. The books are all classics, marked with a “Get your summer reading here!” sign and a now-crushed list of required reading for local high school students. I pick upDraculaand snort. “How much of this is true?” I ask Jack, tapping on the cover.

He glances at the book and rolls his eyes. “Vamps don’t turn into bats. And they live in bougie apartments, not castles.”

“Darn,” I say, putting the book back on the shelf. “I always wanted to see a castle.”

“Isn’t your mama over in London?” he says. “Just go visit her. They’ve got castles by the dozens.”

I could do just that. Once we find that spell to transfer the bookstore to Jack, I could go see Mom for a few days before returning to work.

Of course, then, I’d never learn more about Sasha’s world.

“I’m going in the back,” I say, gesturing at the fireplace. Jack shrugs and follows me as I unlock the magical door. He has been quiet this morning, and I wonder if he’s sore from his fight yesterday.

“Wow. There is barely any damage,” I say, looking around at the pristine shop.

“I led the big guy out the front,” says Jack with a shrug. “I figured he’d already messed up that area.”

---