“Neither did I when I first moved in.” He slumped back in his chair, resting his head on the back so he could look at the ceiling. “When I was a pet, waiting to be turned, Andy took me to the club. Back then, when I was a stupid kid who didn’t know better, I thought it was great, you know? I wanted to participate; I wanted to do the things that Andy wanted me to do. But the better you get at performing, especially after you’re turned, you get moved further and further into the club, and it’s not so fun anymore.”
I remembered the second level of the club, with its sterile rooms with chains and restraints on the walls. The toys there looked more like torture devices, and the rooms had drains in the floors. A shudder racked my body.
“Exactly,” Fletcher said.
I really didn’t want to think of Fletcher in those rooms, bleeding out humans whether they were willing or not. I couldn’t think of this bright-eyed, sweet-faced guy who still had the spark of life in him, in those dark, horror-filled rooms. I couldn’t imagine him trying to make people scream just so he could keep a roof over his head. Sitting at my table staring at him, I just wanted to make that pained look on his face disappear.
Maybe it was the wine growing warm in my belly or maybe it was the suggestion planted by the psychic, but I found the courage to take Fletcher’s hand. His fingers were cold but dry, and I gave them a gentle squeeze. Fletcher looked at me, his warm eyes tracing the lines of my face before resting on my lips. I found myself staring at his lips as well. They were darker than I remembered and had a very pretty shape. For a moment, I wondered what they tasted like.
I closed my eyes and drew my hand away, taking a deep breath through my nose and holding it until my head was clear again. “So do you think Theo will just let you leave?” My voice was a little rough.
It took a moment for Fletcher to catch up with my question, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his head.
When he’d gathered himself, he said, “Sure, I’m not in her inner circle or one of her pets. She doesn’t care when the lower vampires come and go.”
“Oh.” The image of Theo wrapped around Owen as she glared at me flashed in my mind. Of course I had fallen for one of the vamps who belonged to the megalomaniac Vampire Mistress of the county. I couldn’t have chosen someone like Fletcher, who could come and go as he pleased without suffering the wrath of the great-and-powerful Theo. No, I always had to take the hard way.
“You’re thinking about Owen,” Fletcher said, catching me off guard.
I stared at him.
“Your scent changed,” he said. “You went from concern and worry over me to something bitter and angry.”
“So why would you assume that meant I was thinking about Owen?” I asked, trying to figure out how to change my scent at will.
“Whenever you talk about him, your scent changes to that,” Fletcher said.
“Interesting.” I took another sip of my wine. It was warmer now and the taste sweeter. My vision was a little softer too.
“What do you mean, ‘interesting’?”
“I mean that I find it interesting that when I speak of or think of the man I’m supposed to love, my scent turns bitter and sour.” I drained my glass in one large swallow.
A tiny drop of wine dripped out of the corner of my mouth, and before I could wipe it away, Fletcher’s thumb was there, his fingers curled under my chin. I froze, my eyes level with his. I knew it was the wine, but I was fascinated by the fact that his high, sharp cheekbones appeared softer. His thumb brushed close to my mouth as he caught the drip of wine, and I almost, almost pursed my lips to touch that soft thumb.
I watched him press his thumb to his own lips, licking away the drop of wine. I didn’t remember doing it, but I was leaning forward, closer to Fletcher. The brown of his eyes shifted, a golden light coming to life within their depths, even as his pupils grew and pulled me into the black.
Fletcher leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. His face was so close to mine that I could smell the musky scent of his cologne. I had never noticed his cologne before. It was nice. Fletcher inched closer. His knee brushed mine, then his cheek was next to mine. If I turned my face, I could have brushed my lips against his skin. But I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe. All I could do was wait and hope.
“Now,” he whispered, his lips painfully close to my ear and the heat of his breath along my neck, “when you think about me”—his hand touched mine, his fingers tracing a slow, circular design on my palm—“you smell sweet.”
