Willan #2
“I, uh, was just coming from up there at the Flimsy Sheath.” When he’s sure I’m not going to continue whatever insanity I’ve started, he turns and points to the vintage clothing store a few doors down on the other side of the road.
“I thought you said you were hanging out with friends?” Did that sound accusatory? Or just curious?
“Yeah, Kroy, the owner. We’ve been friends a while now. I come in when I can and help him out with the stock.”
“Oh.” I blink at the shadow of Nikolo a few times, letting his words settle in.
He was right there. Often. Regularly. The silence grows long as I process the information. It takes me a while to rearrange all the things this new piece of information stirs up.
“Uh, well, yeah. Good night.” Nikolo lifts a hand to wave goodbye and steps back.
“Wait!” I’m really not ready for him to go yet. “Did you want to come in for a bit? See the shop?”
Nikolo hesitates and I conjure a small breeze, directing it to open the door behind me with just the slightest twitch of my fingers.
“Sure.” Nikolo sounds anything but sure of his choice. “Why not?”
Why not indeed.
“Awesome.” I sound way too excited, and I try to pull it back as I turn and hurry inside. “Come on in.”
“You know you don’t have to invite me, right?” Nikolo says warily, much closer than I realised. Goosebumps erupt over my skin, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise, heat blooming under my skin.
“Yeah, I know. My friend’s a vamp, remember? I was being polite.”
There’s always been a lot of ridiculous rumours about vampires—like they can’t come in without being invited or that humans could use pungent herbs to protect themselves.
It’s all bullshit that has somehow persisted among the more ignorant out there.
I mean, vampires can’t even feed on human blood without getting sick—that’s gonna be a bigger deterrent than the stinky bundle of garlic, Martha.
The lights switch on as we enter and I scurry to the safety of the counter. It feels familiar—safe—allowing me to get myself on even footing before I spin out because Nikolo is in the shop. Our shop. The clan’s shop. It’s something I never thought would happen.
With hands still in his pockets, he strolls between the cluttered display stands and shelves. His face gives me nothing, and I watch closely for a flicker of anything that might give me a clue about what he’s thinking. Because suddenly that’s really, really important.
The shop floor is busy and chaotic, filled with everything from junky talismans that have about as much magical value as a plastic spoon, to dangerous charmed items that are secured behind enchanted glass.
Most of the stock is from our clan, but there are loads of other things here, too.
From other clans around the world, or individual makers.
Egbert’s even in talks to get things from Tathys—though it turns out we’ve been unknowingly stocking some of their things for about a century now.
Nikolo stops in front of a small nook built into one of the walls, his head tilting this way and that way trying to figure it out.
Really, the nook shouldn’t be there; the inside of the shop is significantly larger than the outside.
Space is more of a concept rather than a reality in here, all thanks to an enchantment placed on the building when it was built.
I’ve searched all of our records to try to find the enchantment—we could make a killing selling it—but it’s long gone along with the knowledge of how it’s done.
“I’m pretty sure it was your grandmother that forged that sword up there. The one with the spiders engraved in the blade.” I point out, when he begins to move away from the nook. The swords line the wall of the space, hanging over the small booth chairs.
Nikolo looks at me—finally—over his shoulder, with a raised eyebrow and then turns back. Kneeling on the booth seat, he leans forward to inspect the sword. I try—for all of about zero point three seconds—to not perve on his ass all bent over like that.
“I think you’re right.” Is all he says before he moves on, continuing his circle around the store until he lands back in front of the counter. And me.
On the opposite side of the glass cabinet that makes up our counter, he raps out a quick beat.
“Did you want a drink or…” I trail off when I realise I don’t have any actual blood to offer him.
Usually I keep at least a bottle or two in the fridge, but I’m all out.
Apart from mine, of course. And while I’m not exactly opposed to Nikolo sucking pretty much anything from my body, feeding is probably something that we should work up to.
Nikolo has the same realisation I do, and he finally meets my eyes with a smirk. And Gods’ tits, the floor feels like it drops away beneath me. Can he actually hear my heart beat? Because I think it just stopped for a second.
“I’m fine. I’ve fed.” His lips part just enough for me to see his tongue flick the tip of his fang, sending a bolt of lust and jealousy through me.
