Page 37 of Twice Bitten

As I continued reading, something became very clear. Vampires weren’t living, not exactly. No one knew what powered them, though the author suspected it had something to do with living blood. Dead blood could kill a younger vampire and disable even the most powerful. But there was something even more intriguing listed as a possibility, and it made me think of a discussion I’d had with my mother years ago.

Our Prime when we lived in Arkansas was one who shunned public appearances and was rarely seen outside of his Hive. By all accounts, he was paranoid and nervous, but he enforced peace between all the supernaturals and humans and kept that peace through iron-fisted control.

However, he had one unbreakable rule. Hedgewitches were not allowed within a mile radius of the Hive. Supposedly, the Prime had a bad experience with one and took it out on everyone, but Mom suspected something different and had warned me to steer clear of any dealings with vampires. She never said why, only implied our kind had the potential to be dangerous to vampires and they knew it.

Looking back, I realized I’d forgotten about it because it was obvious advice. Vampires were dangerous. Period. No notes.

This book claimed vampires disliked all branches of the hedgewitch tree and refused to hire them to work in their Hives. The text didn’t state why, but it posed an intriguing question in my mind. I made an entirely separate column and jotted down a few of my best guesses.

A few hours later, I set the book aside and moved to the workbench, gathering up a handful of stunning peonies and thin metal rods on the way. Edmund was right. I had a few tricks up my sleeve, and I was not without protection. Super speed and strength might not be in my wheelhouse, but one could never underestimate preparedness.

I might not be able to outrun Alric, but if I played this right, I could outsmart him if I needed to.

A few days later, I arrived home to a large package on my doorstep and an agitated Edmund crowing about trespassers and the HOA.

“Relax,” I said as I dragged the unwieldy box inside.

“You should keep that thing outside until you know what it is!” Edmund cried.

“There’s nothing alive inside,” I said. “And I don’t hear ticking.”

“Seriously, Alex. You really should be more suspicious.”

I removed the thick cream envelope from the top of the box. “It’s from Alric.”

Edmund sniffed. “Hopefully, he sent you something better to wear for dinner than that twenty-dollar thrift shop dress you wear for all occasions.”

“Don’t be a snob,” I chided. “A little black dress is good for just about everything.”

“Unless said dress is thirty years old and fraying around the collar.”

How had I wound up with a fashion critic for a house spirit? I opened the envelope and pulled out a thick paper card, the expensive kind where the print is embossed. A quick skim revealed the usual suspects—address, time, expected attire.

Formal. Yeesh. Maybe Edmund was right. I needed to step up my thrift game.

I assumed there would be several people in attendance. Not ideal, but maybe better for me if the Prime’s attention was divided. The box was wrapped with brown paper and a scarlet ribbon—pretty on the nose in my opinion.

Once I had the lid off and dug through wads of colored tissue paper, my hands slid over a silky satin material. I stilled and moved the rest of the paper away to reveal an evening dress.

My breath caught as I pulled the dress from the box and held it up.

The satin was a stunning shimmering plum color, not red and not quite purple. One-shouldered, nipped in at the waist, and a free-flowing skirt below. I tugged the skirt to reveal a slightly lighter color between the folds.

“Geez,” I breathed.

Edmund said nothing for a long moment. “Your Prime has excellent taste. Be wary, Alex. You are walking into a lion’s den.”

“He’s not my anything,” I grumbled.

Edmund ignored me. “There’s more inside the box.”

Of course there was. I carefully laid the dress over a kitchen chair and pulled out another small box. Sequined heels matching the inner skirt color, not too high, but not too low either.

A funny feeling squirmed in my stomach. I hated high heels, but I also thought kitten heels weren’t appropriate for formal wear. Had he known this or was it pure luck?

Below the shoebox was an even smaller box. My hands trembled as I pulled that one out and opened it.

I sucked in a gasp. A necklace and pair of earrings lay nestled in cream velvet.