Meg nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. Except…what if it’s cursed? Who would we send it to for analysis then?”
That’s exactly what Judith wanted to know. With her uninjured hand, she picked up her coffee and took a sip. She frowned, muttering to herself, “Diva needs another sugar.”
“Cursed? Please, Meg.” Andrea flourished her walkie. “You, of all people, know there’s no such thing as magic.”
Judith spilled coffee down her chin when Serena and Meg suddenly and simultaneously pointed at her.
“She has magic, Andrea,” Serena said. “We’ve all seen it.”
Judith had always known it was inside her, but she hadn’t been able to find any legitimate sources of information about how to use it. Her mother was dead, and Judith had had no contact with her side of the family. She’d been stumbling through it on her own, trying to learn.
Andrea shook her head. “Coincidences.”
Meg’s jaw dropped as if outraged. “How did she save that kid?”
“I don’t know, Meg,” Andrea returned. “How did she save that kid?”
The tingly warning feeling was how she’d saved him. A warning, and then she’d leapt. And now the feeling was back. Except she was fairly certain that the person who needed saving was her.
Judith blotted at the coffee on her blouse with some leftover gauze. Andrea could twist and wriggle like a weasel, but their producer was no match for her friends.
Wild witches looked out for one another. They’d had a secret meeting during the first week of shooting season one and had made a protective pact—a circle, in witch parlance. They’d agreed to not let the show make fools of them. Whatever the manufactured drama, they wouldn’t demean or undercut one another. And they would always have each other’s backs.
“Who sent the letter, Andrea?” Serena demanded. “And what does the symbol mean? You have to admit that’s no ordinary paper cut. Judith is sitting there bleeding to death.”
Judith raised her mug to Serena in thanks and took another sip. Damn. Still bitter.
“Do you see what I have to deal with?” Andrea said to the crew members leaning against the walls. “No one is going to die of a paper cut today. It wasn’t cursed. It’s a clue.”
Judith held out her blood-soaked bandage. Something was wrong with that letter, and Andrea knew it.
Tony made a sound as if he were about to suggest taking her to the hospital again.
Please, no.
Judith was in agreement with Andrea there. She was sure that people went to emergency rooms for many silly reasons, but this would have to be the most ridiculous one ever. She’d already had one meme go viral—a clip of her leaning over a candle flame, her first successful witching of fire, which had also explosively ignited the curtains of Serena’s apartment—often accompanied by the hashtags #nailedit and #goals. It was posted online whenever anyone screwed up. She thought the meme would hurt her Bewitching cosmetics line, but the smart lady she’d hired to do her promo said it also proved that she could do magic, which was what her customers would be buying.
Okay, point taken, but she didn’t need another meme out there—her bandaged paper cut with #mortallywounded—to contend with. Besides, if Tony couldn’t fix her cut, why would a doctor at the hospital be able to?
“Oh, the envelope did contain magic,” a strange, low voice said from the doorway.
Judith looked over. She forgot her cut and her coffee. And how to breathe.
The tall, broad man filling up the door frame looked like a warrior angel with gold hair falling into his eyes, a pale-gold undertone to his skin, and heartbreaking green eyes. Seriously, what was it with his eyes? Something about them made Judith want to cry. And yet, somehow, she felt as if he was like a black hole in the world, that he had the power to swallow her whole and take all the light in the room, all the sounds, and all the color into him. What was he?
“Any magic that involves blood is a grave threat,” he continued. “And death by paper cut would be a long and tedious way to go. I can help.”
No, she didn’t think so.
A moment ago, she’d only been concerned about her finger. Now this man had her brain and bones screaming that she was, in fact, going to die.
There sat Judith Kress. Judith Kress, in the flesh. How oddly disorienting to see her unedited and in real time.
“Breathe,” Calvin said to her from across the room.
Eyes watering, she sucked in some oxygen, and wheezing, started to inhale and exhale again.
Good.
