Page 65 of Livewire Witch

It doesn’t take long before I’m drifting off to the sound of Seb muttering to himself and a vague heaviness in my head.

My dreams are hazy and unfocused and I have this sense of grasping at something. With my hands reaching out, but everytime I try to close my grip, I can’t make contact with whatever it is.

I wake up with my head aching worse than ever and with Seb’s hand on my head, smoothing my hair back.

It’s disconcerting. Like we’ve switched roles lately.

Like he thinks I’m the sick one that needs taking care of.

“You feeling okay?”

“Nothing a couple of pain pills won’t fix,” I reply, wincing as my head pounds at my temples as I force myself to sit up.

“Shit,” he mumbles, then says something like, “I didn’t mean to make it worse.” He gently slaps my cheek. “I think you should probably head upstairs to bed.”

I grunt and trudge out of the med bay and head up to my apartment.

Myemptyapartment.

It feels weird. Wrong.

I check my pockets for my phone and keys once again.

Flipping the lock, I head to my room and kick off my shoes before flopping onto the bed. My night is plagued with yet more grasping dreams. Like I’m missing something.

They’re also filled with two unfamiliar eyes that look like a damn galaxy.

Dante

MAGES MIGHT BE ASSHOLES, but elders are a special breed of being in themselves. It takes over three hundred years for our people to classify them as such.

Three hundred long years.

It means they’ve seen some things. And after a certain point, they seem to get bored with their own stories.

They also seem to get bored with the concept of wearing regular clothing.

Or at least clothing you’d want to see covering their bloodless flesh.

I avert my eyes from the three elders gathered for the meeting I requested a few days ago. I haven’t met any of them before in person. I’ve just heard rumors of them being fairly difficult to deal with. That you need to state your case clearly and in as few words as possible.

I smooth down my suit trousers and adjust my collar, feeling like the odd man out in the room. The vampire elder closest to me, Victor Blackthorn, is wearing swim shorts. The type of shorts that are saggy around the legs and have a jaunty Hawaiian print.

It’s the middle of winter.

The second is Malachai Eldric, who is wearing a cape and a band t-shirt. I don’t check to see if the cape is disguising the fact he’s not wearing any bottoms.

As I take them in, I wonder exactly what I've gotten myself into here, requesting an audience with the three of them.

The third elder, Edgar Nocturne, is the oldest of all. He’s the most powerful vampire in the city and he no longer leaves his house. Which means he’s not in the room with us. Myself and the other two elders are gathered around an ancient table in a meeting room on the top floor of the city library. It’s hard to tell where exactly Edgar is located. He might not even be within the Arcanum city boundaries.

Hence, the rest of us are gathered around a tiny tablet screen while he props up his camera in his kitchen and noisily makes a cup of tea.

It takes ten excruciating minutes where we sit in awkward silence while Edgar’s kettle screams and he mutters to himself about the correct way to brew a pot.

“So, Mr. Santis, could you explain to the elders’ council why you have requested today’s audience?”

The words to explain the situation we’re in have gone through my head a hundred times since I saw Silver and her mages earlier in the week. It took days to arrange this meeting and even longer for them to decide on a time where they could all meet.

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