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We are getting to the meat of things.
“In the last five months, seven witches have gone missing. Some are from my coven, and some are from other smaller local covens. We have evidence that it’s demons and filed a formal complaint to I.M.P. So far, they’ve done nothing.”
Gotta love that red tape.
“What about S.P.E.L.L?” I ask. Surely the Supernatural Police Enforcement of Laws and Lore would be more useful than vampires.
“Not their jurisdiction, and as such, they refuse to make a move against anything demonic.” Red tape and territorial pissing matches. Fun.
“So, as a last resort, we’ve come together to make you an offer that could sway you to assist witchesandwerewolves when needed.” She does want an alliance. I don’t speak for all vampires, though. She knows this, but I suppose she was focusing on the local coven before trying to take her plan, whatever it is, to the next level.
“I’m listening,” I lean back, relaxing in my chair, intrigued. I can see her excitement as she realizes I’m not going to blow her off and that I will seriously consider her offer. What does she have that vampires want? Why is she so insistent that werewolves play a role in this?
Sophie opens her handbag. It looks like it’s a designer brand and probably is. She pulls out a small glass vial with a shimmering purple liquid. A potion?
“It’s well known that vampires are, and should be quite picky when expanding their covens. A fact I think you’re all too aware of, given recent events.” Ah, yes, Sophie, I get it. You are up to date on vampire affairs. I try to ignore the jab at Leland’s death, but I can’t control how my nostrils flare. Sophie isn’t paying enough attention. Her eyes were on the bottle. “But what if there was another way to bolster your numbers? Werewolves can turn others, and they can breed. Witches can seek gifted humans and help them develop their magic and produce children naturally, but you… You can only turn.”
I want to reach across the table and claw her stupid face.
She could not know that I desperately want to be a mother.
If I could have this life or the life I’d dreamed of, I would choose the latter.
Preferably still keeping Oz in the process somehow.
I eye the bottle in front of me. There’s no way– no possible way this can give me what she claims.
“What if you could do both? What if you could have biological children the same as we do?”
I stare the witch down, asserting dominance and looking for even the slightest hint that this is all bullshit. She looks at the potion with such pride. Sophie seems to sense my eyes on her and leans back in her seat, finally looking at me instead of the shifting glittering swirls inside the bottle. I detect nothing but honesty.
“It’s impossible. We’re dead. Dead things don’t birth life.” Glaring at the potion she placed in the center. She wants my attention on the vial. “What’s in the bottle?”
Smiling now, she takes a deep breath. “Life.”
A shaking hand reaches out and grasps the potion, it feels cool in the palm of my hand. I turn it over, staring as it curls around itself and continuously shifts in the bottle. Life?
“If you drink that Wren, your heart will beat again. Your blood will flow, and you’ll remain everything you are now, but more. If you and your mate drink it, you could have children together. The child will be like you, though I admit, I don’t know how the aging or immortality part would play into it....”
Children?
In the mountains, I accepted that it would never be possible. I accepted that I had my life and a man who loves me. I decided that it would have to be enough. What if I could have more? The cost is simply standing against a foe all supernaturals share. Joining with witches and wolves against a common threat to the entire world.
The temptation to uncork the bottle and down its contents is overwhelming. I force myself to place it back in the center of the table.
“How do I know it would work?”
Becky returns to check on us and asks if we’re ready to order. “No, thank you,” I mutter, but she turns to Sophie instead.
The witch extends Becky’s hand toward me, puncturing her palm with a sharp nail. “Becky here was my first test subject. Taste her blood, and you will see she remains a vampire.” I am studying the hostess now, my skepticism waning.
Pressing the pad of my index finger to the drop of blood spilling into Becky’s palm I raise it to my tongue.
It’s fuckingvampireblood.
I can hear her heartbeat and see the flush of her cheeks.
“Listen deeper,” Sophie urges.
