Living where I did now, I missed the trick-or-treaters, even going so far as to buy candy on the small chance someone would come knocking at my door wearing a superhero mask or a pointy witch’s hat. A lot of supernatural kids had started to take on the humans’ traditions of costumes and candy because we liked candy just as much as humans and it was the one night where even humans accepted us wholly. But at least my business usually quadrupled during the week of Samhain and Halloween – it was one of two weeks out of the year that would send humans flocking to my door. The other week was Valentine’s Day, for obvious reasons.
Those old memories seemed to amplify the smell of the cooling chocolate that filled my small apartment, and I hated just how tempted I was to try a piece. I had never indulged in drugs of any kind growing up – mostly out of fear of what my mother would do if she caught me. Once you’ve been zapped with a well-aimed ley line charm, you learn your lesson quick. But really I was already more concerned that her punishments would be a more humiliating flavor.
When I was in grade school, I’d stolen a love potion from her stores to give to my crush, Jasper. My mom found out before I could activate the potion and slip it to him, but instead of grounding me or something sane like that, she’d shown up at my school the next day in a bathrobe and slippers, calling out for me that I’d forgotten to take my coat. She was even wearing curlers that were falling out of her hair. I could laugh about it now, but back then, it was probably the worst thing she could’ve done to me. She was pretty damn smart.
I threw the towel back on the chair before going to the kitchen window and pushing it open. A gust of damp night air swirled in, whisking out the smell of the tempting chocolate. I swallowed and took in a deep breath of the night air, clearing my head. It had actually been a pain in my ass to make that chocolate, having to temper it just right and make the infused butter with the mushrooms. That was the key to making it euphoric, but it had to be done for just seven minutes, and you had to make sure you got every microscopic piece of fungus out of the butter before you added it to the chocolate.
You had to use Himalayan salt and only twenty three grains, not one more or one less, and the sugar had to be sifted in. And about a dozen other steps that were just as anal. No wonder the street value was so high. Trying to do all that while also brewing Kyle’s potion had been a bitch after such a stressful few nights, but they were both done. Kyle’s potion was bottled, stoppered, and ready to go, and the sheet of perfectly cubed chocolates was cooling on a cookie sheet on my counter, just calling to me.
“You’re just hungry,” I said, shaking my head and turning away from the counter. I started to reach for the fridge when a knock at my front door stopped me. It wasn’t an angry, demanding knock, or a hurried, desperate knock, it was just a normal, please-come-to-the-door-knock. Artemis picked up his head for a moment, staring at the door, but after a moment, he went back to his feast.
“No biggie, huh?” I asked him, running my hand over him as I walked by, heading for the door. I could see the unmistakable wild tumble of red curls through the peephole even if Ronnie was too short for me to see her face. Her head was bowed, as if she was staring at the floor, and I realized she was watching the shadow of my feet under the door.
I unlocked the line of locks and broke the freezing spell before I opened the door. I stood back, half my body hidden by the door, letting her walk in. Ronnie came in quietly, tossing her bag on the high back wooden chair in the living room, moving with ease and confidence as if we hadn’t had a total blow out a couple of hours ago.
“Hungry? I was just gonna fix something,” I said, closing the door and throwing the locks back into place.
“Yeah, actually,” Ronnie said, and she followed me into the kitchen.
I pulled out two glasses from the cupboard as she opened the fridge to see what I had. I turned in time to catch her cringe before standing back up. “Mattie, all you have is take-out leftovers. Don’t you ever eat any real food?”
“That is real food,” I said. “They have calories and everything.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, setting the glasses on the counter before nudging her out of the way with my hip. I handed her an open bottle of wine to pour for us before shifting the take-out boxes back and forth, trying to decide on what to have. I finally settled on the left over pasta since it was spaghetti and marinara and Ronnie could eat it too so long as she avoided the meatballs. I grabbed the remaining half of the garlic bread, stacking it on top of the spaghetti so I could grab two forks.
