Page 25 of Livewire Witch

So, my plan to keep my distance wound up being bullshit. That’s pretty fucking clear.

I realized I was lying to myself about it as I was leading everyone to the apartment I’d never even mentioned to Fabian or Roscoe.

I’m weirdly all right with the change in plans, even though I figured I’d be losing my fucking mind if I ever brought anyone here.

As Seb was explaining all the ways Silver had saved him and Fabian, something snapped inside me. Then I learned how she’d fucking saved me and Ro without either of us idiots realizing. She put herself in harm’s way, like a damn martyr. Exposed her powers, which she’s clearly done a crazy good job of keeping under wraps for years.

It was only once we got back here to my apartment, I got a clear picture of what I needed to do.

I’m gonna keep Silver under my roof, make sure she doesn’t throw herself in front of a bullet or something.

She’s safe here.

I don't think about why that knowledge settles something inside me. All I know is, for the first time in a week, the raging tempest inside me calms. I can finally take a full breath.

Silver

FOR THE SECOND DAYin a row, I wake up feeling like my senses are being blasted. This time around, I'm hot and sweating. My eyes ache, even though they're closed and my head is pounding like someone's banging a bass drum right at my temples.

It takes a second for me to orient myself, and for it to sink in that someone's tapping on the bedroom door to the same pattern my brain is trying to beat against the inside of my skull.

“Ri-ise and shine, sweet Silver. We've got things to do, people to see, and pastries for breakfast,” Roscoe sings through the door.

I wince as I sit up, a wave of nausea rolling through me just as a bead of sweat trickles down my back.

Ugh, I feel kind of wonky, like I've been put through a washer and wrung out to dry.

Tap, tap, tap.

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty. We need to go visit a vampire sex club during daylight hours. What could be more fun?”

“If you don't get up soon, Little Witch, we’re going to have a Roscoe-shaped hole in the wall and I don't want to be fixing that shit,” Z grumbles.

I shove the damp sheets away from my clammy body and force myself up. I feel hungover as hell and I don't recall drinking last night.

“One minute,” I call through the door. My voice comes out raspier than usual comments since my throat is so damn dry.

Pastries and coffee. That's what I need. Nothing like a bit of sugar and caffeine first thing.

I make quick work of washing my face and key bits before brushing my teeth. Rifling through the duffle bag Roscoecollected from The Spire, I fight a wave of dizziness as I shove my limbs into a t-shirt and jeans.

Maybe my blood sugar is low. I probably haven't made up for the lack of calories while we were underground and my body is running out of fuel faster than normal.

Simple biology.

That sounds vaguely feasible.

As I step out, I almost fall over Roscoe, who has placed himself in front of my door, his legs stretched out across the opening and his head resting forlornly against the wall. The man really is a massive puppy dog that can't be left alone for two minutes.

I snort as he leaps to his feet and wraps his arms around my waist, like it's been years since he saw me last.

“Missed your face, sweetheart.”

“You saw me yesterday.”

He shakes his head with a somber expression. “It's not enough, I'm afraid. And fortunately, I'm your devoted servant and if I don't have eyes on you every hour, I ache.” He pronounces all this so seriously, I can’t help letting out a hoarse, barked laugh.

He’s ridiculous. But my chest warms at his words and there’s a smile on my face as we head through to the living area.

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