Page 112 of Twice Bitten

Cat had left a little while ago, promising to return the next day so we could catch up on our research about angelic magic. I hadn’t shown her the basement yet, or the perfect circle I’d made for the blood ritual I still hadn’t performed.

Finding out who I was could wait. I was starting to have my suspicions, and those suspicions could be enough to turn my entire world on its head, more so than it already was.

For now, I was in gremlin mode. All I wanted was food, television, and silence.

Just as I was thinking this, the doorbell rang. I tossed a handful of popcorn in the direction of the sound and hissed.

“You might want to answer,” Edmund said.

He’d been pretty quiet lately, probably sensing my reluctance to have a conversation with anyone but Cat. For him to speak today piqued my curiosity.

“Who is it?”

“I’ve never seen her before, but she’s a witch. A powerful one.” He sighed. “And she’s speaking to me, so she knows your home is sentient.”

Shit. “What is she saying?”

“Alric sent her. She’s come to purge Beckett’s blood from your system.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s dead.”

“She said Alric said you would say that and I should tell you that Beckett sired at least two children who might have power over you if you ever run into them.”

I closed my eyes for a brief moment.

“What about Alric’s blood?”

“She said to tell you she’s not powerful enough to purge a Prime’s blood, but…” He paused, a thoughtful note in his voice, “she said you might be.”

I frowned. “How?”

“She won’t say. Answer the door, Alex. I’ll monitor what she’s doing. I can tell if she’s trying any funny business.”

“Fine,” I grumbled, untangling myself from the blankets.

I stomped to the door and flung it open. A tall, slender witch stood on the doorstep. I sagged against the doorframe. “Imelda.”

My mother’s friend stared at me for a long moment, an unreadable expression on her serious face. Finally, she let out asoft sigh and held up a floral bag. “I’ve come to help. I promise not to keep you long.”

I held the door open. Imelda brushed by me and went straight to the kitchen where she set her bag down and started unpacking right away. “Please sit and strip your shirt off.”

I blinked. “Erm. What?”

She rolled her eyes. “Every single person in this country has seen your breasts. What’s one more witch?”

I laughed in spite of myself. “Fine.” I obediently unbuttoned my shirt. “Can I keep my bra on?”

“Nope. Bare skin is best.”

I rolled my eyes and stripped that off, too, plopping it down onto the kitchen stool. “Do your worst.”

“This will hurt,” Imelda said.

She pulled out a small red vial and set it on top of the island, followed by a small scalpel, alcohol pads, and an odd-looking needleless syringe.

“Is all that necessary?”

“It is.” She worked with ruthless efficiency. She ripped open one of the alcohol pads and cleaned a space right above my heart.