Practically spilling everything on the table, I handed Ronnie a fork so I could start to work the clear lid of the round container open, uncrimping the aluminum around it. Ronnie took a hunk of cold garlic bread and ripped off a bite between two fingers, popping it in her mouth. Tossing the lid aside, I hooked my foot around the chair leg and dragged it closer to sit beside Ronnie. We both stabbed at the cold noodles coated in red sauce, twirling too large bites before stuffing them in our mouths.
If we’d been in public, Ronnie would have been much more delicate about her bites, making sure to only twine one or two noodles around her fork, but here, in my kitchen, she ate with the same gusto I did. The corners of her mouth were red with sauce, as I’m sure mine were too, reminding me I forgot to grab napkins. Twisting around in my chair, I reached for the roll of paper towels on the counter and tore off two, handing her one.
“Fanks,” she managed around her mouthful, dragging the paper towel across her mouth. I nodded a welcome, having shoved a huge bite of garlic bread in my mouth and making sounds was impossible, let alone actual words. Ronnie nudged a meatball to my side of the plate, trying desperately to touch it with as little of her fork as possible. I finally stabbed it with mine and bit into it.
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, only the sounds of the rain and late night traffic filtering in through the window. But I knew it wasn’t going to last; soon Ronnie would lower the boom, and we’d be arguing again about the chocolates and whatever it was that I was doing that she didn’t yet know about.
Right on cue, as if she could hear my thoughts, Ronnie set her fork down, balancing the tines on the edge of the take-out container so she didn’t leave a smudge of marinara on my table. She cleared her throat, wiping her mouth with the makeshift napkin. “So, I’m sorry I flipped out earlier, but you know why I did.”
“Yeah, I do,” I said, putting my fork down. I picked up my glass and took a sip, enjoying the bite of the chilled wine. “You also know that I wouldn’t do something like that lightly.”
“Yeah, I do,” Ronnie said with a bob of her head. “I probably should’ve asked what you were doing rather than screaming like that.”
“That would’ve been nice,” I said, quirking an eyebrow at her. Ronnie stared at me with those big eyes, clearly unsure if I was being serious or just giving her a hard time. After a few moments, I couldn’t hold it in anymore and a stifled laugh burst out of me. Ronnie smiled awkwardly before she chuckled. And, just like a soap bubble, the earlier tension burst into a million tiny pieces.
“So you wanna tell me now?” Ronnie asked. She tucked one foot under her and reached for her wine, holding the cup in both hands to warm the red liquid. “I see you got the last ingredient. How is Morty doing?”
“Oh, he’s the same warm ray of sunshine he always is,” I said, making Ronnie snort. “I did it for a trade to find out if Theo has Roane and if she does, where.”
Ronnie made a noncommittal sound. I know she was just trying to find a safe middle ground. She didn’t like what I was doing, but she could see why. I really didn’t have it in me to argue with her about this again.
“I swear, this is a one and only time kinda deal,” I said, setting my glass on the table. “It’s not some sort of new business arrangement I’m starting.”
“Famous last words,” Ronnie mumbled, unable to stop herself. She stared at me over the rim of her glass, waiting to see i
f I was going to rise to the bait.
I nodded at her. “Maybe, but I actually mean them.”
“Good.”
“So can we let this go and move on?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
Chapter 12
I was pouring three cups of tea when the knock at the door cut through the apartment, loud enough to drown out the newscaster on the television in the living room. I was starting to wonder if people knew how to simply knock without pounding on a door anymore.
“Just a moment,” I called out as I set the kettle back on the stovetop. Unstoppering the glass bottle by the sugar cellar, I poured a measured dose of the truth serum in one cup, stirring it four times clockwise. I had picked that tea specifically because it was the last ingredient needed in the serum.
“Proloquor re vera,” I whispered on the last revolution as I pulled the ceramic spoon out of the pale tea. The liquid swirled in a tiny vortex as the spell activated before coming to a stop, the surface of the tea as placid as the deepest lake.