She was more vibrant in person than she was on the screen, even his lady’s massive television. Her color was high, her gray eyes flashing, her natural beauty overcoming the layers of makeup someone had slopped on her face. And it was an obscene amount of makeup. How much coverage did a twenty-three-year-old woman really need for the cameras?
Very little had moved him to pleasure in the past hundred years, but he did not mistake the thrill buzzing in his dead nerves. He was a monster, but this night, unique in the many, many decades of his existence, he got to play the hero.
“And you are?”
After two seasons following the show, he knew the voice.
He turned to Serena. “A fan.” He was a consummate liar—all his kind were—but in this, he told the truth. “But I’ve also been sent to investigate the magic used in the letter.” He raised his eyebrows at a middle-aged woman in the center of the room, who by her stance and headset appeared to be the one in charge. “If you’ll check in with Mr. Douglass, you’ll get confirmation.”
Mr. Randolph had efficiently used the Bloodkin Assembly’s power to smooth the way with Mr. Douglass, the show’s creator, which was more convenient than brute force.
The producer was staring at him. His appearance often had that effect.
Then she seemed to remember herself. “I’ll do that.”
“I’ll also need the letter and the envelope.” And per his lady’s wishes, this producer’s life if she was involved in Judith’s present situation.
In his peripheral vision, he was pleased to observe that Judith had quietly traded her coffee mug for a metal nail file, which she now clutched in her good hand. Most humans would be disarmed by his pretty face, but Judith did, indeed, have some claim to magic; she’d sensed the predator in her midst, and she’d found the keenest blade at her disposal, such as it was.
“Now,” he said, “if I might speak with Judith alone.”
“Like hell,” Meg said, apparently not taken in, either. “Who do you think you are?”
In his case, the question deserved an existential kind of answer—a vampire—but they’d have to make do with the mundane. “My name is Calvin Blake. And to reiterate, I’m here to investigate the letter and its magical properties, and see that it does no more harm.”
That didn’t seem to put Serena at ease. “Why do you need to speak to her alone?”
“So that my methods remain secret,” he said. “I, too, have some acquaintance with magic.”
The fact that dragons and other magic folk existed was common knowledge, but the nature of their power was carefully guarded.
“We’re not leaving her alone with you,” Meg said.
Their united front appeared to be united against him. He didn’t want to break it, but it seemed he’d have to. Judith was still bleeding. He could smell it from across the room, but thank the Fires, the sharp, full-bodied scent didn’t compel him to feed. He wasn’t thirsty yet.
“I can clear the room,” he told Judith, and he let the threat hang there.
She swayed slightly—fear? blood loss?—and then nodded at no one in particular and said, “I’ll be okay.”
So brave.
He really was a big fan, and he would like to help her find her way. A little something bright and good in the mad, dark world.
“He’s here to help,” Judith added in a stronger voice.
“I am, indeed.” He looked over at Serena and Meg as he stepped fart
her into the room and out of the way of the door. “She bleeds while you hesitate.”
Meg looked abashed, and Serena gritted her teeth. They both moved to leave, which compelled a few of the other spectators to follow.
The producer seemed to collect herself. “I’ll call Mr. Douglass.”
As she approached, he caught and held her gaze. “And you’ll get me the letter and envelope.”
“If Mr. Douglass says I should, then I will.”
The woman didn’t know she danced on the edge of his teeth.
He watched Judith as the last of the crew left the room. The space seemed larger and dingier with the rest of them gone—old linoleum, the white paint on the brick walls chipping. He moved to close the door. Outside, Serena and Meg lurked not a pace away, and just in case they got ideas, he locked the door, as well.
“What are you?” Judith demanded to his back.
He paused for a moment, his mouth suddenly dry. He discovered, strangely, that he didn’t want Judith to know his true nature. The impulse was dangerous so he forced himself to admit the truth.
“I’m a spider,” he told the door. “Or so those who know magic would call me.”
