“You think so?”

  He nodded. “I know so. I can go for long periods without feeding because I’m hundreds of years old. You’re basically a newborn though. Your body is trying to understand what it’s becoming. Give it what it wants and you should be able to return to normal again... That is my belief, at any rate.”

  But what if he was wrong? What if the blood just tugged me closer to the undead line? At what point would I tip over and become just like him? The thought shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did. I mean, I had vampire brothers and a vampire boyfriend. Goddess knew it would be easier to be one thing or the other. But a part of me balked at the idea.

  Undead forever…

  How could I embrace such a thing when my life wasn’t in jeopardy? At least, I didn’t think it was.

  Then I remembered the scene in the shop today. That single bead of blood on Maverick’s finger had been so captivating, I’d almost snatched his hand and licked it off right there and then. And that had to mean… well, it had to mean Lorcan was right. If I could barely keep it together around my cousin, what would I do if a customer slipped and fell in my shop, skinning their knee?

  “I can’t just... bite someone,” I whispered.

  “Of course not. Your baby fangs aren’t sharp enough. You’d make a right mess of it.”

  “Then how...” I began, trailing off when he lifted a hand to his mouth and bit into the fleshy side of his palm. Blood welled almost immediately and ran down his wrist when he held it out to me.

  “I’m your sire, so it should help,” he explained. “It’s also... a bonding experience between vampires. It should fill that hole within you… for now, at least.”

  I stared at the rivulets of blood coursing down his wrist, transfixed. In the low light, his blood shone like liquid rubies. My mouth went dry and my thoughts were suddenly hazy. The screeching voice in my head that said this was wrong, that it was gross, had faded to a mere whisper. I barely acknowledged it as I drifted forward, settling on the couch next to him. His breath hitched when I took his hand gingerly and lifted it to my lips.

  The first swallow made me groan.

  Rare steak had helped this hunger for a while, but meat wasn’t what I truly wanted. This was what I’d been craving—the warm, rich taste of blood. And Lorcan’s was heady, its own sort of magic. Through it, I could feel the golden thread that bound us together. I could feel him, a steadfast presence beside me. I could feel the depths of his adoration for me, knew he’d felt for me longer and more deeply than I had for him. My love was new, a shaky thing, a thing I was still trying to understand and more times than I cared to account for, it frightened me. I was ashamed to acknowledge that I was the more fickle one in our relationship. Lorcan wanted me, whether I was a witch, a vampire, or something in-between. And he’d always wanted me.

  “I’ve got you, sweetling. We’ll get this sorted, mark my words.” Lorcan’s hand came up to stroke my hair gently and his Irish brogue was thicker than I’d ever heard it.

  And somehow, by some miracle, I believed him.

  ***

  There was blood in my smoothie.

  True, it was only a few tablespoons, but there was still blood in my smoothie. I could taste it, Lorcan’s blood, beneath the blueberries, adding a strangely cherry undertone. It was pleasant and a part of me was incredibly disturbed by that. Blood-drinking should have been vile, right?

  “Would you quit making faces at whatever you’re drinking?” Maverick muttered, pulling a gold thread through the collar of the angora dress.

  The last of the spell work Maverick was in the process of creating was due to be finished today—a form-fitted dress. When he was through, we’d display the piece in the shop window. I was fairly sure the dress would go fast, leaving the mannequin, Sybil, without clothing once more. Maverick had laughed when I’d told him each mannequin had its own name.

  ‘Too sentimental’, he’d said I was. Regardless, this mannequin was named ‘Sybil Weeks’, a bastardization of a real witch, Sybil Leek. Most of my mannequins had witchy names. The petite one with the pixie-cut wig was ‘Izzie Goodie’, a bastardization of Isobel Gowdie. So on and so forth. I had fewer names for the male mannequins (and fewer male mannequins) and had opted to name them after prominent fantasy writers.

  I glanced up from the shaker bottle I’d stored my blood smoothie in, startled by Maverick’s voice. It was the first time he’d spoken all day. We’d been working in resentful silence most of the morning—just like we had after our argument the day before. Maverick was still sore about Astrid’s application to Blood Rose Academy, and I guessed I couldn’t blame him. After what he and Astrid had been through at the hands of Janeth, sending Astrid to a faraway school, where he couldn’t protect her, must have sounded like a nightmare.

