Page 25 of Bewitched
"Nox! Nox, wake up!" Hoovering above him, watching the rise and fall of his chest. Nothing. The serenity clingingstubbornly to his skin. "Nox, wake the hell up!" I try again, my words curling like threads, winding their way into the depths of nothing. "What the fuck?" I shake him again. My patience wavers. The darkness clings to the air, thick and suffocating. I reach out, my fingers trembling as I place them on his chest—a hesitant push. No response. A chill slithers down my spine. My heartbeat picks up, urgency flooding my veins.Is this it? I just killed him…"Wake up!" My voice is barely a breath, edged with growing desperation. I sprint back to the doll and remove the pin from its heart. Nothing. I kneel again close to him, ear pressed against his chest. The stillness echoes—no heartbeat.
"Nox, please! I need you!" His posture remains still, rigid.
I can dump his body into the hole he already dug. I know it’ll make Zilla proud.
"I knew it!" He opens his eyes and captures my entire body, pulling me onto him. He spins me onto the ground, his entire form above me. My eyes widen instinctively, flickering disbelief. A sharp inhale rushes through my parted lips, words failing to form as emotions crash like a wave. He peers down at me, his hands applying pressure on my wrists, into the ground. His hair is dangling in pretty, black waves. "I knew it."
"What the fuck?" I try to move my hands but he’s too strong. He leans in. Lips close to mine. The smoky scent has already been absorbed by my skin. He parts his lips and coils his tongue upward. The twin piercings from underneath his tongue tenderly skim my lower lip. I smile and bite them. Hemoans.You want to play, bat boy? Let’s play.I clench my teeth together. "Hmm?"
He lets out what sounds like a laugh. I tug at them and I can sense the sugary, metallic flavor of his blood. I let go.
"Hot." His word ignites my thighs.
"Bite me."
He lifts his brow at me.
"I want our blood mixed in our mouths."
Desire courses through us like an electric current. Our breath quickens, shallow yet controlled, betraying the tension simmering in our veins. His eyes darken. He holds them on me longer than usual.
"If I taste you…"
"You will stop when I say it, or I’ll kill you."
"You won’t kill me."
"I will never have sex with you again." He kisses me. I put the tip of my tongue on his fang and nudge it to its edge. A sting. And our tastes fuse in our mouths. Nox presses his chest against mine. His hands glide from my wrists to my jaws, anchoring me in place. As he leans in, he savors me, tasting me. He breaks the kiss, our blood seeping down his lips and chin. I lick it and swallow.
"You need me?"
"Asshole." He smiles at me. "I need you to eliminate those who will not cooperate."
"And satisfy you."
"That too."
CHAPTER 22
Well… I trace a straight line on the list. Three done and do not work. Nox is still… Nox. The others are dead. I should concentrate on 4.The Reverse Love Potion and 5.Fear today.
The ‘Sweet Cauldron’ is a spectacle of sugar and shadows today, where the scent of strawberry and caramel drift through the air like an enchantment. Every inch of the shop is designed to delight and is decorated to spook—glass jars filled with blood-red licorice and the sizzling blood-suckers, shelves stacked with pumpkin-shaped marshmallows, and cauldrons brimming with sour-gummies that sting the tongue like a mischievous bee spell. The ceiling is covered with tattered black fabric, like remnants of a forgotten spell, swaying ever so slightly when the door opens. Real cobwebs stretch across the corners. From the beams, skeletons dangle on thin wires, their hollow eyes seeming to follow anyone who dares to enter. Every customer has a story—a witch child who insists on the biggest candy bar, an old warlock reminiscing about the candy worm from past decades, a teenager ghost sneaking in front of the vampire grandma.
Two days until Halloween.
The neon sign flickers, casting funny shadows on the pavement and the jack-o’-lanterns in the window seem to glow just a little brighter than they should. Inside, the shelves tower like haunted fortresses, stocked with chocolate bats and licorice twists coiled like witches’ spells. I turn the sign to ‘Closed’. The air is thick with the scent of sweets, but there’s an unsettling stillness—no cheerful chatter, no rustling of candy wrappers. Only the quiet hum of the old refrigerator and the occasional creak of floorboards, as if someone—or something—is still browsing the aisles.
The animatronic skeleton by the counter, meant to entertain customers, twitches sporadically, as though aware of something unseen. I cover the jar filled with fake severed fingers, jelly eyeballs and candy bones. Turn off the fog machine hidden behind the counter, which releases wisps of mist that creep along the floor, curling around the base of the shelves like ghostly whispers.
I walk to the back of the shop. The cauldron sits heavy, its iron surface cold to the touch. I gather the wood, stacking it neatly beneath the basin. A tattooed arm stretches to my left, and lights the wood, watching as the flames flicker to life, licking at the base and sending warmth creeping up the heavy metal.
"What are you doing here?"
"Good to see you too, nightshade." He stands up and starts pacing around the room, examining assorted bottles.
I pour in the first ingredient—one cup of sugar. I use a thigh bone to scrape against the sides as I stir, coaxing the sugar to melt and bubble. The femur is clean, obviously. The scent of caramel begins to unfurl into the air, rich and sweet. One and a half cup of honey and one cup of spiderweb. They melt into the mixture, thickening into something smooth and glossy. But sticky.
"What’s this?"
