This guy isn’t shady at all. Not even a little.
The witch canted his head, taking in the sleek angles of the imposing slate-gray modern home with hints of Gothicarchitecture: the keep of the House of Knight. The framed arched black floor-to-ceiling privacy windows allowed the occupants to observe their surroundings while maintaining the privacy vampires desired more than anything. If their ability to watch you without your knowledge didn’t instill a sense of foreboding, the fountain near the entrance, created specifically for the House of Knight and lit to showcase intricate details of the warped union of a gargoyle and serpent, did. The house’s Elite had commissioned an artist to create the menacing creature that seemed symbolic of him and his creatively twisted violent tendencies.
The disturbing fountain rekindled my recurring question of whether the cities of Winnetka and Lake Forest had been chosen by the two largest vampire houses because they were close enough to Chicago for them to enjoy the activity of a major city but far enough to remove the eternal temptation to prey on humans for the pleasure of the hunt. Despite the mask of sophistication vampires displayed, it was never wise to forget they were predators.
“Your coven?” I asked.
After several beats of uncomfortable silence, the witch provided in a low, reluctant mumble, “Nightshade.”
My gut told me that was a lie. Nightshade witches—despite most other witches viewing their predilection for gray magic and their history of dabbling in dark magic as dubious at best—wore their coven rings with pride. If by some chance you happened to miss the ring, they took every opportunity to announce their coven affiliation. It was mentioned so often it could easily be a drinking game that would ensure you’d be wasted by the end of the night.
If he was telling the truth, I couldn’t figure out why Corrine, the Elite of the House of Hollows, would hire a Nightshade witch for a simple oath-binding spell when any witch could do it.All witches could perform protective wards, oath bindings, and grade-one spells such as variations of magical transportation of small objects. Offensive and defensive magic were based on the type of magic they possessed.
Sending a witch skilled in gray magic for such a simple spell seemed excessive. It was like hiring an electrician to change a light bulb. Nightshades were known for their ability to perform compulsions, speak with the dead, and—in the cruelest of spells—age someone to death. They circumvented the rule of it being considered dark magic or a curse by using the defense that age killed the victim, not their spell. The only thing that kept them from being a complete menace was that they needed a connection, in the form of their target’s blood or hair with follicles, for the spell to be effective. They couldn’t compel someone or age them to death without it. Their necromancy skills were less restrictive and could be done from a source within the bloodline.
“You’re not wearing your coven ring,” I said.
“Does that offend you?” he asked in a curt and steeled tone.
If he’s going to be an ass, I might as well match his energy.
He startled when I stepped in front of him. “Remove the hoodie and cap. I need to see your face.”
In a swift, easy motion, he yanked his hood down and tore the cap from his head, his eyes never leaving mine in what seemed like a challenge. The devilish smirk he flashed sharpened his hazel eyes. His ivory skin couldn’t hide the flush of color that spread over the bridge of his nose. He ran his fingers through his mussed chestnut waves that had highlights of muted gold. His bluntly hewn face, squared jaw, and gently bowed lips that dipped into a stringent scowl made his appearance a mesh of contradictions.
“Have I satisfied you?” A playful glint sparked in his eyes.
Great, he’s not just shady but creepy, too. I really hit the jackpot today.
Returning his smile, I said, “You have, and with so little effort. Is low effort satisfaction your specialty?”
The mischievous glint in his eyes disappeared.
“Ready?” I asked, directing my attention to the messenger bag. He nodded, and I escorted him to the front door.
“Why did the House of Hollows recruit you for this?” I asked.
I had been expecting Rachel, an overly cheerful, no-nonsense alchemy witch from the Lunar Veil coven. She was the vetted witch the two vampire houses typically used. Alchemy witches were masterful spellcrafters and able to meet almost every magical need of the houses.
The switch without notice bothered me.
“It might be a question you should be asking the house’s Elite, Kara,” he offered, his voice overly cloying.
“I’ll do that, Jack,” I chirped.
He stopped mid-step, his brows drawn together. “I’m Jonah.”
At least I’d guessed the first letter correctly.
Taking his suggestion, I called Corrine, unsurprised when she didn’t answer. I knew the text I sent her would be ignored. Years of dealing with Corrine’s unpredictability and moods that were as mercurial as the Midwest weather remained a challenge.
She could have made the switch for a number of reasons. Perhaps she was interested in the handsome witch, or was trying to cause the highest level of anxiety with this interaction, or it was simply a Tuesday. Situations like this made my position as a liaison feel like a savvy way of calling me a well-compensated vampire babysitter. How simple life would be if they could play nice and learn to refrain from homicide whenever they were within five feet of each other. But then I’d be out of a job.
It was still shocking how I’d managed to fail up or was at the right place at the wrong time and landed this job. Wrong place and wrong time and failing down with a medical and dental plan seemed more accurate.
“Jonah, you are aware of what’s needed? This binds the vampires of House of Knight to the stake of necri, excluding their bloodline from ever being a casualty of it.”
He nodded. “That seems to be the deal.” Shrugging, he walked briskly toward the mottled antique bronze front door adorned with intricate scrollwork, motifs, and flowers. It was a beautiful introduction to a home but was just as uninviting as the rest of the house.