  The truth of the matter was that the idea made me nervous too. Astrid was a young witch—young, naïve, and far too comfortable with the undead for my liking. Getting cozy with a vampire could get her in trouble, just like Maverick was worried about. But at the end of the day, she was coming into her powers and needed more instruction than I could provide and more than Poppy could provide.

  “What did you say?”

  He nodded at my smoothie. “Stop scowling at it. If you don’t like it, toss it in the trash and walk back to the Creamery to get another. Contrary to popular opinion, I am competent enough to run the till while you’re out.”

  I opened my mouth, ready to defend myself, and then closed it again. I knew him well enough to understand what he was doing. Maverick was prodding me, trying to goad me into a fight. It was the way he’d communicated with everyone for years. Well, he’d have to learn how to communicate in a new way—one without rage.

  “It tastes fine,” I said. It wasn’t even a lie. Even a small amount of Lorcan’s blood had allowed me to taste again. How much and how often I’d need to... ugh... feed remained a mystery.

  “Then tend to your potion. If you let it boil too long, the cardamom is going to scorch, and then the potion will be useless. Or worse, it could explode. That mix is volatile.”

  He had a point, loathe as I was to admit it.

  According to Poppy’s instructions, the cardamom was best in its purest form, which meant I’d have to strain the seeds before bottling the potion. If the seeds scorched, it would throw off the balance of the entire mixture and I’d have to start from scratch. Not to mention the lengths I’d have to go to dispose of it properly. There was a good chance it could kill vegetation or make the mundane sick. So, I aimed a brief scowl in Maverick’s direction before turning my attention back to the potion.

  This was my first solo potion-making session in years. While I’d been attending Astrid’s potion lessons sometimes, I’d only shown marginal improvement. My sort-of kid was outstripping me by a mile, and seemed to take gleeful satisfaction anytime I flubbed a potion she’d mastered. I’d actually stolen the makeshift potion book Poppy had written for Astrid from Astrid’s bookshelf in an effort to teach myself without anyone else knowing what I was up to.

  I had to at least elevate myself to the level of competent. It was just hard to focus when the gypsy had scrawled her recipes into a Lisa Frank notebook. Who could brew properly with a doe-eyed unicorn watching? It was like someone had chugged a gallon of happiness and then spewed rainbows over a hapless notebook—it was just wrong.

  “What are you bespelling, anyway?” Maverick muttered distractedly. “I don’t see any clothing.”

  “A series of cloth headbands,” I answered, lifting the potion from its burner. Honestly, I felt like I was in a high school chemistry class, not brewing potions—something I was supposed to be good at, given what I was… or what I’d used to be. “The client requested something unobtrusive that could be worn often. This was the compromise.”

  Maverick pulled a golden thread through the neck of the angora dress he was finishing. The intricate maze of Celtic knots was nearly done. Not only did the top layer disguise the spell work on the underside, but it also looked beautiful to boot. Maverick had a talent for this kind of work, loathe as he was to admit it. And I’d never tell him as much.

  “Cardamom,” he mused. “Confidence potion, I assume?”

  “Spliced with an anti-anxiety potion, yes.”

  “Dangerous attempt for a novice,” he said with a snicker. It was no secret that I was shit with potions and Maverick was well aware of that fact. His eyes slid to me, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. For a second, he looked like his old self: arrogant, mocking, and an all-around jerk. It was an encouraging sight.

  “I am not a novice!” I snapped. “Don’t forget how much older I am than you, Charmin!”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Well, don’t call me that!”

  He laughed. “Age has nothing to do with it, cousin mine. Astrid is a superior potion maker, and she’s practically a baby. Face it. You’re a dud. A big, bumbling, incompetent—”

  “Are you through?” I asked, cutting across him. It was one thing to let him have his fun, but if I let him continue, we’d devolve into scathing insults.