I picked up the tray and walked into the living room, sidestepping Artemis as he tried to twine around my ankles. I shooed him away with a flick of a foot, not coming close enough to actually kick him, but he still spat at me before turning tail and sauntering into the dark bedroom. Setting tray on the coffee table, I made a mental note of which cup was the doctored one, before I hurried to answer the front door just as my guests knocked again.
It was nearly three o’clock in the morning, and Fletcher had called me half an hour ago to check on the progress of the chocolates. They were ready and already in a container to be taken away and out of my apartment, so long as Tate had the information I needed. Fletcher assured me he did, but I wasn’t going to simply take his word on it. As soon as we hung up, I started making the tea, resolving to make sure that Tate told the whole truth and nothing but the truth, as the humans say.
“Come on in,” I said as I held the door open, standing back to let the two vampires in. I took comfort knowing I could revoke the invitation at any moment if things went sideways. Fletcher stepped inside easily, but I watched as Tate had a moment of difficulty before he was able to force himself across the threshold. I eyed the tiny sliver of the protection talisman peeking out from the runner before I looked Tate in the eye.
He shifted his shoulders, trying to shake off my stare before he hurried to Fletcher’s side. I closed the door, deciding against throwing the locks; if I needed to rescind Tate’s invitation, I wanted the door to be able to swing open easily as he was thrown out.
“Gentlemen,” I said, waving to the living room. Fletcher moved first, followed by Tate. Both men sat on the couch, putting the center cushion between them. “Tea?” I offered as I picked up the two cups, holding them out, careful that Tate was offered the spelled cup.
“I’m fine,” Fletcher said as Tate said, “No.”
“It’s a sign of good faith in the witch community to take tea,” I insisted, reaching closer with the cups. “Be a great insult to me if you didn’t share a cup.”
It was total bullshit, but it got them to take the cups from me. Fletcher nodded as I picked up my cup, and we both took a sip. I stared at Tate and waited until he finally took a sip. He gave no indication that the tea tasted funny to him, and I breathed a little easier knowing I’d stirred the difficult potion correctly. But I needed to ask him a few test questions to be sure. I grabbed the television remote on the side table and lowered the volume.
“Tate,” I said, drawing his attention to me as he took another sip. “When did we first meet?”
“Tonight, in my apartment,” Tate said robotically. Fletcher furrowed his brow at me, but I ignored him.
“What color is my hair?”
“Black.”
“Where is the vampire lair?”
“The Esterwyn Hotel.”
“Where does Theo sleep?”
“What are you—” Fletcher started to ask, but I held up a hand to stop him. Tate wouldn’t remember me asking him these questions, but if Fletcher made a fuss, it would break our connection and snap Tate out of the trance.
“In the bottom most floor under the Esterwyn Hotel,” Tate replied.
“And how many floors down is that?”
“Five.”
I studied Tate for a moment and decided that I had asked enough test questions. That last one was a big deal and that he had answered me easily enough told me my truth serum was doing its job. It was very tempting to ask him more, steal Theo’s precious little secrets, but Fletcher was already staring at me as though I had kicked his puppy, and I didn’t want to betray him anymore. We may have just met, but he had done me a fair amount of favors already. I didn’t want to repay him with treachery.
“Wonderful,” I said, leaning forward in my chair to set my cup on the table. “Drink up, Tate.”
Tate did as he was told, taking a large swallow of the tea before blinking slowly at me.
“Tell me, Tate,” I said, lowering my voice into a more soothing register. “Did you speak with Theo tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ask her if she had Roane, the Prince of Dunhallow, in captivity?”
“Yes.”
“And what did she tell you?”
“She has not kidnapped the fairy prince,” Tate said, his voice still robotic and stilted.
“Toads,” I whispered, my hands clenching into to fists as I fought not to punch the arm of my chair. I blew out a breath, telling myself to remain calm, and asked, “Does she know who has taken him?”
