by Ilana Waters
“Part of the ghastly urban regeneration that’s been going on, no doubt.”
“Isn’t regeneration a good thing? Don’t you want things to regenerate?”
“Not humanity,” he replied.
“Then I don’t know how you think your food supply’s gonna sustain itself, you yutz.” Abigail blew a puff of air out her mouth. Her stomach growled. Fishing around in her pocket, she pulled out several unshelled pistachios. “Man, I don’t even remember how those got in there.” She held one up to Titus. “Nut?”
“Even if I could eat as mortals do, that would not be my first choice.” He wrinkled his nose. “Nor should it be yours.”
Abigail grinned. “Watch this!” She tossed a pistachio in the air, caught it in her mouth, then tossed another.
“No, thank you.” Titus kept his eyes focused ahead. “I’ve seen mortals choke before.”
Abigail stopped throwing nuts. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “That must have been awful.”
Titus shrugged. “Not really. I was the one choking them.”
They passed a vendor’s stall with shelves of souvenirs and clothing racks spilling onto the sidewalk. There were London-themed shirts, mugs, Union Jack flags, refrigerator magnets, and other bric-a-brac. Unisex V-neck sweaters and turtlenecks dangled on hangers beside jelly shoes, skinny ties, and leg warmers. The proprietor was a heavyset man with a bushy broom mustache. He haggled with two customers who’d put down their paper shopping bags to examine a goggle-eyed windup doll of Queen Elizabeth.
Abigail stopped at one of the clothing racks and fingered a shirt with spaghetti straps and layers of ruffles. She lifted the price tag up halfway, then stopped.
Damn. She’d forgotten she’d lost her purse in the warehouse flood. She turned around.
“Titus, you don’t happen to have—”
But Titus wasn’t there. Abigail heard the high, musical tinkling of glass breaking. Surprised cries from the customers. Angry yells from the vendor.
“Mi dispiace!” Titus apologized in Italian, holding his hand over his heart. He backed away from the trio, knocking over another display. This time, a teacup with “I heart London” on it hit the ground and shattered.
“Bloody idiot!” the mustachioed man snapped. “You better have the money to pay for that.”
“No Inglese,” Titus said over and over. “No Inglese.”
“I’m so sorry,” the vendor said to his other customers, who raised their eyebrows at one another. He shook his fist in the air at Titus. “Just clear off before you destroy something else. Have to fetch a broom now. Bloomin’ foreigners,” he grumbled. Titus walked over to Abigail and grabbed her arm.
“Keep walking.”
“Hey, I was browsing.” She squirmed until he let her go. “You’re the one running around like a bull in a china—”
The vendor came back from the other side of the stall, broom and dustpan in hand. Titus bumped into him as they passed.
“Oy!” the vendor shouted.
“Scusi, scusi.” Titus bowed with both hands behind his back. He continued apologizing in Italian, walking in reverse. The vendor glared at him and started sweeping up.
Titus turned around and grinned. He was carrying one of the other customer’s shopping bags.
“Hey!” Abigail said. “What are you doing with that?”
“I needed somewhere to put our new wardrobe.” He pulled out several pieces of clothing that Abigail recognized from the racks. “Although the lovely people back there seem to have added to it on their own.” He rooted around the bottom of the bag. “Already a jacket in here.”
“Are you crazy?” Abigail asked. “You can’t just go around taking people’s stuff. What if they catch us?” Abigail watched as Titus unrolled a thick wad of bills and starting counting. “And where’d you get that?”
“It was in the nice Englishman’s back pocket.”
“You stole it.”
Titus pursed his lips. “Yes. I steal. I murder. I am a bad, bad man.”
Abigail closed her eyes. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“And I can’t understand why. Would you like me to return them?” He held up the cash and bag.
“Admit you’re a thief and land yourself in jail? Are you nuts?” Abigail opened her eyes. “And no way they would believe I wasn’t an accomplice. No,” she sighed. “Just forget it.” Titus gave a smug smile and put the roll of bills in his pocket. “We might as well make use of your ill-gotten gains,” Abigail said. “Why couldn’t you just glamour our appearances to look normal? Then you wouldn’t have had to steal us new outfits.”
