by Shyla Colt
I all but melt into him as he nibbles his way down my neck. “My sweet, dove.” His lips ghost over my pulse point. My breathing grows choppy. Retracing his journey back up my neck with his tongue, he returns to my lips. When we’re together like this, nothing else exists. His tongue slips between my lips, and I press my chest against his. A growl in the back of his throat sends vibrations straight through my body.
We adjust our heads, deepening the lip lock. I lose myself in the irresistible combination of French toast and him. His clever mouth sets my body ablaze with desire. Heart pounding in my chest, I suck air into my aching lungs. He helps me maneuver my body to straddle his lap.
I meet his glowing amber eyes before our lips reattach. Our tongues circle lazily. I grind into his lap, and his breath catches. I smirk. It’s a game of dare between us. Pushing buttons, we play to see who can outlast the other.
His fangs skim against my lip. May I? I ignore the voice telling me to say no. Yes. A sharp pain follows, and we both groan. We take turns sucking the wounds, mingling our blood. Hunger wakes inside of me. Power surges. My level in my magical well skyrockets.
A throat clears. Pots and pans rattle, and the dish clatters onto the counter. I groan as we pull apart, resting our foreheads together.
“Don’t stop on our account,” Marcellus drawls.
“How long until our next vacation?” I whisper, thinking of the enchanted two weeks we’d taken off from everything over six months ago.
“Too long.” Cristobal clears his throat. “I assume you have a good reason for interrupting us.”
“There’s a coffin out front. Does that qualify as a semi-emergency?” Marcellus asks.
“Oh, that’s mine.”
“You’re taking this vampire kink thing to a whole new level, huh?” Luz says.
“What? No. It’s for a new case I’m taking on.” I wiggle free, and hop down from Cristobal’s lap, kissing his cheek before I head toward the front door. Duty calls.
Chapter Two
The laboratory is a blast from the past complete with bunsen burners, candles, and slate-topped workstations. It looks more like a mad scientist’s playground than our forensic headquarters. Dressed smartly in a pair of black slacks, and a white labcoat, Miles is every inch the professional. He’s tamed his chestnut curls with a shortcut and a side part. I’m proud of his conversion from absentminded librarian to the brilliant scientist. Since we’ve started to give him cases to work on, he’s downright gleeful. Minds like his require constant engagement.
“What exactly am I looking for?” Miles asks. He glances down at the modern microscope that blends seamlessly with the mix of old and new he’s merged in his space. I never appreciated his past as much as I have recently. A scholar, he was at the forefront of medical procedures in his time, which makes him the perfect lab tech.
While his methods may be outdated, his results aren’t. Given his voracity for knowledge, he’ll be caught up with the modern techniques and procure better equipment in no time. There are no limits to what an inexhaustible amount of money can do. Vampirism brings out the best and worst qualities a person possesses, exaggerating them until they’re a new individual with hints of the old.
“Honestly, I’m not sure, and I don’t want to sway you in any particular direction.” I hold my hands up. “So I’ll let you do what you do best.”
“After observing the coffin, I can already tell you they took the body. The angles of the breaks in the wood and the lack of skin and hair don’t fit with her breaking out. Someone or something definitely broke in to get her. I’ll be matching the skin cells I’ve recovered against the ones on the lining, and then we’ll see what we come up with. They smell different, and they look different, but I need to do a more in-depth analysis before I make any conclusions.”
I can almost hear the gears in his head grinding together as they spin.
“Once you’ve isolated the samples, I may be able to work some magic. Right now, everything’s too jumbled together. I wouldn’t be able to get a clean reading.” As convenient as magic is, everything has its limitations, and my powers aren’t exempt from that rule of nature.
It’s drilled into every young witch’s head that each choice we make has a consequence, and what we send out comes back at least twice or thrice fold. It’s a built-in check and balance system. I have to admit, it works for the most part.
“I’ll put a rush on it.”
“Thank you, Miles.” I pat his shoulder and step back to let him focus. I’m proud of the way my court has come together like a puzzle with intricately carved pieces. We’re learning how we fit to connect as one moving part. Vampires and witches never vibed. Witches worship nature, and by their very definition vampires are unnatural.
“I’ll be in the library with the girls.” Slipping out of the lab, I make my way toward the front end of the home. The house used to feel too big, and now its just walls, like any other. I admire the high ceilings originally meant to trap hot air. The ornate ceiling medallions done in shades of red and gold remind me of Cristobal’s heritage. There’s a hint of his origins spread throughout the building if you know what you’re looking for.
It’s the touches of personality that helped ensnare me in the first place. He wears humanity better than most vampires I’ve met. The time and the changes mentally and physically take some of them too far away from the people they once were. Others prefer to forget. The change can be a desperate decision made in an attempt to escape an unbearable life. Many a reinvention was made on the back of an undead life. Kings, queens, mercenaries, and more have ascended from the ashes with a clever backstory and powers that bent the human brain and willpower.
