Chapter 6 Sam #3
A shelf ran around the top of the room and Naomi paused her stride and studied it from a distance, one finger pressed thoughtfully to her mouth.
The books up there were thick and leather-bound, so old that the spines were cracked and peeling.
Eventually, Naomi walked forward again before pulling a stool into position beneath the shelf and climbing onto it.
Then she reached up to select a book and grabbed what looked to be the thickest one on display.
She used two hands to support it and I automatically stepped forward to grasp her elbow as she stepped from the stool. When she thunked the book on the wooden table in the center of the room, dust blew up in a small cloud and she waved her hand over the top of the cover to dissipate it.
The book looked older than the entire United States of America, and Naomi kept her movements slow as she began to turn the fragile pages.
Decorative calligraphy covered most of the pages, the writing almost art. I leaned closer to look at some of the wording —were they spells?—but the little I could decipher wasn’t in English.
Naomi continued to move the pages slowly, occasionally pausing and leaning closer or biting on her lip. Sometimes she even ran her forefinger under a line and mumbled aloud, too.
Then she stopped turning the pages completely, and the book lay open and flat in front of her. “This is it,” she said as she looked from the page to me. “A charm to help control venom addiction. It will take a little while to make, though.”
I nodded, excitement a tight ball in my chest. Hopefully, I still had a little while to wait. There was no telling how long I truly had left. “But you can do something?” I tried not to let my hope show.
“I think I could make the charm into a ring?” She drew her eyebrows down as she scanned her gaze over the page again.
“It will be small. Might look odd or be noticeable if I try to fashion it into something bigger like a bracelet. And you’d have to wear it around your neck if I made a pendant.
” She gestured vaguely to the area between her collarbones.
I nodded again, although I probably didn’t need to agree quite so enthusiastically.
I just didn’t want too many questions from Esmé about any new jewelry.
A ring was good and small. “Whatever you can do will be appreciated. I just need… I need something.” There was no real way to express what I meant.
Not without unpacking everything, exposing myself and my life to a stranger.
When Naomi met my gaze, there was a knowing look in her eyes. “Who are you in trouble with?” The way she said in trouble with definitely sounded like she actually meant in thrall to, and I sighed.
“It’s a long story.”
She gestured to one of the wooden seats. “I’ve got time.”
I didn’t know what to do with that reply. When I’d grown up, it’s a long story had always been code for I don’t want to talk about it. I glanced toward the curtain. She had a shop to open, surely? Not spend time back here just shooting the shit with me.
“Really.” Her tone invited no argument. “And the more I know about your situation, the better I can help.” When I still hesitated, she continued.
“The better charm I can craft. If I can make it personal to you, it will work better.” She smiled reassuringly as she looked meaningfully from me to the chair again.
Hell… It had been such a long time since I’d talked to someone… Really talked. Somewhere along the line, I’d lost myself, and now Naomi was offering me a part of myself back.
“It’s the Blackbloods,” I whispered, the words feeling forbidden as they left my mouth.
In New Orleans, someone was always listening.
It was like secrets carried on the wind here.
“I mean, it’s my… best friend.” I still didn’t know how to refer to Esmé these days.
Then words emerged from me all jumbled and without order, “She’s one of them now, one of the Blackbloods, and I saved her life in an attack—”
“At the expense of your own.” Naomi didn’t seem to need me to make much sense, and she wasn’t judgmental. Just matter of fact, and I nodded.
“I didn’t know that then.”
“And she won’t turn you?” There was curiosity there but nothing malicious.
It was easy to talk to Naomi while she was moving around the kitchen space, collecting things from various cupboards. Her apparent distraction gradually made my words flow easier.
“No, I don’t think she will, and I can’t imagine wanting that as my life, anyway. Who the hell would be a vampire by choice?” My lip curled at the word vampire, as it always did.
Naomi stopped then turned, one eyebrow raised. “Isn’t that life better than this one?” She didn’t mention it was the life I was about to lose completely.
She didn’t have to.
We were both aware exactly what was on the line for me. That was part of what made her easy to talk to. I didn’t need to explain my shit.
I shrugged. “I guess I don’t know anymore.” Then I giggled, but the sound was hollow. “Everything’s a bit messed up.”
“Tea?” Naomi lifted a teapot onto the range, and I nodded.
I’d lost contact with most of my human friends since meeting Esmé, and this situation wasn’t one they could have understood, anyway. It wasn’t even one they could know about.
While the water boiled, Naomi sat opposite me, and she let out a slow exhale. She lifted her gaze to meet mine. “I should probably tell you about my best friend, Kayla.”
“Oh?” This conversation sounded like it could get interesting. “Is she like me?” Maybe this would be a story of hope.
But Naomi shook her head. “No, she’s been turned. She was never a thrall.” She said the word with almost no distaste, but I heard it lingering in her tone anyway. “She’s a vampire — mate of Sebastian Dupont, the king’s regent. They own this place.” She looked around the space as she spoke.
A gasp caught in my throat and my voice came out thready when I spoke. “This shop? The king’s regent? A Dupont?” My questions were asked with quiet but mounting horror.
She nodded.
“You can’t say I was here.” Of all the shops in all the world… Panic rose inside me, and I stood abruptly. “Vampire politics are crazy right now and—” I stopped. The last thing I needed was Naomi telling her friend that she’d met a thrall from the Blackbloods.
The whole situation was too fragile, too delicate. Kyle was supposed to be undercover. He was a Dupont loyal. I’d blurred the lines by mistake by coming here.
Esmé had gotten his position, but nothing under Brock was secure or stable.
We all lived in a house built on a foundation of sand.
Having me floating around between the two camps, between Brock Saxton at his place and Sebastian Dupont by coincidence here, put Kyle’s undercover position at risk.
Especially if Esmé found out where I’d been in her car and with my money.
I wouldn’t have come here if I’d known I was treading so close to the Dupont reign in New Orleans. Shit.
“I won’t tell anyone. This will remain confidential.” Naomi looked sincere, but I didn’t know.
I had no idea who was even trustworthy anymore. Only myself most days, and not even me if I was craving venom.
But it had been a long time since I’d trusted anyone, and I’d wanted that back so badly.
Still, I shouldn’t have spoken so openly to this woman I didn’t know.
I fumbled some of my allowance onto the table.
“Can we call this a deposit and I’ll swing back by some time to collect the ring and pay the balance?
” I barely waited for her nod of acknowledgment before I swept back past the curtain.
Shit. Had I just made a huge mistake by coming here at all?