Titus clucked his tongue. “Typical new-witch thinking. But not every problem needs a magical solution. Some are easily solved through mundane means. Don’t make things more complicated than they need be.”
“Sorry.” Abigail held up her hands. “Didn’t mean to interrupt tonight’s robbery, already in progress.”
“And now, time for the quick change.” Before she could object, Titus pulled Abigail into a narrow alley. He reached into the bag and thrust several items at her. “You face this way,” he pointed toward one end of the alley, “and I’ll face the other to protect our privacy. We’ll also be able to see if anyone is coming from either direction.”
“Do you really expect me to get naked with you?” she demanded.
“Woman, please. I have better things to do tonight than see what you look like under those rags. And I would like to start doing them. Now.” Titus took off his shirt and turned around. Abigail caught a glimpse of his muscular chest.
Not bad for a two-thousand-year-old. She was curious what his other parts looked like, but any further delays might have Titus catching a glimpse of her. She quickly got out of her “rags” and donned the dress he’d handed her. It was red, white, and blue striped. Its blousy top, with slightly billowing sleeves, had elastic at the cuffs, and a pleated skirt. There was also the jacket Titus mentioned: Members Only, tags still attached. She gave the tags a yank and pulled them off.
“You know, this wouldn’t be so bad if it were just the top.” Abigail examined the dress. “In a different pattern. This skirt, on the other hand,” she made a face as she lifted the hem, “is where bohemia went to die—”
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Titus interrupted. He’d somehow managed to find a black turtleneck and slacks among the rest of the garish clothing. Abigail thought he looked a bit paler in them, but not altogether unattractive. “Neither can thieves. Come on.” He jerked his head toward the river of people outside the alley. “We have to keep moving.”
They left the shopping bag and their old clothes under a pile of garbage and ducked out of the alley. After a few blocks, Abigail couldn’t stop yawning.
“Man, we slept so long.” She rubbed her jaw after another wide yawn. “Why am I tired?”
“Doing magic can fatigue a person, the same as if one spent the day lifting weights,” Titus said. “Instead of moving matter and energy with your body, you’re doing it with your mind. It’s simple physics.”
“Yeah, well, I’m physic-cally exhausted.”
“Unsurprising.” Titus sniffed. “The younger and less powerful the witch, the more easily they tire from magic.” Abigail lifted her head as they passed a sign for the underground.
“Why don’t we just take the tube?” she asked. “Or a cab?”
“It’s not that far.”
She frowned at Titus. “Still, you should put on a coat or something. You’ll catch cold.” It had suddenly turned chilly, courtesy of the fickle English weather. She zipped her jacket up halfway.
“Thank you, Mother,” he replied. “But I do not catch cold. I do not catch anything, except prey. I am not susceptible to the buffet of diseases you mortals parade around. I only wear a coat, when necessary, to help me blend into the meaningless thousands that make up your teeming cities.”
“Diseases . . .” Abigail mused. “
That reminds me: Can you teach me that healing magic? Like you used on your hand when that thug broke your fingers? And like you used on my hand outside the pub. You know, after we destroyed it?”
“First of all,” Titus coughed, “you destroyed the pub. Second, healing magic takes time and effort to learn. It’s not just ‘shazam’ and ‘lo, he is healed.’ ”
“But that’s what you did for me. And for yourself.”
“Yes,” Titus nodded, “after years of experience on the battlefield, as I said when we first met. There, one often has a keen need to heal injuries, and it serves a general’s interests to keep his soldiers alive. But if your powers continue to grow, you may find you’ll heal quickly enough without intervention. You saw as much earlier tonight.”
“What if I want to heal somebody else?” Abigail asked. “I mean, I wasn’t planning on hiring any soldiers in the near future, but you never know.” They passed a curry cart, where the scent of samosas, mulligatawny, and various kormas spilled into the street. Abigail let out a low whistle.
