Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

Nathaniel

Roxanne Caulderone had to be the laziest witch in the tri-state area. If not the entire country.

Before her, I'd never even heard of a witch who would sell spells without actually working one-on-one with clients. Let alone sell spells to absolute strangers via a custom-made box she'd posted outside of her apartment building, so she didn't even have to walk to the post office to send anything out.

It was an impressive level of laziness.

But it was that laziness I was hoping might work in my favor.

I was running out of time.

I flexed my hand, feeling an ache in my knuckles as I stood outside of the apartment building where the witch who I hoped could solve all my problems lived.

"Is that for Roxanne?" I asked as a delivery guy climbed off of his bike and grabbed a large bag of takeaway out of the front basket.

"Ah, Roxy," he said, checking the app on his phone.

"I can bring it up to her," I said, reaching in my pocket for the one thing that made humans do just about anything you asked of them. Even willingly let you open up a vein and have a nice long drink.

Money.

The man's eyes bulged at the hundred-dollar bill. Then he was thrusting the bag at me while taking the cash.

"Thanks, man. Really," he said, rushing to climb back onto his bike.

Such a simple thing, money.

I'd had more than enough time to learn how to compound my own.

But humans never seemed to be flush with it. Save for a few billionaires at the top. Men and women who made monsters like me look like sweet little kittens.

Speaking of, a stray or locked-out pet was lounging on the front steps when I approached. Sensing me, it leaped to its feet, its hackles raising, its middle back arching comically high while it let out a hiss.

"Right back at you," I said, stabbing my finger into the button beside Miss Caulderone's apartment. It was the only one marked at all. But she had gone above and beyond to make her name clear in blocky permanent marker. One would assume, so all the delivery men and women could easily find her, since she never seemed to leave her apartment.

In fact, I had yet to lay eyes upon her, so she must fill her potions box in the daylight hours.

I was expecting someone gray-haired, stooped, and arthritic. Not exactly the best candidate for the task I needed completed. But beggars, it was true, could not be choosers.

Besides, every other witch had turned me down.

In fact, most I could not even get close to, thanks to their many wards to keep dark spirits away.

I had a sneaking suspicion as the door unlocked, and the universe took that as an invitation to allow me inside, that Roxanne Caulderone was not the sort to go out of her way to ward her apartment.

I made my way up to the third floor, where I saw the ghost of a woman at the end of the hall, tssking at the Easter mat that was still outside of a tenant's door despite it being the middle of summer.

"You," she said, spotting me, raising a long, bony, gray finger. "You should not be here!" she said in that faraway voice that all ghosts had.

Humans, if they heard it on nights when the veil between planes was low, would likely find it terrifying.

I'd been living amongst the ghosts for the better part of three hundred years. Not even the ones holding their own heads or walking around with limbs blown off affected me anymore.

Besides, they had no actual power.

"I was invited," I informed her as she moved toward me, feet floating just an inch or so above the ground as she eyed me with beady black eyes in her ashen face.

"Something isn't right with you," she told me, moving closer.

Tell me about it.

That was why I was here, after all.

I ignored the ghost as I made my way to the second apartment, finding that the witch had affixed some sort of shelving unit to the exterior of her door. Presumably, for delivery people to drop off her packages since she was such a recluse.

The scent of the Chinese food in my hand wafted up at me, creating a physiological response I wasn't sure I'd felt for three centuries.

The churning of hunger.

For food .

Sure, vampires could consume food to allow us to appear more human. But we rarely tasted anything. And it certainly never sated our particular kind of hunger.

On a grumble, I raised my hand to knock.

As my knuckles met the door, I felt no resistance, save for the familiar block that wouldn't allow me to enter without explicit permission.

Then this blessedly clueless witch did exactly that.

Invited me in.

Sure, she meant for it to be an invitation for the delivery man. But the universe didn't often care for those types of specifics.

The block lifted, and I was able to grab the knob and push the unlocked door inward.

Incredibly, though not unexpectedly, there was nothing to stop me from moving inside.

