“Here you go, sugar,” Rita says to me and hands me two blended coffees. Whenever I come to Magic Coffee Shop outside of my work schedule, I always insist on making my own drinks, and Rita always insists that I not.
I throw a five-dollar bill in the tip jar, and Rita plucks it out and crams it in my hand. “You keep your money. I know you have dreams.” She winks at me and busies herself with the steamer.
Knowing it’s pointless to fight a witch, I pocket the money. “Thanks, Rita. I’ll see you later.”
I join Sam outside on the sidewalk. It’s just a little after ten in the morning, so Sam has been up for about ten minutes, tops. I couldn’t sleep last night and rolled out of bed, exhausted and frustrated at eight a.m.
Sam takes the frozen coffee from my hand. “The suspense is killing me. You have to tell me about last night. You never called me back.”
We walk west down River Street. Since only the oldest vampires can walk in the daylight, and even then, only early morning and late afternoon, and the shifters have a shopping center in their territory, Sam and I pass mostly witches and humans as we head toward River Street Bridge.
Finally, I can talk without having to worry about extraordinary hearing.
I fill Sam in on the very little info Bran gave me.
“So he said to ask Kelly about the day you were born?” Sam says as she fishes out a heaping scoop of whipped cream from her drink with her straw. “And did you ask Kelly about your birthday?”
We stop at an intersection as traffic rolls through beneath a green light.
“Not yet. She was up early and off to work before I had the chance.”
“Has she said anything to you about the Pledge coming up?”
I shake my head. “She hasn’t even asked me about the party afterward. And you know how much—”
“—Kelly loves planning a party.”
“Exactly.”
When the light switches, we cross. Already the patio at Silver Garden is full of brunchers, and the din of conversation rises over the faint rushing of the river down below the street.
A few witches we know call out hello as we pass the restaurant’s back deck.
Since the bridge will take us to the shifter side of town, Sam and I take the stone steps down to the river walk and follow it north.
A jogger runs past, her ponytail swinging behind her. Up ahead, a mother wipes the face of a toddler while a baby wails in a stroller. When the wind shifts, I catch the faint sugary scent of their fae magic.
I set my drink down on a nearby bench and approach the stroller. There’s an adorable little girl nestled in a thin blanket with two pointy ears sticking out around a bowed headband. Her face is red from crying so hard.
“Hey little one,” I say. “It’s okay.”
The mom exhales. “I knew getting ice cream so early was a mistake,” she says as she tries to wipe a glob of chocolate from the toddler’s face.
“I can try to settle her while you finish up with the little guy,” I say.
“Oh you would be a life saver, thank you.”
I unclip the stroller straps and hoist the baby out. As soon as she’s upright and blinking in the sunshine, she settles, fat tears streaming down her face. I bounce her on my hip and coo at her.
Sam hangs her elbows over the walkway railing and scrolls through her phone. She has six little brothers and sisters. She has more experience with children than most mothers, but she really, really dislikes children.
I used to babysit for a fae family a few years back and have some experience with the finicky fae babies. I heard that being born on the mortal side and being unable to travel back to their realm causes colic in a lot of little ones. The baby I watched wouldn’t ever let me put him down. He was permanently attached to my hip while I was there.
By the time the mom finishes cleaning up the toddler, the baby is smiling at me, tears dried up.
“You are amazing,” the mom says. “She’s been in a mood for days.”
“I think we all have been.” I boop the baby’s nose, and she giggles.
“Come on, Mommy!” the toddler shouts. “I wanna see the fish!”
“Thanks again.” I hand the baby back, and the mom settles her on her hip before pushing the stroller away.
“Ew, babies,” Sam says when we start walking again.
“What? She was adorable.”
Sam slides her phone back into her pocket. “I’m never having kids. That will be part of my Pledge requirement. If the Mulligan witches want me, they’ll have to give me a lifetime supply of witch birth control.”
I twirl my straw around my drink. If ever there was a time to tell Sam I plan on moving, it would be now.
I think I want kids someday. Maybe? I don’t know, honestly. I’ve always craved something else other than being a blood bag, but I guess I never really sat down to figure out what that was.
If I told Sam that I want to leave Midnight for something normal, I know she’d remind me of her older sister who tried to leave and go to college and eventually found her way back home. She’s now married to a witch.
Knowing that Sam will just try to talk me out of it, I decide to hold on to the secret a while longer.
I’ll tell her eventually.
We hang out for the rest of the morning, walking down the river walk before heading to Whimsy Books at noon. Sam works there most afternoons. It certainly pays better than babysitting her siblings.
I say goodbye to her after my coffee is gone and head home. I had plans of cleaning my room, but now that I’m sitting on my bed, I can’t stop staring at Bran’s house.
It’s still mid-afternoon, so he’s probably sleeping. Bran uses blackout shades in his bedroom, but the rest of his windows are unprotected.
As I stare at the window, I can’t help but picture him in a king-sized bed, tangled in black silk sheets. He probably sleeps naked.
And thinking about Bran naked brings to mind the image of him standing in his window two nights ago completely bare.
Am I hoping for a repeat?
No.
This is my bedroom goddammit. And this is my comfy window seat. I lived here first. I can sit wherever I want.
Gods, I hate him.
I can’t figure him out.
I want to know why he cares what happens to me, why he would go out of his way to warn me.
He left Duval House. Technically, leaving means he’s a sovereign entity. He could start his own house if he wanted to. So even if I accepted a bid from Duval, Bran wouldn’t have to see me. If I annoy him as much as he says, if I accepted a Duval bid, Bran would probably see me less than he does now because I’d have to move.
It doesn’t make any sense. And it’d have helped if I’d actually paid attention in school when they taught us lowly mortals about the different Vampire Houses and the relationships between members.
There was a whole semester dedicated to it. I didn’t pay attention because 1) I was already planning on leaving Midnight by then, and 2) even if I hadn’t been, I’d be pledged to the Locke House.
The little I know about the Duvals is that Bran and his older brother Damien are Turned brothers, and blood brothers, born to the same parents. They were turned by Vincent Montenaro in the 1700s somewhere in Europe. They came to America at the turn of the century (the 19th to be more specific) and were original founders of Midnight Harbor.
I know that Damien is considered the charismatic brother, the nicer brother, though there have been whispers that he’s just really good at hiding his darker side while Bran doesn’t bother.
Of the five vampire families in Midnight, the Duvals are equally loved and hated. They wield a lot of power and money and influence. If you want something, whether you’re human or witch or something else, you’ll acquire that thing much easier if you have the support of the Duvals.
So why did Bran leave his house?
I really want to know now that he’s warned me about the possible bid.
Did he leave because of something sinister?
I mean, I can’t imagine what could possibly ruffle Bran’s feathers enough to get him to abandon his house and his brother.
At a little after three in the afternoon, after I’ve sat in my window seat so long my butt has gone numb, Bran’s blackout shade snaps upward. The movement catches my attention and without thinking about why, my gaze immediately goes to his window.
He stands in front of the glass, his arm propped on the window frame as he leans into it, just as casual as can be.
And yep, he’s naked.