“No,” Tate said simply. I almost cursed again, but he spoke again, stopping me by saying, “But she is eager to find out.”
“Why?” I asked, leaning toward him.
“Because you want to know.”
“So what?”
“Theo would do whatever she can to thwart you,” Tate said.
“Why?”
“Because Owen still loves you,” Tate said, and I heard Fletcher make a noise of surprise. I held up a finger to forestall anything he might say.
“So she’s looking for Roane so that she can get to him before I can?”
“Yes.”
“Just so that my life will be in danger from the Dunhallows?”
“Yes.”
“Bitch,” I said through gritted teeth. “Has she found out any clues or any leads to Roane’s whereabouts?”
“No.” That simple word loosened a knot in my chest. I sighed and leaned back in my chair, my fingers curling into the fabric of the arms as I tried to slow the pounding of my heart.
“Mattie,” Fletcher’s soft voice reached out to me, but I didn’t want to answer him. I didn’t want to look into his questioning eyes. I didn’t want to know what he thought of me now that he knew what a tricky witch I could be.
“We’re done,” I said, throwing myself forward to stand. I took the nearly empty cup from Tate and gathered up the tray.
“Mattie,” Fletcher said again, his voice a little harder as he got up and followed me into the kitchen. I set the tray down, picked up the container of Euphoric Chocolates, and held it out to him.
“A full batch, as promised,” I said. Fletcher blinked at me and then looked at the box, his brows drawing together. “Didn’t think I’d come through on my end, huh?”
“No, it’s not that,” Fletcher said, but there wasn’t much conviction in his voice. “What you just did, to Tate?”
“It was just a little truth serum,” I said, stepping forward and pressing the box into Fletcher’s chest, forcing him to take it or let it fall. “He didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would tell me the truth.”
“You put him under a death pact,” Fletcher said, his voice pitching.
“So what?” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “Doesn’t mean he couldn’t have told me half-truths or lied by omission. I was just making sure he kept his end of the deal.”
“You didn’t even give him a chance.”
&n
bsp; “Look, I have had enough dealings with vamps to know better than to just trust you people,” I said. I crossed my arms over my chest, my fingers digging into my arms. I suddenly wanted them to leave, like right now.
“Oh, so we’re all the same, huh?” Fletcher shook his head at me, and I felt a knot forming in my chest when he looked away from me. “Whatever. Well, you got what you wanted. Probably should hurry up from the sounds of it.”
He turned, the buckles down his pants sending glints of light as he moved, and went to get Tate out of the living room. I opened my mouth to stop him, but the words wouldn’t come. I glared at him as he moved Tate toward the door. He glanced over his shoulder at me. I saw disappointment in his eyes and I suddenly hated him a little bit. And I hated myself a little bit more.
“Might want to rescind the invitation,” Fletcher said as he opened the door.
“Tate, you are no longer welcome in my home,” I said once I found my voice. Tate’s body went rigid and he marched out the door like a marionette being danced off stage. Fletcher stood there a moment longer, waiting for me to rescind his invitation, but staring into his brown eyes that hadn’t yet lost their humanity, I found I didn’t want to rescind his invitation.
“Fletcher,” I said, stopping him just before he stepped through the door. I rushed forward, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. I was a little relieved when he didn’t shake it off. “I don’t think you’re all the same.”
“It’s fine, Mattie,” he said, his voice low and he still wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“No, Fletcher,” I said with a shake of my head, my fingers curling into his arm. “I mean it, and I’m not rescinding your invitation.”
Fletcher nodded before he turned away, pulling his arm out of my grasp. I watched as he walked down the hallway with Tate at his side. I closed the door, this time setting the locks and freezing spell into place. I was cold and there was an ache deep inside of me. It was a familiar feeling, one I had every time I thought about that night, waking up alone, after Owen had left me for Theo. I hardly knew Fletcher; it was stupid to feel this way. What was I? Some dewy-eyed teenager?
Wytchcraft: A Matilda Kavanagh Novel Page 18
