Page 43 of White Charms and Dark Secrets

“Wait,how did I not know that Dracula is real?” I challenge through my laughter at the story Kier just told me.

“To be fair, until I met his grandson, I thought it was all bullshit too. The whole pale skin, Transylvanian castles, it sounds like a bunch of human nonsense, right?” he agrees, before downing the rest of his drink. He quickly pours himself another and tops up mine too. Glancing over, I notice that the bottle looks almost empty. My head’s a little dizzy, and I'm feeling a good buzz, so I suppose I shouldn’t feel so surprised.

“Maybe I shouldn't drink that,” I mutter, nodding at the nearly empty bottle to indicate just how much we’ve drunk.

“Maybe you shouldn't,” he agrees, before downing his drink again in one long gulp. Against better judgement, not wanting to be outdone thanks to my stupid competitive streak, I grab mine and down it too. I slam the empty glass back down onto the coffee table.

“What happened to you not drinking more?” Kier taunts with a knowing smile.

“I said Ishouldn'tdrink it, not that Iwouldn't,” I answer with a grin.

Kier glances down at his phone, his eyes widening.

“What?” I demand, going from joking to filled with fear in an instant.

“Relax, it's nothing. I just noticed that it's already gone four in the morning. I have to be up at eight,” he answers, waving off my concern.

“Shit, I should probably get going then,” I mumble, getting to my feet.I've imposed on him long enough.I drop the blanket I'd kept over my legs back down onto the sofa and go to move, but I trip and stumble over a cushion. Kier is up in a flash and grabs me, holding me upright.

“You don't have to rush off, Kayla. It's four in the morning, so it's too late to worry about being up late,” he says softly.

“I really should go though, I need some sleep.” I start towards the door and find myself swaying on my feet. It seems standing up sent all the alcohol rushing to my head.Great.

“Are you sure? I don’t think you’d get very far, nor do I think it would be responsible of me to let you leave this late when you can’t even stand up straight,” Kier states, trying to move me back towards the sofa. I shrug him off, determined to keep myself on my feet if only to prove a point.

“I’m fine. Just stood up a little fast and got a head rush,” I lie, while trying not to continue swaying on my unsteady feet.

“Well, regardless of how drunk or not you are—which you definitely are, by the way—you can stay in my guest room. It’s pouring down rain outside, and it’s freezing. I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me portal you home in the morning. I’d do it now, but I don’t portal drunk,” Kier insists.

I can’t deny that not walking home in the rain sounds appealing. Not portalling around drunk is probably a good policy too. I don’t know many who would risk it after that one guy managed to leave his leg behind when portalling himself across the country hammered. His right leg stayed at John o’ Groats and the rest of him ended up at Land’s End.

“Maybe…” I begin to relent.

“How can I convince you to stay?” he presses, his dark blonde eyebrows arched up in question.

“Snacks. I’m starving,” I blurt. In my defence, it’s been way too long since I’ve eaten.

“That’s something I can help with. Follow me, there’s got to be something you’ll eat in the house.” He turns and heads out of the room, I follow him, trying my best to walk in a straight line. He leads me into a stylish modern kitchen. Shiny worktops and cabinets, a huge American-style fridge-freezer, and appliances that look brand new.

“This could be a freaking showroom kitchen,” I babble, as I scan the area for signs of use or wear and tear, but find none. He either never uses this room, or hires an amazing cleaner, because no man maintains a kitchen this clean by himself.

“I just had it re-done, do you like it?” he asks, heading for the fridge.

“It looks great,” I answer. “What have you got in there?” I practically skip the rest of the way to the fridge.

“Hmm, a lot less than I thought. Wine, milk, cheese, and some leftovers that I should probably throw out,” he responds, scowling at the barren shelves as if it’s thefridge’sfault that it’s so empty.

“Have you got bread?” I ask.

“Should do.”

“Cheese toasties it is then. Can’t go wrong with that,” I tell him with a smile.

He takes the cheese from the fridge and then grabs some bread and starts preparing two toasties. “Any objection to me cooking them the quick way?” he asks, once they’re prepped.

“Whatever way gets food into my stomach the fastest works for me.” I shrug.

Kier holds his hands over the two uncooked toasties, and I hear a quiet whisper before feeling heat radiate from them. He pulls his hands away, and two perfectly cooked toasties sit there. I reach down to take one, and he swats my hand away.

---