A feeder. A quiet, upside down crawler. Immortal and…dependent.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
He turned, waiting a moment to put her at ease before approaching her slowly, his hands visible, his gaze direct. She was already terrified; he could smell that, too.
“You need to learn what I mean,” he said. “And you know why.”
“Because I obviously don’t know anything?”
He smiled, gesturing to her hand. “May I?”
She swallowed hard and lifted it for him.
He took her hand. She trembled, but she allowed his inspection. Her four, uninjured digits were cold, and he removed the tape around the bloody gauze. Scarlet, a hue that pulsed with power, bloomed like an exotic flower on a snowy white field.
“You know you’re a witch,” he said. “And for two years, you’ve publicly not only claimed to be one but have demonstrated it on a number of occasions.”
“I couldn’t let that kid die.” Defensive.
“There are worse things than death.” He would know. As he set the gauze aside, a fresh stream of red spilled from the slit in her finger. “Do you wonder why you have never encountered anyone else who knows magic?”
She cocked her head into a small shrug. “Because I’m on TV. I’m too public.”
The blood dripped onto the floor as he examined her cut, a half-inch slice near the tip of her index finger.
“Correct. And how long do you think you could remain on television, each week exploring your craft for human eyes to see before someone took action?”
She pressed her pretty lips together, and for a strange, sideways moment, he wondered what that pressure felt like—those soft, plump, silky lips.
He looked down at the small bursts of red on the floor to keep from laughing at himself. What a star-struck fool he was! Judith Kress. Maybe it was her newness that enthralled him. And also the fact that he’d been privy to her daily struggles for two years.
“You’re lucky the reality show medium is known to be inherently fake.” She was lucky Lady Fane was rapt each episode, too.
“You’re not fake,” she said.
“Not real, though, either.” He extended his eyeteeth.
Eyes wide with alarm, she pulled back her arm. He held her wrist fast. “You’re in no danger from me.”
He pierced the pad of his thumb. Black dragon’s blood beaded on his flesh as the puncture beneath immediately healed. He rubbed the rich stuff across her cut, the blood of the ages mingling with her paler hue, and the wound stopped its incessant weeping.
“Whose blood is that?” she asked, accusatory, as if he were a murderer.
He was, but he couldn’t help but smile again in approval of her shrewd deduction and her spirit. She’d need all the fight she could muster if she were going to survive this world.
“The blood of my patroness.” It’d been a while since he’d last fed, but dragon blood could sustain him for a long time. Lady Fane only gave the best to her angel. “She’s a big fan, too. If I could have your autograph before we part, she’d be delighted.”
Chapter 2
“All better,” Judith announced with a forced smile as she held out her finger for Serena and Meg to inspect. The cut hadn’t even left a mark.
If anything, their expressions became angrier.
She was cold and numb with shock—the intent of the letter had been to hurt her, and she’d just met a vampire.
“So it was a magic thing?” Serena shot a hard look over Judith’s shoulder at the vampire.
“As in magic?” Meg had paled. She too was staring at the vampire.
“He’s not the one who sent the letter,” Judith reminded them. Best not to antagonize the man who had retractable pointy teeth and could suck the blood out of people.
He stood behind her. His presence still felt so strange, like a void, a chasm. If she stepped back, she felt as if she’d fall for a long, long time and shatter on jagged rocks.
“How’d he do it?” Meg moved closer to Serena. Strength in numbers, except now, Judith felt like she wasn’t one of them.
“He kissed it better,” she told them. His thumb to his mouth and then to her skin.
Silence.
Okay, stupid joke. But what was she supposed to say? Calvin the vampire had said his methods must remain secret.
She tried again. “I think we’re lucky he’s on our side.” And since she had apparently dodged a bullet, it was time to go home and carefully consider her options. “I’m grateful he’s here.”