He turned his face toward mine and pressed his surprisingly warm lips to my cheek. I closed my eyes, trying to memorize the shape of his lips against my skin. His fingers slipped from my hand as he stood. Before I could open my eyes again, he was across the room, picking up his coat and swinging it around to slip his arms through the sleeves.
I pressed my hands to my cheeks, trying to gather my senses before I stood. When I got to my feet, the room shifted and I had to hold on the chair to keep my balance. When I could walk straight, I moved to the front door to undo the locks and lift the freezing spell. I stepped back, holding the door for Fletcher and trying desperately to look anywhere but at his face and those inviting eyes of his.
I thought he would just walk out without another word, but he stopped in front of me and took my hand. He lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss to the heel of my palm. I watched it all as if I was outside my body, floating over the scene and unable to speak, unable to do anything.
“I’m glad you’re doing okay,” he said. “Maybe I can come by and see you again? Hopefully sometime soon?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, not nearly as smooth and self-assured as Fletcher.
But he didn’t tease me about it. Instead he smiled at me, the glowing light in his eyes fading before he turned and headed down the hall.
Chapter 9
I sat at my kitchen table with a cooling cup of coffee in my hands. My eyes were starting to burn, and when I squinted at the clock over the stove, the red numbers were blurry. I finished brewing a little less than an hour ago and I was desperate to go to bed, but I had one last appointment to deal with. Edwin had said he’d be at my apartment at seven a.m., and he struck me as the kind of guy who was pretty literal. So when the clock clicked over from six fifty-nine to seven o’clock, the gentle knock at the door didn’t surprise me. I pushed away from the table, grabbed the two vials of potions, and went to answer the door.
Edwin was in a crisp navy suit, low profile glasses, and had a black messenger bag slung over his right shoulder. In his left hand was a large, steaming cup of Starbucks coffee, and in his right hand was his phone, his thumb racing over the keys. His jet-black hair was slicked back, exposing his high forehead, and when I opened the door, his thin black brows lifted.
“Good morning, Ms. Kavanagh,” Edwin said with a nod.
“Yeah, sure.” I stepped back and waved him inside.
Edwin finished his text and locked the screen on his phone before tucking it into his bag. “I’m sorry?” He turned his confused face toward me.
I waved off the comment. It wasn’t worth repeating. “Here you go. Thanks for the extra time.” I held out the two vials. One was a faint, clear blue and the other was a dark green.
Edwin stepped closer and peered at the potions, touching his glasses to push them up the bridge of his nose. “How do these work?”
“This one”—I held up the clear blue potion—“is the healing potion. He just drinks it, no biggie. This one?” I held up the darker, less pleasant looking one. “He’ll need to add three drops of his blood and then give it to the girl.”
“I see,” Edwin said with a sniff.
“Yes, you have to make him add his blood. It won’t work if the focusing object is missing. And listen,” I said, pulling my hand back as Edwin reached for the vials. “He can’t slip it to her in another liquid, okay? He’s gotta give it to her in a straight shot. If you add anything else, you’ll compromise the molecular stru
cture and change the potion and ruin it. Got it?”
Edwin nodded. “Got it.”
“I’m serious,” I warned. “It’s a one-shot deal. Fox tries anything funny and it won’t work, and I don’t give refunds.”
“I understand.” Edwin held out his hands for the potions. “After he’s added the blood, does he need to be the one to give it to her?”
“You mean, can he foist this unpleasant task onto a lackey?” I arched a brow and watched Edwin’s lips thin into a tight line before he nodded. “I guess. I mean, it’s his mess, he should clean it up, but no, that part doesn’t matter.”
“Excellent. This is for you.” He pulled an envelope from his bag and handed it to me.
I stood in front of the door, refusing to move until I’d counted the entire amount. It was a good thing I did, because it was light by a thousand dollars. “Where’s the other half?”
