Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

Nathaniel

When you had three hundred years to learn about investing, your coffers filled, then overfilled, rather quickly.

The money was inconsequential.

But it was exactly what would motivate the witch to do what I was asking of her. She might even see it as a choice. It wasn't. But if it secured her willingness, it would be worth it.

"Excuse me?" she asked, dropping back down into one of the library chairs.

"Two million dollars. Cash. At the completion of the job. It should be a sufficient sum to continue your quest to clog your arteries with sloth and gluttony."

To that, she let out a snort. "Sloth and gluttony," she repeated. "You know, if you watched some of the ‘television programs' you are so quick to scoff at, you might be able to speak like a modern person instead of an old-timey one."

"When it comes to the many things superior in my time than yours, language is close to the top."

"Many superior things, hm? All that sexism, slavery, war, famine, and rampant disease was a jolly good time, huh?"

"I'm aware your tastes run toward the… frivolous. But if you would watch one of your news programs, you would know that all those things exist in this time as well."

"Fair," she agreed, either seeing my point or feeling no need to exert herself to prove a point. I was inclined to believe the latter. "Anyway. Two million dollars. What are the strings?"

"No strings," I said, lying through my teeth. "So long as you complete the job, the money is yours."

"How long will it take?"

"I assume that depends on how motivated you are to finish. We can start as soon as tonight. I imagine we could be done in a week."

She blanched at that timeframe, likely imagining all of the episodes of her shows she might miss. But she would have nothing but time to catch up when all of this was over.

And my problem would be solved. Forever.

"Where is the job?" she asked.

"This is the headquarters. You will be staying with me in between tasks so I can keep an eye on you. The key is located in the city. The labyrinth is not."

"Where is the key located in the city?"

"In a church," I admitted.

"Of course it is," she said, shaking her head. "That's why you need me? Couldn't a human just do it for you?"

"A human couldn't get past the wards. You can."

"So, you want me to break into a church, then break through wards set up by witches to get you a key? No worries about my immortal soul or anything, right?"

"Churches are open to the public," I reasoned.

"But not to witches," she shot back.

"It's a gray area," I said, shrugging.

"Why is there a warded key in a church anyway?"

"Because no one would think to look for it there," I told her.

It had taken me the better part of seventy-five years to locate it myself. Poring over every ancient text, questioning every distant descendent to the witches who had been tasked with the protection of the key.

And I finally had it within reach.

I just needed someone with hands that wouldn't burst into flames to procure it for me.

"How is the key warded?" she asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"Where is the key located in the church?"

"Alas, another detail I don't have to give you."

"So, I'm just supposed to walk into a church, where I am not welcome, and poke around for a few hours to find it, then spend another few hours trying to get past the wards to steal the key… all without getting caught?"

"Yes."

"You don't see any flaws in this plan?"

"The execution of the mission is not my concern. I will drive you to the church. I will wait outside until you get the key. And then we will make our way to the labyrinth while you sleep and recharge."

"There's a flaw in your plan," she said, watching me with those big green eyes.

"I sincerely doubt that."

"I am not that powerful of a witch."

"I believe it would be more accurate to say you are not motivated enough to learn the extent of your power. Believe me, I have done my research. You have the power. You must simply learn to utilize it."

"And you expect me to learn to do that in the next, what, hour or so?"

"Trial by fire, if you will. I fear you will need to change into something less… conspicuous," I said, gaze moving down over her light tank top and fuzzy yellow pajama bottoms featuring cats and dogs in the shapes of loaves of bread.

"You will also need to feed me," she said. "Unless you want the priest and nuns to hear my stomach growling and thwart my attempt to steal your key."

"Fine," I said, striding out of the study to find someone to find some suitable clothing and replacement Chinese food.

As a rule, vampires didn't need to breathe. But, alone, I sucked in a deep breath with the sole purpose of cleaning my nose and lungs of the scent of the witch.

Perhaps she did not taste of summer honey, of black-eyed susans, zinnias, and lavender in full bloom, but that was the scent that clung to her, that swirled around her whenever she so much as turned her head.

It was overwhelming, distracting.

My mind flashed back to the ride in the back of the town car, of her compact, curvy body situated on my lap, the bumps and turns making her rock against me.