Sure, she had the bell above the door, a little trick to likely keep the nosy, judgmental, deceased former tenant or landlady out of her apartment.

It did nothing to keep me out, though.

I moved inside, not sure what I was expecting.

Human style was an ever-evolving thing. So much so that I didn't even care to notice it much anymore.

But Miss Caulderone's apartment stuck out to me precisely for the utter lack of style.

Bare white walls, bare windows, save for the blinds that had likely come with the apartment. No rugs. No art. No knickknacks.

Just a pile of unopened packages.

And a cauldron sitting on top of the stove, still smelling faintly of cinnamon and sugar from one of the spells she hadn't bothered cleaning up after.

I moved inward, expecting the pile of blankets on the couch to pop up, to notice my presence. But she stayed cocooned in her nest, likely fixated on the program playing on the TV that featured two unnaturally attractive people speaking stilted romantic lines to each other.

"I left your tip on the app. Thanks," she called from her blanket fort, at least having the presence to notice someone was still in her apartment.

Truly, the lack of concern for her personal safety was shocking. Even if times had evolved, and there were no longer roving clans of men stealing through villages to assault and murder them anymore, there was still danger for women of all sorts. Their one true predator. Men.

And, of course, vampires they accidentally invited into their apartment.

As if sensing my train of thought, the lumpy pile of blankets shifted as she reached for something under the couch.

Then froze.

Likely sensing that whatever she was reaching for would do no good against me.

All of a sudden, the pile of blankets shot off of the couch, then slid to the floor.

Leaving Roxanne Caulderone standing there staring at me.

She was not, as anticipated, old, gray-haired, and stooped.

In fact, she was young, blonde, and beautiful.

Her blonde hair was cut just above her shoulders, mussed from lounging, and framing a heart-shaped, feminine face. It was dominated by large green eyes and pouty cherry lips.

Her body was compact. Short and round around the chest, hips, and thighs, but she wasn't holding evidence of the dozen or so bags of empty chip bags that were scattered all across her coffee table and floor.

She was stunning.

"You really should be more careful about who you invite into your home, Miss Caulderone."

She shook off her shock, her sage eyes narrowing at me.

"I was expecting a delivery," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

We will pretend I did not notice the way the movement made her chest press together under the material of her tank top.

As if sensing that train of thought, she grabbed for something on the couch, producing a comically oversized hooded sweatshirt, and wrestling it on until it completely engulfed her small frame.

"Is there something wrong with your legs?" I asked.

"I tip extra so I don't have to go downstairs," she said, angling her chin up. "What are you doing here? Vampires don't like to feed off of witches."

That was… mostly true.

Due to protection measures through many generations of wiccan ancestors, their blood typically tasted charred and inedible.

Though there were some newer witches who didn't acquire their magic through genes, that tasted like the seasons. Sweet like the first kiss of spring. Bright and clear as a summer sky. Rich and heady like a fall storm. Crisp and refreshing like fresh-fallen snow.

Though you had no way of knowing without taking a bite.

I couldn't help but wonder what Miss Caulderone would taste like. My best guess was something thick and sweet like July honey.

Even as my mind drifted there, though, the umami scent of the Chinese food met my nose again, making my stomach cramp with hunger.

Right.

Back to the issue at hand.

"I have an arrangement to discuss with you."

"Oh, cool. Well, I'm not interested. So please leave my Chinese food there and see yourself out."

"I'm afraid that is not how this is going to go," I informed her.

Before she could react, I was across the room, wrapping an arm around her waist and sealing my hand over her mouth, then rushing back out of her apartment building.

To a human, it would have looked like a flash of movement in their peripheral vision, something that made their stomachs drop and had them turning to inspect further.

But by the time they turned their heads, I would already be long gone.

I didn't slow until I was in the back of my town car with a squirming witch on my lap, creating a rather… bothersome friction that in no way had desire sparking through my system.

"Drive," I demanded of the driver.

It was time for Roxanne Caulderone to fix the curse that had been eating away at my immortality for a generation.

Whether she liked it or not.