“Once Mr. Fox is satisfied with your product, we will send the second payment.” Edwin tucked the vials into his bag, as if I couldn’t get them back from him.
“That wasn’t our deal.”
“I’m sorry,” Edwin said. Like magic, his face transformed. He was suddenly the guy who’d asked me to take the job at the valet stand, looking embarrassed about working for such a slimeball.
“Sorry doesn’t pay my rent or buy my silence.” I crossed my arms, tapping the light envelope on my arm.
“This is how Fox does business. If the potions work, you’ll get the other half.”
“Somehow I think that’s toad scum.”
“Ms. Kavanagh, you and I both know that your going rate for one of these potions is only a hundred dollars, so you’re really not losing anything here.”
“No, but Fox will if I don’t get the other half.” I glared at Edwin, knowing he didn’t have another cent on him and keeping him there wouldn’t do a damn bit of good. Stupid bridge dweller. “Look, if I don’t get the second half of my payment by Sunday at eight p.m., Fox will hear from me and he won’t like it. You got me?”
“Of course.” He nodded again and lifted both brows, waiting for me to get out of his way.
I opened the door and stepped back to let him pass. “Sunday night. Not one minute late. I am not the witch he wants to play games with, Edwin.”
“Thank you for your cooperation.” Edwin pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose again and turned to walk down the hall to the elevator.
I slammed the door and threw the locks into place, punctuating each one with a choice swear word. I should have known that the stupid, slimy son of a hobgoblin would try to double cross me. I’d just thought that Edwin was a good guy, a man of his word, and wouldn’t let Fox pull any crap. I’d really thought Edwin would show up with the full payment, especially after I’d knocked five hundred bucks off the total.
“Well,” I said, looking across the apartment and locking eyes with Artemis. “If he tries to stiff me, it’ll be the biggest mistake of his life, even bigger than sleeping with that woman and her awkward ailment. Stupid bridge dweller.”
***
Later, after not enough hours of sleep, I was back in my kitchen and busy bottling potions for my apartment full of customers. This year, I had an almost equal mix of humans and supernaturals waiting for their orders. With Halloween less than six hours away, people’s nerves were pulled tighter than violin strings.
I took care of my regular customers first, doling out pain relief potions and charms, because they were the easiest. I could get them out of the apartment quickly and give us all a little more breathing room. I always seemed to forget that Halloween fell on the last day of the month, when my regulars needed their refills. Next year, I had to be better about scheduling my appointments.
But I couldn’t really complain; I had so many orders for anti-hex and anti-jinx potions and charms that I would be able to enjoy the Samhain festival better than I had in years, even with Fox trying to short me. I would be able to buy any food or trinkets my little heart desired without counting the coins in my purse, terrified I wouldn’t make rent.
By the time I was down to the last handful of customers, my kitchen was almost too warm to stand. I opened my window and Artie jumped onto the sill, his tail flicking back and forth as he growled in frustration. He never did like it when I had too many people in the apartment.
“I know, boy,” I said as I stoppered the last three bottles of anti-jinx potion. “But they’re almost gone, and then we can curl up on the couch and watch some trashy TV. I promise.”
Artie twitched his whiskers at me like he didn’t believe me.
“Okay, here we go,” I said, walking out into the living room. I stopped short. When I’d gone into the kitchen, there were only three people waiting. Now there were five.
Two punk rock kids were standing close to the front door, eyeing the trio of gremlins on the couch. The gremlins glared right back at the human kids. Gremlins didn’t trust humans nearly as much as most of us because they were so often captured by the government. Their metal-working powers were used to develop new and inventive tanks, planes, bombs, and whatever else the government abductors could think of.
“I’m sorry,” I said, recovering quickly. “Do you have an appointment?”
The two kids looked at each other, as if deciding who was supposed to be doing the talking.
Finally the girl turned toward me and said, “No, sorry. I didn’t know we needed one.”
“Just a minute,” I said, nodding toward the kitchen table.