Door capstones and moldings add to the grand environment, boasting craftsmanship and history. They painstakingly refurbished the home with original materials and skilled labor. Colorful art brightens up the deep ocean blue walls along with the ornate pineapple-shaped wall scones. From the thick textured glass warped to mimic the outer shell of the fruit to the spiky iron worked tops, the pieces are miniature masterpieces. I run my fingers over the beveled glass as I pass, pausing to enter the library. The house is a riot of colors. The walls here are a cool gray that contrasts with the dark wood of the bookshelves.
Sacha’s blondish brown curls obscure her face as she bends over the table. The cook left a colorful array of finger sandwiches, scones, pastries, and soup served on a three-tier serving platter. The traditional high tea is mouthwatering.
Three sets of tea cups and saucers accompany a matching teapot, sugar bowl, and creamer cup. We don’t do anything in halves in the Cortez Court. The china tea set with a ring of turquoise and tiny pink and green flowers is probably the same age as the house itself.
Felicite looks up from her laptop and offers me a small smile. Her dark hair falls around her round face in a shiny black bob. “The tea’s still warm. You’ll want caffeine for this.”
“It’s that bad?” I take a seat on the opposite side of the girls.
“Or that good, depending on how you look at it.” Sacha blows loose strands away from her face and rakes her hands through her hair as she straightens and rolls her shoulders.
“The woman is as clean as a whistle,” Fel says with a sigh. “I’m upset because she lived her life so righteously. How jacked up is that?’ She wrinkles her nose and scowls. “It feels awful.”
“As far as anyone knows, Imelda was a model citizen. The forty-five-year-old Filipino woman taught fourth grade at Cypress middle school, attended church regularly, volunteered, and had the nerve to be healthy, too.” Sacha grimaces.
“She seems to be exactly who she appears on paper,” Fel adds.
“The only odd thing is the way she died,” Sacha says.
“How’s that?” I pour myself a cup of Rose Hip tea, add three sugar cubes, and move my cup and saucer to the side to make room for the manilla f
ile Sacha slides over toward me.
“An aneurysm.”
“Uncommon, but not unheard of,” I mumble. I scan the obituary, coroner’s notes, and important files. It’s amazing how we all leave paper trails that draw a picture of who we are and how we live our lives. “There’s got to be shady behavior. At the least a neighbor she’s feuding with, a sibling she didn’t get along with, or a rival teacher. No one’s life is perfect.”
“Well, she’s an only child, so you can rule that one out right off the bat,” Sach replies.
I roll my eyes. “You’re a real helper.”
“We’d have to talk to people to get the inside scoop, but with people posting, ‘She’d give you the shirt off her back, and never had an unkind word to speak about anyone,’ I doubt you’re going to find the kind of dirt you’re looking for,” Fel says.
“Then why the hell would anyone take her body?” I ask out loud.
“Welcome to our nightmare,” Sach sings, emulating Ozzie Osbourne. I admire her cheerfulness. I get the feeling we’re going to need it.
***
I pull up behind Fel’s car in Mémé’s driveway. Soon this place will be flooded with family. A few months ago, this would’ve been impossible. Death has brought us all together. It’s sad that it takes the end of life to wake everyone up to the fact that our days are numbered, and we never know when we’ll meet our end.
Putting the car into park, I grab my bag off the passenger seat and slip out. The air is full of potential. Untapped magic taints the air, lending a spicy sweet scent. Breathing in through my mouth, I can almost taste the flavor combination.
Tonight, for the first time in ages, we’ll dine and perform magic as a family. Not for a tradition, but to restore balance, and realign our magical cores. We share a special bond. Like any link, abuse or misuse can dampen its potency. Gone ignored, it can begin to decay and rot. Our family numbers are dwindling, along with many of the older families. Fresh blood and close ties are essential for survival. We have to pierce the festering wound that’s become a rift between us all and rebuild. It’s been a painstakingly slow process.
I brace myself for the opposition as I climb the stairs leading to the porch. The front door opens before I can knock and Fel grins.
“Show off,” I say.
“I happened to be walking by the front door and heard you pull in. No magic involved.” She gives me a cheeky grin.
“Ugh. I just hope no one ends up dead when it’s all said and done.”
She laughs. “Since looks can’t kill, I think we’ll be all right.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s going to get easier eventually, right?”
Fel pats my arm. “If anyone can reunite us, it’d be you. Look at us all gathering for fellowship, and magical practices. We haven’t done this since we were kids. Family dinners were strained at best, and magic was done on a necessary basis. We lost a part of ourselves when that rift occurred that turned us into a shell of a family. You’re trying to mend what’s been broken for years. It’ll take time. Honestly, I think you’re doing a smashing job of bringing us back to the start.”
“Thanks, cuz. I needed that vote of confidence.” The smell of sage greets me as I move into the house. There’s a tentative calm settled over the atmosphere. The kind just before a storm breaks out where the pressure can build or dissipate. My goal is to navigate us to the next step without detonating a bomb.
“You two stop moving those jawbones, and get in here and help us,” Mom yells.
I laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”
The cool air brushes over my skin and I thank God for air conditioning to combat muggy, Louisiana days. My blue ombre T-shirt sticks to my flesh and the khaki shorts that hit mid-thigh feel too long. I close the door behind me and trail my baby cousin into the kitchen. It’s been a month of Sundays since I saw the Esçhete women gathered in the kitchen like this. Wearing aprons with silver diadems that represent the elements nestled into their hair Mémé, Mom, and Aunt Heloise are a contradiction of coziness and power. The vine and leaf, moon and stars, and wavelike patterns represent their element to call.