“Oy, am I hungry,” she said. “C’mon. You’re buying me dinner.”
“I am?” Titus asked. “I wasn’t aware we were on a date.”
Abigail ignored him. “Hi!” she said brightly to the man behind the cart. “Can I get three of those vegetable samosas, please?”
“Three vegetable samosas for the Yankee lady,” he said in a crisp English-Indian accent, wrapping them in paper and handing them to her.
Abigail made a great display of patting her dress’s nonexistent pockets. “Oh! I forgot my wallet.” She tilted her head at Titus. “Baby, would you mind?” She placed one hand on his arm and gazed up adoringly.
Titus glowered at her. “I most certainly would.”
“You going to let your wife starve?” The cart owner looked at Titus sternly. “That is very bad manners. Very, very bad.”
Abigail laughed. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have any coffee, would you?” she asked the man.
He shook his head. “No coffee. Just tea. Good tea. Strong tea. You like. No regrets.”
“No regrets, huh?” She grinned at him as he handed her a Styrofoam cup with a tea bag hanging out of it. Titus sighed and handed the man several bills. Abigail grabbed a stack of paper napkins.
“Are you quite finished?” Titus asked as they walked away. “Or did you want to stay for the dessert menu?”
“Hey, it’s not my fault I’m hungry and tired from all that magicking,” she said through a mouthful of samosa. Steam rose from the creamy mixture of potato and spices. “Speaking of which,” she gave him the side eye, “couldn’t you do with a feed as well? I’m surprised you haven’t bitten some unsuspecting tourist by now.”
“It’s not urgent.” Titus shrugged. Abigail watched as the night wind rippled through his short blond hair. “Ancients like myself can go weeks without drinking blood, if necessary, though it isn’t comfortable.”
Abigail nodded and sipped her tea. “Wow, that guy wasn’t kidding,” she coughed. “This is strong.”
“I’m surprised you let me buy it for you.” He inclined his head toward her. “Isn’t it an affront to your women’s liberation if the gentleman pays for everything?”
“Not if he’s settling a debt.” Abigail started on her second samosa. “I saved your life—several times. You bought me dinner. Now, we’re even.”
Titus rolled his eyes. “So glad I have you to explain how modern relationships work.”
“You want me to go back and tell the curry guy my last pound got drowned in a supernatural flood?” She jerked her head toward the food cart. “No? Didn’t think so.”
“Am I just supposed to be your man now?” Titus put his hands out.
Abigail’s heart beat a little faster. “Excuse me?”
“Your man,” he repeated. “Your servant. Your lackey. Is that all I am?”
“Oh, I get it.” Her heartbeat returned to normal. “No, I’m full up at the moment, thanks.” Titus gave an exasperated sigh. “Is that what this friend of yours is?” Abigail asked. “A servant of yours? Someone you pay to be in the know?”
“Do not make the mistake of thinking he is anyone’s servant,” Titus said sharply. “Others have done so over the centuries, and always at their peril. His knowledge of the otherworldly is not to be taken lightly. It won’t do to have you be even remotely disrespectful to him.”
“Okay, okay!” Abigail held up her hands. One of them was full of used napkins, which she threw in a trash can without stopping. “I wasn’t planning on insulting anyone.” She paused. “What are you going to tell him about me? What if he can sense my magic?”
“Oh, he will.” Titus scratched his chin. “I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm to tell him you’re studying to become a witch.”
“Studying to become . . . I didn’t even know that was a thing!”
“If a person is not a natural witch,” Titus explained, “that is, born to one or more witches, they can undergo a year and a day of study, plus a three-day fast. And even then, it doesn’t work for everyone.”
“I wonder if I should do that. If I could do that.” Abigail chewed thoughtfully on her last samosa.
“It would speed up the rate at which your magical powers are growing.” Titus adjusted the collar of his turtleneck. “I’m surprised you hadn’t already heard of it in the course of your duties for the PIA.”
