“Evie!” I look up from my grilled cheese. The café is empty and we’re finally enjoying the calm and quiet after the lunch rush.
“What?” She laughs. “You came flying out of the kitchen like he’d just hoisted you up onto the island and ravished you.”
“It’s not like that. Not exactly.”
“Okay, what’s it like then?”
Evie and I have never really spoken about my love life. Mostly because it’s been nonexistent since I moved to Echidna.There’d been a few dates with a TA who ghosted after our drunken hookup. But there hadn’t been a lot of, uh, rawmaterialfrom that encounter.
I throw her a bone and say, “Hot. Very,veryhot. Like, I almost lose my mind when he kisses me—and you know how much the concept of insanity scares me.”
“Really?” She flashes me a shit-eating grin. “And the vampire thing is…is just, like, a fetish, right? He’s into blood play?”
I shake my head, holding back laughter. “I don’t know, what do your senses tell you, Ev? Does he feel supernatural when you’re around him?”
I can tell by the look on her face that she’s never thought of using her powers this way. Maybe it’s not that Evie isn’t a witch; perhaps she’s just not a very good one. “I wasn’t paying attention,” she admits. “But he’s definitely stunning. Supernaturally handsome. Andgenerous.He put twenty bucks in the tip jar.” She throws me a wink. “Always a good sign.”
Evie lets me keep the twenty-dollar tip and, with a little extra money in my pocket, I decide to treat myself to a manicure and pedicure. Main Street is mostly desolate, with everyone having been chased inside by the wind chill. Someone stands on a ladder outside Hades House, repainting the trim. It looks like they’ve already put a fresh coat on the door.
I shudder at the thought of why new paint was needed so urgently.
With my nails painted a matching shade of deep, dark red, I dig into my very humble closet, searching for something suitable—all while knowing my “best” is pretty worse for wear. I like my style and I like my clothes, but undeniably, I’m broke as shit.
My options include a red satin number with a matching neck scarf, a simple black tube dress, and a coffee-colored chiffon cocktail situation. Rather than waste another moment trying tosettle this decision, I zip the dresses into a garment bag and get to work on finger-coiling my hair.
If there is one thing in this universe that I have minimal control over, it’s my frizz.
My twenty-year-old car whines as I jam my foot down on the accelerator, willing us along another winding, hilly road. I always felt like this Honda would outlive me, but now I’m not so sure.
Realistically, I know that tucked behind the thickets of red maples and sweetgum trees are only palatial farmhouses. I know I’m not really in the middle of nowhere—I’m a few miles outside of Echidna, tucked into a bucolic corner of suburbia. But every branch that grazes my windshield and rock that crunches under my tires makes me jump.
The Collegiate Inn is an eighteenth-century farmhouse at the end of a steep driveway. I follow Orfeo’s instructions to stay on the gravel path, circle around the house, and continue on through the trees until I reach the carriage house—a much smaller and more modern-looking cabin at the center of a clearing that gives me grade-A heebie-jeebies.
The windows are aglow with warm mood lighting, and there’s even a little curl of smoke drifting up from the chimney. I park beside a motorcycle wrapped in tarp and make my way to Orfeo’s front door, unsure whether I should pick up my pace so I can get inside ASAP or bolt back to my car and drive until I hit the Queensboro bridge.
You’re safe, I remind myself.You’re fine. You trust him.
I lift a hand and knock.
And then, I knock again.
By the third time I knock, my teeth are chattering and I can feel the sensation fading from my toes.
Finally, the door swings open, and there Orfeo is, in nothing more than a pair of black trousers clinging for their life to his waist.
He has a belly button, I think.Do all vampires have belly buttons?It’s a nice shape surrounded by a well-groomed path of dark curly hair that disappears into the elastic band of his boxers. His hair is still a little wet, combed back away from his square forehead in tight waves.
He clears his throat and I snap my eyes up. “Uh, hi.”
“Hello.” He stares at me. “You are on time.”
I stare back. “Uh, you said not to be late.”
“Vabbè, of course. I meant, like, don’t be super late.” He looks at his wristwatch. “It’s exactly seven o’clock.”
“Do you want me to leave?” I snap, embarrassment creeping up my neck and threatening to swallow me whole. If I were an anime character, I’d have an enormous sweat bubble dangling over my left eye. “Do you want me to sit in my car until seven-fifteen? Will that make you feel better?”
“No, no.” He steps aside and sweeps his arm toward the inside of his place. But I don’t move. “Please. Enter.”