She turned around and was again stunned by his appearance. Masculine in every feature, yet poetic…like a…a tragic manga hero come to life. A hot vampire cartoon character. Damn. She really needed a glass of wine.
“Thank you for healing my cut.” She should’ve said it before, but the whole vampire thing had made her forget her manners.
“He’s too good-looking,” Meg said, and not nicely.
Judith gave him a pained grin. “She has no filter.”
The vampire winked. “I watch the show.”
Right. Which was just the weirdest, most terrifying thing Judith had ever heard—their viewership included vampires. As in, vampires. And if the blood inside him—courtesy of his, uh, patroness?—could heal wounds, then a Bloodkin might be watching, too. Because rumor had it, dragon blood supposedly healed. She might not know much about how to be a witch, but she wasn’t so stupid or uninformed that she couldn’t put healing blood and Bloodkin together. The Bloodkin ruled the magic world—and, it seemed, maybe the human one, too.
By trying to learn her craft on the show, had she been making herself a target?
Dizzying question. Especially since she’d already signed a contract for two more seasons, which she had hoped would give her enough time and money to get her business off the ground. The show couldn’t go on forever. The three of them had planned everything out. But hey, she also kind of wanted to live, and dammit, a paper cut was a long and tedious way to go.
Andrea approached, looking harried, letter and envelope in hand. “Boss says to tell you this, so whatever,” she said to Calvin. “We are bringing on a fourth cast member to shake things up a little next season.”
Calvin held out his hand, not necessarily reaching for the letter, but clearly expecting Andrea to reciprocate. Judith watched the interaction, how he so effortlessly kept control but remained formal and polite—it was very old-school, but smooth, too. Self-possessed. How she wanted to be when she grew up.
Andrea shoved the letter and envelope into his hand, and Judith noticed there was also a card on top with a name and address written on it.
Calvin picked up the card. “Elizabeth Watkins.”
“The new cast member. She’s from here,” Andrea said. “Signed the contracts yesterday. She’s the one w
ho suggested getting things rolling with the letter, which was supposed to be a way to introduce herself to the cast and viewers.”
“The letter wasn’t your idea?” Calvin asked.
Judith’s bad feeling compounded. Andrea needed to think very carefully about how she answered.
“No, but I thought it was a good one,” Andrea told him. “I never thought she’d put something hinky on the envelope to make Judith bleed, but she’s fine.” Andrea gestured to her. “See? Fine.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Serena said to her.
“Not fine,” Meg said at the same time. “Judith was bleeding.”
Judith felt her heat rise, too. The heat of panic. This fourth cast member—Elizabeth? Lizzy?—was a real witch and had it out for her? That’s not how this show worked. But then again, there were plenty of reality shows where the women were backstabbing bitches.
“I’m complaining to Douglass,” Serena said. “Judith should sue.”
“For a paper cut?” Andrea snorted. “Please.”
Judith hadn’t stopped watching Calvin, whose gaze was locked on Andrea. He’d gone so still, he reminded her of a lion about to pounce.
“Andrea,” Judith said, her voice surprisingly calm. “You need to chill. Right now. Maybe apologize to Mr. Blake for all the trouble.”
Andrea’s cheek twitched. She looked up at Calvin the vampire and finally seemed to note his irritation. “Sorry. I’ll get it straightened out with Elizabeth Watkins.”
The rude “sorry” was not what Judith had had in mind. Normally, Andrea had a strong sense of self-preservation, but clearly, it wasn’t the case when it came to vampires.
“Judith and I will be paying Ms. Watkins a visit tonight,” Calvin told her. “We’ll handle it.”
Judith stopped blinking and shifted her gaze to Meg and Serena to communicate that this new development was news to her. Apparently, she was going to visit an evil witch with a scary poet vampire.
A vindictive smile split Serena’s face—Calvin seemed to have risen in her estimation—while Meg just looked green. Judith wanted to nod because Meg, who was so smart, had it right. Calvin the vampire’s teeth could get really sharp.
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