Page 62 of The Slayer Seduction

She nods and I make two cups out of the small machine I got for free off Marketplace a few years ago. It gargles, making noises that sound like it’s near death, but Iris doesn’t seem to mind as I hand her the cup.

Iris takes a sip, and glances at me over the lid of her mug. “Where do we even start?”

I run a hand through my hair, and it’s odd how different my body feels now that me and the Slayer are one. I’m stronger, I heal faster, but not immortal by any means.

“The Slayer said there are three slayers we need to be on the lookout for. If what I read in that book you showed me is true, it sounds like the magic has to be passed down by bloodlines, but maybe that’s not the case?”

“So, find the bloodline, find the spell books?”

“It was an idea. If we know who we’re looking for, it would be easier to identify the slayers. I’m not sure what good it will do us, but I don’t think we should just play defense either. Letting them come and attack us is too big of a risk.”

The witch on my bed looks defeated and scared and I wish I could make this all better, but the only way I know how is wholly inappropriate at the moment.

“We could pay my family a visit,” I say, even though the thought of going back there makes my stomach churn.

Iris gives me a small smile and shakes her head. “I’m not sure how much help they would be. I mean, based on everything we know, they knew about the family curse, but they couldn’t do anything about it until Oz gave your family the book.”

“I think we’re going to need to go further back into my family tree then,” I tell her, tapping my foot against the ground. “I’m not even sure my grandmother is alive. She wasn’t around much when I was little. But her place isn’t that far from New Orleans, and I’m willing to try anything at this point.”

“Only if you’re sure,” Iris checks in and I give her a sharp nod. “Let me wash up and we can head out. Uh, how are we getting there?”

“My bike’s out front,” I say and her brows furrow.

“Like a bike bike?” I shake my head and her eyes go wide for a moment, but she seems to accept the fact she’ll be riding on the back of my motorcycle. My car is still at my family’s house, but the bike was what I mainly used to get around the city, another online find for cheap.

The Slayer is worryingly quiet as I get dressed for the day.

Iris comes back out in the same jeans and crop top from yesterday, her wand seemingly hidden from view. “Ready?”

“I guess,” she says, not seeming confident in the slightest. The garage area opens and I hand her a helmet and place mine on, hopping on the bike and nodding for her to get behind.

She’s timid as she gets on the back, her arms wrapping around my waist as she squeezes me for dear life.

“I’ve got you, don’t worry,” I assure her, and she just holds on tighter.

“I swear, if after all this a motorcycle accident is what takes me out, I’m going to be pissed.”

With those last words, we take off and make our way toward the Bayou to see dear old grandma.

Iris doesn’t stop gripping on to me for dear life, not even when I park the bike in front of a rather well-cared for RV home. She has fake flowers planted on the outside of the property and mismatched chairs placed out front, but everything appears well-kempt.

I tap Iris’ thigh twice, indicating that it’s time to get off. Her leg trembles slightly before she removes the helmet and jumps down. It’s barely detectible, but I hear her say a small spell under her breath and I wonder what she cast.

“I haven’t seen her in years, even before I ran away. She hated my dad, which, well, you’ve met him.”

“Yeah, I have,” she says, lightly squeezing my biceps as I lift my hand against the door and knock two times.

I’m not sure what I expect, an old woman with scraggly hair with a half lit-cigarette and a mean attitude maybe, but that’s not what I get at all. This woman is hardly recognizable to me. She looks like a sweet, innocent grandma with her floral button-up shirt and garden hat on her head.

When her gaze meets mine, her eyes immediately drop to my arms, and she clearly identifies the Slayer’s markings.

“Adam?” she questions and I nod, not really knowing what to say. “Truly Adam?”

“Right now, yes,” I reply, and she looks around the RV park, before waving us inside.

The RV is small, but there’s a tiny nook with a table. Iris and I squeeze in on one side while the older woman sits across from us. I can’t help but nervously shake my leg underneath the table.

When I look up at my grandmother, her brown eyes are filled with tears.