They were quick to take the silent direction, and they hurried past me, out of the line of sight of the gremlins on the couch. The three gremlins, a man and wife and their small daughter, were well concealed by a complicated glamour spell. They looked like average humans, even if they were at least half a foot too short. But really, who was I to call someone short?
“Okay, here you go,” I said, handing the bottles to the gremlin man. “This one you each take a swallow of. It’ll work for twenty-four hours, so if you take it at midnight tonight, it’ll get you through Halloween. Another swallow at midnight tomorrow, and it’ll get you through Samhain.”
He took the first bottle, held it up to the light, and squinted at it.
“And this one,” I said, handing it to his wife, “you sprinkle at your doorstep or wherever someone can enter your property. It will repel anyone who means you harm or mischief.”
She took the bottle with her free hand. Their young daughter clung to her other hand and peered out at me from behind her mother. When I tried to smile at her, she darted back, hiding her face.
“Thank you, Ms. Kavanagh,” the gremlin man said in his gravelly voice, touching the brim of his fedora with two fingers.
I nodded and moved to the door to hold it open for them. When they were gone, I locked the door and turned back to my unexpected visitors. They looked like human teenagers, but they could’ve just had young faces. They were both vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint where I might know them from. The girl’s skin was so pale, I was worried she was sick, but her thick black eyeliner and bright pink lips told me that she may want to be that pale. She had light blue hair that shifted in tone until the tips were a deep turquoise. It was the kind of hair you would think a mermaid would have. Her earlobes were stretched and held open with clear plugs.
Her fishnet stockings were torn in multiple places and disappeared into purple combat boots that weren’t laced properly. She’d chosen a teal-and-blue pleated skirt that was so short, I was sure she couldn’t bend over without showing off her goods. Under her lightweight Army jacket and half a dozen necklaces, I could just make out the logo for Black Witch White Magic on her T-shirt. At least we liked the same music.
The boy was Japanese. His skin looked fair rather than pale, and his dark eyes were clear of any makeup. His jet-black hair was caught in a topknot like some modern-day Samurai. He wore boots like Fletcher’s that came all the way up to his knees, about a half a dozen silver buckles on each. His black p
ants were so tight, I had to avert my eyes or else risk feeling like a creepy old lady. His T-shirt was ripped to shreds, exposing slices of skin, but I thought it used to show a grinning skull. He was wearing a long black coat with a Mandarin collar that he left open, showing off his carefully chosen outfit.
“So,” I said, walking up to the table and resting my hand on the back of an empty chair, “what can I do for you?”
Again they shared a look. Clearly they hadn’t discussed their strategy before coming over. Maybe they had expected me to intuit their needs.
“All right, are we looking for a spell? Maybe a potion, a charm?” I lifted my eyebrows and looked from one pale face to the other, waiting for a response. “Maybe a glamour for the epic Halloween party you’re going to tomorrow night?”
Still they looked to the other to say something. I felt my patience waning, and I could hear my couch calling.
“All right, kiddos,” I said, throwing up my hands. “Why don’t you come back later when you’ve got your courage up and have rehearsed your script a couple of times?” I turned away from them and headed toward the front door.
“Our friend is missing,” the boy blurted, stopping me in my tracks.
I turned around slowly, afraid to make any sudden movements in case I scared them back into their temporary muteness. “I see. So you need a seeking charm then?”
They turned to look at each other, and I had to fight the urge to yell at them.
“Maybe,” the girl said, but she kept her eyes on the boy when she spoke to me.
I moved toward the kitchen. “Well, that’s the best I can do. I’m not a tracker or a private detective; all I can do to help you find your friend is make you a seeking charm. It’s fifty dollars and should only take me a few minutes. You’ll need to have something of his that I can use to invoke the charm.”
“You know him too,” the boy said. His voice was soft, like a feather drifting on the wind, but it stopped me cold.
Samhain (Matilda Kavanagh Book 2) Page 10