Fed? On Kroy? Or someone else? I can feel my face pulling into the frown Lusce always gives me shit for, but I can’t stop myself.
It’s been a long day. The fang disappears behind another smirk, well, this time more of a crooked smile, and I tear my eyes away from his mouth long enough to realise he’s laughing at me. “Kroy keeps blood at the store for me.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” I rush out, waving a hand in an attempt at casual.
“Yuh huh. Sure. Whatever you say.” He doesn’t believe me, which is fine. I don’t sound in any way convincing. “What are these for?”
He picks up a small metal box from the stack next to the cash register, flipping it over in his hands.
“That is a mirror box from Shiakica. If you have some of these,” I reach into the basket inside the counter and pull out a bunch of tiny doll-like figures, “you can enchant it for all kinds of things. Some people use them as curse boxes, or to store your anxieties or fears in. Some people use it for protection, too. They’ll put loved ones in there to keep them safe, or add little blessings. It all comes down to intention.”
As I explain, something passes over Nikolo’s face. At first, I confuse it for boredom, or just forced polite interest. Then maybe envy or bitterness. But when his finger strokes over the seal on the box I realise what it is—longing.
It’s etched there in his face, completely unguarded.
He doesn’t look at me, or anything else, just studies the box like he’s trying to remember what it feels like to have the energy of the metal sing to you.
To recognise and know its nature and be able to manipulate it with barely a conscious thought.
Can he still feel it at all? Or is it completely dead to him now? Just an inanimate thing?
Swirling emotions tug low in my belly—my own longing recognising his and demanding I ease his yearning.
I pull three candles off the shelf behind me, startling Nikolo out of his reverie when I drop them onto the glass with heavy thuds.
“What the fuck are they?” He laughs, picking up a suggestively long and distinctly phallic green candle. He grips it in two hands, raising his eyebrows and pulling an impressed face.
“You’re a vampire, not a dunce. You know what candles are.” I pick up the fat, round ball shaped one that smells of spicy musk with an underlying odour of expired milk.
“Yeah, no shit, but what do they do?” Nikolo rolls his eyes, trying to look cool and aloof in his slutty, hand knitted, grandma sweater, but there is genuine interest there.
A wave of confidence washes over me. This—teaching beings—is what I do. I clear my throat and roll my shoulders.
“That one.” I say in my ‘teacher’ voice. “Is for money and career. Burn it for nine nights before a job interview and you’re almost guaranteed success.”
“You sure about that? Because it really looks like a dick.”
I bark out an awkward laugh. “Yes. I’m sure. And the witch that crafts it gives a ninety eight percent guarantee. With some terms and conditions, of course.”
“Like what?”
“Like no one else burning the same candle. And you being a suitably qualified candidate, among other things.”
“So it’s bogus?”
“Eh, changing the course of life paths is tricky. It can be tempting the whims of the Gods to try and change them.”
“Right.” Nikolo says warily, putting the candle down.
“Now, if getting lucky is what you’re after, this is the one you want.” I toss the heavy candle in my hands at Nikolo.
Unfortunately, he’s still got the same awful hand eye coordination he had as a kid.
I thought he’d developed some skills considering the tricks he does at Bloody Temptations behind the bar, but from the way he fumbles the heavy lump of wax before finally securing it to his chest, bottles must be the only exceptions to the rule.
My stifled laughter earns me a death glare that only intensifies as the smell of the candle finally infiltrates his limited vampire olfactory senses.
He looks so offended I can’t keep my laughter inside.
I shove my fist in my mouth, but it doesn’t work.
“What the fuck is that?” His nostrils flare repeatedly like he’s trying to shake the cloying smell from his nostrils.
“Milk from a pugglish thistle. Smells atrocious, is actually an intensely powerful aphrodisiac when burnt.”
“You’re pulling my leg, right? I can barely fucking smell and I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to get it up with that thing burning.”
“Nope, deadly serious.” I manage to get a hold of myself and put the candle back on the shelf. Only the vague smell of the candle, and all the comments about getting it up have me getting it up.
“What else’ve you got back there?” Nikolo asks, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the counter.