Abigail’s nostrils flared. “In case you didn’t notice, I’ve been a little busy trying not to die while working for them.” She finished the rest of the samosa in two bites and licked her fingers. “Say, are you supposed to study from magic books? Or, like, find a tutor or mentor?”
“I do hope you’re not looking to me in that regard.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. You’ve proven impossible to work with. By the time I learned anything from you, I’d be old and gray.”
Titus chuckled. “Even that might not be the insurmountable obstacle it seems. Witches can stop themselves from aging at any point, or use glamour to alter their appearance.”
“Ooo!” Abigail put her fingertips to her cheek. “That might come in handy when middle age hits.” She looked him up and down. “But I thought your vampire-ness kept you from looking older. Which came first: the witch or the vampire?”
“What?” A dark expression flickered over Titus’s face. “The witch, obviously. Vampire never comes first. One stops aging the minute one is turned. No one is born a vampire. One would be stuck in infancy for eternity. No one wants to be a child forever.”
“I have several ex-boyfriends who’d disagree with you,” Abigail muttered. Then, her head snapped up. “Wait a minute. Both witches and vampires can read people’s thoughts.” She paled. “Can you read my thoughts?”
Titus gave an enigmatic smile. “Perhaps.”
Abigail squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. She grinned.
“Nah. If you could, there’s no way you would’ve let that one slide.”
Titus stopped smiling. “Which one? What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Phew! For a minute, you had me worried.”
“I’ll see if I can’t get you into that state again.”
“I guess I should’ve known you couldn’t,” she continued. “After all, it did take you eons to figure out that hat trick I wanted to pull with Beller. Plus, you didn’t get my whole hydra plan right away.” She frowned. “But you did get it. I mean, eventually. Wouldn’t you have to read my thoughts to do that?”
“Believe me, I’m as surprised as you. I was quite irritated when I learned you were one of the few mortals whose thoughts I couldn’t read.”
“I didn’t know they made those.”
“They do, though it’s rare. And I was only able to read your mind that one time because you wanted—no, you needed me to understand.” Titus kicked a sheet of newspaper out of his way. “I guess one could say, subconsciously, you gave me permission. Otherwise, I
can’t read your mind unless you allow it. You might want to . . . what’s the expression?” He tilted his head toward her. “ ‘Let me in’ once in a while? You might find it expedient—not to mention lifesaving. Say, if we don’t want our movements broadcast to a warehouse full of supernaturals trying to kill us?”
“Fine, fine,” Abigail grumbled. “I’ll let you read my mind. Sometimes. Just don’t go poking around in there for private information.”
Titus snickered. “Don’t flatter yourself. I have no interest in the nocturnal activities of you and your last man-child boyfriend.”
Abigail snorted. “Now that would definitely set parts of a fire witch on fire.” Before Titus could respond, she spoke again. “So, you say you’re a witch. And you called that other man at the warehouse a witch, too. Don’t you mean warlock?”
“No, we are witches.” Titus put his fingers to his chest. “I should think, after two thousand years, I know what I am.”
“Then what’s a warlock?”
“A term made up by mortals.”
“Wizard?”
“Same thing.”
“I thought it was odd that all the PIA’s books mentioned only witches.” Abigail’s hair seemed to go from green to red under the changing light of a traffic signal. “Now, I know why.”
“Shouldn’t you already know all there is to know about my kind—both vampire and witch—now that you’re happily ensconced with the PIA?” Titus asked. “Don’t they chain you to dusty old books where you can while away the hours?”
“Don’t be silly,” Abigail said. “I haven’t learned everything about every supernatural that walks the earth. To memorize all the books they have would take decades. And I never said I was ‘happily ensconced.’ It’s just something to do for now, till the midwife thing takes off.” She frowned at him over her shoulder and stepped into the crosswalk.
She didn’t see the double-decker bus until it was too late.
HONK. Red streaks flashed before her eyes. Abigail’s heart leaped. Her feet left the ground; her body jolted upward. The honking grew further away. When her eyes finally focused again, she was on the other side of the crosswalk in Titus’s arms.