Page 30 of The Child of Rue Royale
Fun. It was all Bastian seemed to want in those early years of vampirism. I would later watch a severity take over him, and he matured during that time. But in the early years, I felt like I was herding a pack of wild wolves, just trying to keep his hunger and desire for fun under control.
In the beginning, he sought out drunks in the alleyways. Liquor no longer affected him, but drinking from an inebriated person seemed to scratch that itch for alcohol. So I let him have some fun, feasting on the plentiful drunks in the city until one night, a run-in with a neighborhood witch put us both in jeopardy, and I knew I would have to put my foot down.
I HAD ONLY TURNED MYback for a second. Kitty, a burlesque dancer at a nearby club, had called my name.
“Cassius, baby,” she oozed, leaning against a lamppost on Royal Street, her blonde poodle cut perfectly coiffed, her high heels so high, her eyes met with mine. “When are you coming back to my show? I’ve got a new act.”
She grabbed my lapel, pulling me into her. I didn’t allow many women to touch me so casually, but my exhaustion had gotten the better of me. And a night with her felt like something I needed. “You could bring your friend,” she whispered, her breath smelling of strawberries. She looked behind me in surprise, her mouth turning into an O. “Well, where the hell did he go?”
I turned, and Bastian was gone.
After a short and panicked search, I found him in Pirate’s Alley draining a man, his green eyes already hazed over from being blood-drunk, slipping onto the disgusting alley floor as the euphoria took hold.
“Bastian, you need to get up!” I ordered, rage pumping through my veins, the man’s blood smelling like bourbon and a goddamn chocolate factory.
He wasn’t dead, not yet at least, and I wasn’t sure if there was any saving him. This night could have ended with a trip to the river to dispose of the body, but first, I had to get Bastian up.
I bent over, slapping his face, trying to pull him from his blissful state.
“What’s going on here?” A voice called from behind me.
I turned to see a little witch girl, the one who accompanied her mother often while dropping off potions. My nostrils flared at her timing, my hands clenched at my sides.
She was bossy andunscathed by two vampires in an alley, her demeanor reassured me of that. Hand on her little hip, toes tapping as if I owed her an explanation.
“None of your business,” I called out, pulling Bastian from the ground.
“Good evening,” he called to her, suddenly coming to and tipping his hat, always a gentleman, with a smear of blood on his cheek.
“Jesus Christ,” I whispered, trying to control the anger that thrummed through my body. “We don’t speak to her,” I said as her delicate footsteps neared.
“Why? She’s a child.”
“Well for one, you have a man on the ground here, and for two, she’s a witch.”
“A witch child?” He looked perplexed, and I realized Nicola hadn’t filled Bastian in about the witches yet.
“This is against The Agreement,” she shouted, and I turned, pressing a finger to my mouth and shushing her. I bit my tongue, well aware threatening her was dangerous, and we both knew that.
I gathered myself. “You are correct. But we are still to look the other way when we witness certain practices.”
Her bangs stuck to her sweaty face, her young skin glowing from the summer heat. “Who is he?”
“God, you’re nosy. Mind your business,” I ordered, and she chuckled.
“You’re not supposed to talk to me that way. I’m Cora Wildes, true witch, a child witch of Rue Royale, and I’ve never seen that vampire before.”
Bastian smiled at her, like he was taken with her gumption, and all I wanted was to get her as far away from us as possible.
Cora’s mother was the current head witch whom we begrudgingly did our business with. My disdain for her was obvious, yet I tried to hide it the best I could.
“I know who you are, little witch, I’m not afraid. Please go away.”
I held Bastian up, blood-drunk and filthy. Though he was taller than me, I was stronger and could carry him across the world if I had to.
“Little witch, I’m Bastian Dezaiffe, no—” He stopped, pressing a finger to his chin and looking into my eyes with that charming smile that annoyed me. “I’m Bastian Delacroix.” He said it proudly, his new name. And though I wanted to punch his face, I also wanted to hug him.
“You’re going to be Bastian The Death of Me,” I groaned, and his smile only grew wider.