  “Yes,” he said, then gave my potion a significant look. “And so is that. It’s boiling. Better strain it before it explodes.” Then he shrugged. “Although, I must admit, it might be fun to watch it explode.”

  I glanced down and, sure enough, found bubbles popping merrily on the surface of the potion. I hissed a vile curse and pulled the beaker from the heat, searing my fingers in the process. That resulted in yet more cursing, drawing an amused chuckle from Maverick as he watched me hot potato the damn thing to the other side of the room… all the way to the strainer.

  I’d almost made it to my goal when Hellcat poked his furry and useless head from my back room and strolled lazily into my path.

  “Where are my Fancy Feast vittles?” he demanded, reaching out his paws and stretching himself into a long line. “I must admit to being quite famished.”

  He looked exhausted and had no doubt spent most of his night talking with my brother. William Depraysie was a vampire, which meant he kept roughly the same hours as my... sigh... husband. Hellcat had belonged to my brother before he’d been tied to me and once Hellcat had been reunited with his former master, Hellcat’s demeanor had changed entirely. Well, at least, whenever he was around the former warlock, anyway. I had to half wonder if Hellcat might actually be tolerable if allowed to stay with William. The sad fact was that William and Amos would never recover their magic which meant they didn’t need familiars and that meant Hellcat was stuck with me, whether he liked it or not.

  I certainly didn’t like it.

  Something hit the shop window hard, drawing the little beast’s attention and mine for the briefest of moments. But the moment was long enough that the unthinkable happened. Hellcat stepped into my path, too distracted by whatever had impacted the window to notice me.

  My feet twisted and then went out from under me as I tried to stop suddenly, and the vial and its contents slipped from my fingers. I watched, as if in slow motion, as the shimmering liquid formed an arc in mid-air, on a collision course for Maverick and the mannequin he was placing the angora dress on. Maverick was too preoccupied with said mannequin to even realize what was happening.

  My knees hit the carpet at the same time the potion struck home.

  Bright light and thunderous noise filled the shop, and then blackness swallowed me whole.

  Chapter Seven

  Something was burning, and my first thought was, I hope it isn’t me.

  Sad to say, it wasn’t an unfounded fear. Paradoxically, I’d had more life-threatening accidents since moving to Haven Hollow than I’d ever experienced outside it. True, a portion of these incidences fell on the fact that once moving to the Hollow, I was no longer under Crescent Circle Coven’s safekeeping.

  Though I’d traveled every few years for over a century, I’d always done so on the coven’s largesse and rarely alone. There was safety in numbers in a coven, and the worst threat that faced a witch was usually her own sisters. The rare exceptions had been the Blood Wars. I’d been alive for one—the third one, which hadn’t actually been a war. Blood Skirmish was probably more accurate. Blood War Three had been narrowly avoided a century ago when tighter restrictions were placed on the original feuding families.

  I wiggled my fingers experimentally. Nothing broken and nothing burned—as far as I could tell, anyway. That was a relief. Upon further testing, I found my toes in working order as well. My arms and legs were sore, but I could move them. It was a small victory, but I’d take it. So far as I could tell, I was still humanoid and free of boils, hives, or warts.

  Phew.

  When I tried to sit up, however, a railroad spike of agony drove me back to the floor. White lights flashed behind my eyes and a moan escaped my lips. Magical feedback could be a real witch, and this was the worst case I’d ever experienced. The last time I’d hurt myself this badly I’d been attempting a spell to affect the dead, the same enchantment Betanya had cooked up to dissolve a blood bond. Hellcat had been the one to foul that one up, as well. That cat was a menace.

  And with that thought came a host of others. I hadn’t caught the fallout of the explosion, so who or what had? Was Maverick a pile of gelatinous goo, now sinking slowly into the floors? As far as I could tell by touch, at least the section of the floor I was currently sprawled on was still intact. Was the rest of the shop a pile of splinters? Had everything I’d worked so hard for just gone up in flames? Goddess, I hoped not.

  The ringing in my ears was so intense, I didn’t hear anyone approach. The hand that jostled my shoulder was so unexpected, I shrieked. Or rather, I would have shrieked, if I’d had the breath to do so. Sound bubbled out of me as another pathetic moan. I didn’t have the strength to resist when someone tipped my head up.

