When I’d first contemplated an apartment back in college, everyone had warned against Hermitage. It was dangerous, no place for a single woman, they said. Four years on and I hadn’t had any trouble, but that’s because no one really meant dangerous. They meant it wasn’t the trendy part of town, like Belle Meade or Bellevue. The rent was also cheaper.

Then again, my apartment was a little different than most. Fabian settled into his spot in the two-lane driveway in front of a massive brick colonial. After living here for years, I still wasn’t sure if this was a very old building that had been refitted several times or an older building that had been refitted. Either way, the colonial had once been a mansion, complete with real hardwood floors, intricate molding, and all the details that would’ve been built into a mansion one hundred and fifty years ago. Today it was an apartment building, with six units, two on each floor, and a basement the owner occupied.

The carved oak front door opened before I could reach it, spilling light onto the stairs. Even knowing the door hadn’t opened on its own, I could only just make out the edge of Randolf’s body behind the door.

“I smell your blood.”

He stepped into full view. The brown loafers, creased slacks, and sweater layered over a button-down fooled some people. Shallow lines marked the corners of his eyes and mouth, giving him enough age to match the outfit. People generally spotted the red hair and wrote the pale skin off as genetic. He was something far more dangerous than the Irish, though they were known for being fierce in their own right.

I went inside, closing the door behind me. “My idiot boss punched me to see if I could protect myself against physical attacks.” I couldn’t call my family, and most of my childhood friends had turned their backs on me when I left the clan business, but Randolf would never betray my confidence.

Randolf stilled when he saw my face in the light. For ten long seconds, he didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Though, being a vampire, his breathing was strictly optional. “Is he alive?”

“Yes.”

“Pity.” He enfolded me in a hug.

I leaned into his cold body and felt safe. No one would hurt me here. A few tears leaked out of my eyes, but I told myself that was normal. The result of an emotional day.

“A hundred years ago, I would have killed him for hurting you.” He rubbed my back.

“A hundred years ago, I would’ve too, but I can’t kill my boss and keep my job. Not like that, anyway.”

I inhaled deeply. Long before getting this close to a vampire, I’d heard they smelled like death. The shifters I knew said they smelled not alive, but not rotten. To my nose, Randolf carried the scent of cold and a hint of wood smoke, and it never failed to conjure the comfort of being by the fire on a winter’s day.

“Ah, well. I will settle for seeing you to your apartment and securing the building.” With a cool finger, he lifted my chin toward the light. “His weight was behind it,” Randolf hissed. “I have a salve.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“There’s a healing charm waiting for me in my medicine cabinet.” Which I wanted to make use of before dinner so I could eat without my lip throbbing or my teeth hurting more than they did.

The doorbell rang. Randolf snapped to attention and inhaled. “Chinese?”

“Dinner. I ordered before I left the office.” I dug around in my purse, pulling out a few dollars for the tip.

Randolf slid the money out of my hand. “I’ll see to it. Go up and get the charm.”

The doorbell rang again.

“Thank you.” I forced my tired feet to move and trotted up two flights of stairs. The doorbell chimed yet again as I stepped into my apartment.

Sparse was a kind term for my place. It had the basics, carefully scavenged from yard sales and secondhand stores, with the exception of the art. Each piece was a reproduction of a classic, not a print, but a painted canvas, complete with the texture I loved so much. Each one of them was a gift from Randolf. I’d tried to refuse the first one, but he’d insisted. I’d held out until my shower needed work and had come home to find the Lady of Shallot hanging in my living room over my chaise. From there, it was a losing battle.

I made a beeline for my bathroom and snatched a small wood disk out of a basket. This one was lightly tinted green with herbs fused to the surface. I prodded my lip with my tongue. It cracked open again, and I pressed the charm to my lip. The blood sparked the magic, and the charm went to work. The pain faded away, and the charm went in my pocket as I washed up.

When I went back to the main living space, Randolf had set the table for the two of us, including a bottle of red wine.

He looked up from pouring blood into his wineglass. “Better.”

“It feels better.” The ache that had engulfed half my face was gone, and a quick prodding with my tongue proved that the split lip and the loose teeth ligaments were healed.

Randolf didn’t say much as I dug into the egg foo yung, slathered in mustard rather than duck sauce because they knew my order. The first pancake was sitting comfortably in my stomach when my social graces returned. “How’s the blood?”

“A lovely O positive.” He took a sip before carefully placing the goblet in the center of his placemat. “What happened? Did Agent Floyd or Agent Smith assault you?”

I told him the full story between bites, finishing as I ate the last of my dinner. I traded the water for my glass of wine and swirled it as Randolph gazed at the Lady of Shallot across the room.

Between one moment and the next he went from being a statue to looking at me and breathing. “Fear is powerful, but is it powerful enough to make a man who has spent years without a viable mishap lash out on camera?”

I set down the wine and leaned back. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.” It was entirely possible there was another motive, but I was too tired to figure out what benefit there could be from assaulting me. Unless, it had something to do with my clan. “What about my clan?”

“Perhaps. They would like you to return.” Randolf tipped his head to the side. “If it is them, they’ll reach out.”

“I can’t go back. They’ll find out eventually and, you know…”

Randolf bowed his head.

My eyes slid over to the fish tank and Bubble, the skeleton of an Oranda goldfish, doing lazy donuts.

Witches were creatures of earth, sun, sky, wind, and magic. Death, while natural enough, wasn’t part of our domain. I didn’t know of any creatures who could claim any power over death. Vampires were more of a pause in the cycle. Ghosts were more spirit.

Bubble broke from its circles and swam to the side of the tank to point its skull in my direction, the oversized eye sockets empty. I opened my shields a crack and reached for my power, past the warm energy I used for most spells to something colder. It flooded through me, lifting goose flesh on my skin. On the outside of my left leg, something akin to warmth blossomed. I pointed, and a slender strand drifted from me to the tank, settling across the water. Bubble darted to the surface, snapped its mouth shut, and then repeated the action, feeding like any live fish.

Closing my eyes, I pushed the power down, shoving it back into a part of me that was hidden from everyone.

Witches weren’t supposed to have domain over the dead, but I did.