It was simply the friction, surely, that had desire spreading through me.

I was not someone whose tastes ran to the exotic. The occasional human, sure, but certainly never a witch.

Trusting that the witch was secure in the study with a guard a few dozen feet away, I took myself into the kitchen, pouring a glass of whiskey and throwing it back.

Drunkenness was possible for vampires, but one had to be quite determined to get there. I just wanted the burn of the fire down my throat to provide a distraction from the stirrings of desire sparking through my system.

I made my way back into the study an hour later, finding the witch sitting in my chair at the desk, the surface littered with precious ancient texts… and cartons of fried Chinese food.

A journal from a French priest in the Dark Ages had a wide noodle sitting on its worn leather cover.

"What do you think you are doing?" I snapped, lifting up the journal, the movement making the noodle slide off and land on the surface of my desk that had been crafted by six blind Spanish monks.

A rumble moved through me as I collected more tomes.

"Are you… growling at me?" the witch asked, lips twitching as she twirled her chopsticks into a carton of more of those noodles. "Isn't that for werewolves, not vampires?"

"Do not eat around precious, one-of-a-kind books," I snapped, admittedly offended by being compared to a dog.

"Sooorry for trying to do a little research on your special little magical key," she said, rolling her eyes as she shoved a laughably large amount of noodles into her mouth. "I mean, I don't even know what it looks like."

"You don't need to know what it looks like. You will feel its energy when you are near. It may even call to you."

"If you say so," she said, sitting back in my chair to put her legs up on the edge of the desk.

I needed her out of my study.

Before I did something stupid like snap her neck.

I didn't have time to find another witch.

"Are you sufficiently nourished?" I asked, finding the bag one of the servants had brought in. Presumably containing the clothing I'd asked for.

"I barely got started," she said, gesturing to the collection of no fewer than five cartons of food, all of which were half-eaten.

"You won't starve," I said, watching her eyes narrow.

"Are you calling me fat?"

"I am saying you have eaten enough to last you the next few hours. Change into the clothes, so we can be off," I said, dropping the bag onto the desk, then turning away to start re-shelving my books.

"Right here?" she squeaked.

"Trust me, there is no need for modesty," I drawled.

"What's that supposed to mean? Is there something wrong with me?"

"Yes," I said, glancing over my shoulder. "You're a witch. Change."

I focused on the task at hand, pretending all the while that I was not acutely aware of the swoosh of her clothes as she slid them off of her body. That I wasn't thinking of the soft, warm flesh being exposed.

"There," she declared a few moments later. "Is it giving International Super Spy ?" she asked as I slid the last book into its place, then turned to look at her.

Gone were the ill-fitting, juvenile pants.

In their place was a pair of black leggings that hugged every inch of her shapely thighs, hips, and ass.

Her tank top was covered with a simple black t-shirt that hid the upper part of her body.

A pity, that.

No.

This had nothing to do with her body, damn it all.

This was about her power.

And her willingness to do what I desperately needed done.

As if to prove this point, as I turned, a pain shot through my knee, little knives of agony in the joint that had no right to still be animated three centuries later.

The wear and tear of human decay.

That was what I was feeling.

That was why I needed this witch.

That was why I needed to stop looking at those cherry lips and thinking of them on my lips, on my neck, on my—

"Let's go," I snapped, tone harsher than I'd intended.

"Always in such a rush," she grumbled as she followed me out of the study.

"I believe you only feel that way because your general pace would make a tortoise seem speedy."

"You're, like, incredibly unlikable," she declared as we moved out into the humid night air. "Has anyone ever said that to you before?"

"Yes."

"Are they still alive?" she asked, and I felt her gaze on my profile.

"No."

She had nothing to say to that as she slid into the back seat of the car.

I moved to sit beside her.

And I absolutely did not think about how much nicer the drive had been with her on my lap.

"You're growling again," she said, glancing over at me.

"I am not."

"Sure, okay, buddy," she said, gaze out the side window, which was how I saw her rolling her eyes at me once again.

This was going to be the longest week of my very long life. For more reasons than one, I decided, as her honey-flower scent wafted over to me in the enclosed space.