  “Careful,” a vaguely male voice said. “She could... neck fracture... if you...”

  I didn’t catch every word the man was saying, but I thought I could glean his meaning by the few words I’d made out. I’d apparently hit the deck so hard, whoever this was was worried about a neck fracture. Was it a paramedic? A mundane? How would I explain the explosion if that were the case? Whatever lie we cooked up was going to sound worse than the truth. It was fortunate that the police chief, Taliyah, was on the side of the supernatural, or I had no doubt I’d spend some jail time for this little stunt.

  I racked my brains for some lie, tried to speak, and only managed a wheeze. Then someone put a glass to my lips and poured. I choked on the first swallow, but forced myself to breathe when I recognized the aftertaste. Grapefruit. The gypsy’s recent healing potions had a fruity aftertaste, whether or not the potion’s ingredients called for it.

  Whatever was in the potion, it seemed to do the trick because the cobwebs cleared, and the ringing in my ears lessened, thank the Goddess. Unfortunately, though, it also brought the rest of my aches and pains to the forefront. My back felt like one long sheet of bruises. My arms weren’t much better, as they’d been flung out to my sides when the explosion happened.

  Upon further inspection, I realized I’d been hurled halfway across the store, landing half on top of one of my clothing racks that was now broken on the floor. Loungewear had detonated in every direction, now dangling off mannequins, light fixtures, and other racks. From my vantage point, I could see that the rack closest to the explosion had been the only one destroyed, which was something of a miracle. Maverick’s newly unstable power, combined with the potion and my unknown magical state could have leveled the entire shop. Spell, it could have leveled the entire town.

  I’d take the loss with a smile at this point.

  “Wanda, can you hear me? Come on, say something!”

  Poppy’s voice was panicked, shrill, and on the edge of hysteria. Someone was trying to reason with her, but I couldn’t immediately place the voice. It was female, a pleasant alto that seemed perfectly suited to bedside manner. An EMT, possibly. I wasn’t sure what she’d make of Poppy plying me with potions, but I was beyond caring.

  “Give her some room to breathe,” the woman insisted. “She won’t be able to talk if she’s choking on potions.” There was a pause, then the same voice again. “Maverick’s already up, thanks to you.”

  “But Taliyah...” Poppy said. The hand curled around my face tightened, as though afraid to let me go. It was a relief to know who was hovering over me. My closest friend and the faerie police chief. There could be worse spectators, I supposed.

  “But nothing. Go get a blanket for Wanda’s customer and see if she’s okay. I think she’s in shock. I’ll take care of Wanda.”

  Customer? Goddess, that was bad. There hadn’t been a customer in the store when Maverick and I had been working. Whoever it was must have stepped in the door a moment before the explosion. If we were lucky, this customer could be convinced the whole thing was some sort of industrial accident. If not, there’d be yet another mundane in on the Hollow’s secret—that or someone would have to wipe her mind, the more plausible of the two options.

  And thinking of Maverick… “Mav,” I managed.

  “He’s okay,” Taliyah insisted as she pushed me back down to the ground. “I need you to focus on yourself right now.”

  I blinked at my ceiling for a few seconds, trying to muster the strength to sit up, damn what Taliyah said. I was my own person—or, last I’d checked I was. Even now, strength was coming back to me in increments. The pain in my back dulled but didn’t go away completely. Poppy was good, but she wasn’t a miracle worker. The pain would be back later in the evening, possibly worse because I’d be stiff as well as sore. At least I’d have Lorcan there to help me into an Epsom salt bath.

  Taliyah leaned over me, a ghostly smile on her face. And it was then that I realized how striking she was. She’d always been good-looking—already the envy of most human women because of her statuesque figure. She was tall and leggy, with a nice set of curves and eyes as blue as a bleak winter sky. Her hair had been sandy brown at one point, streaked through with what she’d assumed were grays. As the spell that bound her magic wore off though, the grays had morphed into shimmering silver. The gentle lines of her face had disappeared, replaced by a smooth, snowy complexion. Fitting for a very soon to be faerie princess.