“Today we’re cooking not just to nourish our bodies, but our very souls. We’re adding magic, hope, and love to every dish we prepare. That means boosting our natural powers to make sure the emotions sink in as we prep with intention.”
“Wash your hands, and join us,” Mom says.
I remove the necklace woven with copper and Pietersite from my purse and slip it over my head. The dark gray and rusty reddish-orange stone represents earth. Today I am the grounding magic wielder. I will weave the strands of magic together harmoniously while Mémé steps back. In her own words: ‘The time for hand-holding has passed. You have a lot to prove to me and everyone else watching your every move.’
“Why don’t you tell everyone what we’re preparing and why?” Mémé says. I feel like I’m at Show and Tell with much higher stakes.
“I chose this meal carefully. We need to come together as a family, to heal old wounds and move forward, so I focused on grounding, love, healing, and protection. Mémé and I prepared the roast last night, so it could slow cook. We focused on strength, protection, and grounding. I’m worried about Av and Vit with their mother gone. Every sheep is precious in this flock. The roasted potatoes and honey-glazed carrots will echo the grounding, as well as providing more healing and protection. The homemade bread is the binding element, representing kinship, and the Mead is love. I want you to focus on these attributes, and the healing, cleansing, and rebuilding of the Esçhete name. Let all the pain and dissonance of the past stay behind us where it belongs. “
“That’s easier said than done,” my mother says quietly. I feel for her. She and Aunt Odette always clashed the most.
“Have we become so petty and small-minded we’d let bickering and disagreements impede our magical legacy? Our numbers are dwindling, and yet we remain at odds. This family is close to falling out of favor with the ancestors and facing extinction. The universe has not been kind nor giving to us in recent times. If we hadn’t distanced ourselves from the old ways, we might’ve noticed. The cracks started small. Our separation was a slow process. The rebuild will be much the same way.” I gave them all time to get used to being in the same space regularly. I cannot afford to be delicate any longer.
“We had our grieving period. Now we move forward. We’ll honor her memory by making a better future possible. You are the heads of your family. I expect you to be the backbones of this family the women have always been. Tonight we start the task of mending our foundation.” I glance at Mémé who gives a nod of her head. I meet the eyes of the women I’ve grown up respecting. They’ve placed their trust in me. I can’t let them down.
“Old habits die hard, cher. We can learn new tricks, but it won’t happen in a day,” Tante Heloise says.
“All I ask for is an open mind and genuine effort. The rest will take care of itself in time,” I assure her.
I can see the cynicism in their gazes. They think this small step is pointless. There’s a method to my madness. We can’t work bigger spells without trust. Forgiveness has to start somewhere. “Aimee and Vit have always followed their mother’s lead. Right now, they’re lost. If we don’t guide them, someone else will. I won’t let the darkness take them the way it did their mother.” I ignore their looks as I move to the sink to wash my hand and settle in beside Fel. “What do you say we take the roasted potatoes?” I ask.
“I’m game.” Fel’s voice is cheery. I draw strength from her unflagging support. As my first cousin, literally months apart from me in age, she’s been my built-in partner-in-crime.
“I want us to all make an effort with Aimee and Vit. I invited them, and I’m hoping they’ll show up soon. We need to come together, or everything I have planned is going to be for naught. Our power is only as strong as our bond. We’ve got all eyes on us, and we ne
ed to seal those cracks in our foundation and paint them over.” I harden my tone, letting them know without words this is not negotiable. Being a leader means ruffling feathers. I feel like I’ve been in constant conflict since Mémé announced that I’d be taking over. We’re a broken lot, but it’s not irreparable.
“This has been a long time coming. I should’ve acted long before now. A mother can be blind to the realities of her children’s fault. I downplayed the animosity that sprung up, allowing a wedge to form. Because of my ignorance, Louella has a lot of work ahead of her.” Mémé’s voice shakes.
“Mama, it’s not your fault,” my mother says.
“Yes, it is. As the matriarch of this family, everything that happens or doesn’t is my business. It’s the burden we agree to carry when we take on the title. I have hope for the future. It won’t be easy. I won’t lie to you.” Mémé shakes her head. “It’ll be a rocky ride. Esçhetes have never been weak-willed. We can fix what’s broken. The lean, hard times build character. They teach us about who we truly are what abilities we have, or in some cases, lack.”
“You’ve seen something,” I state.
“Non.” Mémé shakes her head. “It’s more of a feeling …” she places a hand on her belly, “here.” Her lips twist. “A sick feeling tells me the darkness isn’t done with us. It’s gotten a taste of Esçhete blood, and it’s hungry for more. With power, comes danger. We’ve had a great period of peace after the last uprising. It’s made us soft. None of you has had to fight or live through casualties. By the time I was twenty-five, it was a way of life. Bargaining with the Weres and vampires wasn’t something we took lightly. It was necessary. The losses we took were significant.”
