Page 27 of The Guardian's Curse

His limbs felt far away, and the pain soon receded into a heady bliss, the hazy glow as he lay next to his sated paramour, with the burn of good brandy in his belly. When the world was small and cozy, all calm and warm and soft. His head lolled back. Black pressed around his vision, which faded quickly.

“Scheisse,” she cursed.

The world spun around him, and he was suddenly resting against her, his head pressed back into her bosom.

Suddenly something warm dripped on his cheek, and then there was blood on his lips. He gagged at the taste, but Franziska held him tightly, forcing the spill of crimson down his throat. He was too weak to fight back, caged against her body with her wrist pressed to his mouth.

“Oh, my sweet boy, you have no idea the things we will see together,” she whispered. He groaned and struggled, but it was like fighting a stone statue. She kissed the top of his head. “You will be young and beautiful and never know the pain of faded beauty. This world will lay before us like a feast.”

Something seared his belly from within, as if his stomach burst into flame. Fire crawled through his veins. He let out a bellow of sheer anguish, blood bubbling over his lips. She released him and let him tumble to the floor.

He pressed his hand to his bloody throat and brought red-stained fingers up to his eyes. “What are you? What have you done?”

“I have granted you communion, mon coeur,” she purred. Her eyes glowed like a fire behind amber glass. She licked his blood from her lip slowly. “When this is over, you will forgive me, and soon, you will thank me.”

8

A full day’s work had yielded several basic arrays on the house in Midnight Springs. Shoshanna had spent most of the morning and early afternoon designing the base array, sort of like a magic generator for the house. The smaller spells on individual rooms would tie into the base array, drawing power from the environment and continually renewing.

After sketching out plans for Paris’s requests, she made a preliminary list of materials. The estimated price tag made her wince as she composed an email to Violette Baudelaire for approval. She read the email approximately forty times before sending it, then immediately unsent it, tweaked it one last time, and finally sent it.

With the base array drawn, she sat down with several of her textbooks and wrestled with how to block out vampire hunters. As she was contemplating how to detect murderous intent with a spell, her phone alerted her that it was nine thirty.

She scrambled to pick up her things, then got out the pot to warm Alistair’s dinner. As she was heating the bag of blood, she got a call from Ruby. “Hey,” she said. “What’s up?”

“Uh, so I don’t want to alarm you, but some guy called here asking about a tisserand. He acted like he didn’t know the name, like ‘oh, uh, Shawna, Sheila, Shayna...Shoshanna?’ So freaking obvious. I asked who was calling, and he said his name was Andrew,” Ruby said. “But that’s the guy, isn’t it?”

“Probably so,” she said numbly. Andrew was Elliott’s middle name. “You didn’t tell him anything, did you?”

“Of course not,” Ruby said. “I mean, I’m all about hooking you up with work, but not under these circumstances. I told him I didn’t know anyone by that name.”

“How do you think he found you?”

“Same way everyone does,” Ruby said. “He didn’t ask for me by name, so I don’t think it was about me being your friend so much as my family knowing everyone.”

That much was true. The Wang family were known for being the most skilled green witches in the city. And if they couldn’t do a task, someone in their vast network of connections could. Shoshanna had benefitted from that connection more than a few times.

“Okay, I just want you to be careful,” she said.

“Obviously,” Ruby said. “How’s the vampire life?”

“I’m heating up blood on the stove,” Shoshanna said. “It’s thrilling.”

They chatted for a few minutes before hanging up. She’d finally located a thermometer, and she slowly heated the blood to one hundred and ten degrees, hoping it would please him. She contemplated the plain glass and wished she had some black paper umbrellas for garnish.

Her heart thumped as she walked down the hall to deliver his breakfast. She knocked and waited. Stairs creaked. A gloved hand slid out to grab the glass, and she cleared her throat. “Mister Thorne?”

“Alistair.”

“Right,” she murmured. “Do you want me to report how things are going?”

“No. That is Paris’s concern.”

Her mouth went dry. “Um...do you need me to do anything around the house?”

“Not at the moment.”

His gloved hand withdrew beyond the doorway, and for some reason, she was desperate to hold on to this tiny connection. “Alistair!”

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