Chapter One
Most witches feared vampires. I saw them as a business opportunity.
The bell above the old wooden door chimed as a tall, dark, and handsome vampire entered my pride and joy, Cauldron Boil Books. The bookshop, with the weathered crimson-colored door and wrought-iron sign, was on a block of prime real estate in Charleston, South Carolina. The old red-bricked building sat along a cobblestone road in the French Quarter. The only reason I could afford the place was because of the whispered rumors of the shop being haunted. Considering I’d never seen an angry ghost in the shop or in my apartment above, the ghost either liked me or had liked what I’d done to the place. But whatever the reason, I was glad. The last thing I needed in my life was a ghost.
The vampire greeted me with a brief nod as I placed the latest bestseller in the storefront window display. Outside, the night was hazy, the lights from the antique lampposts burning softly through the stifling humid air. I had no doubt many witches thought sleeping during the day and working at night seemed strange, but since Charleston didn’t have a bookshop, I adjusted my schedule when I landed in the charming historic city, figuring everyone liked to read, even bloodsuckers.
Turned out I’d been right. Vampires loved books as much as they loved a smooth, willing neck. And the willing part hadn’t always been the case.
The war between humans and vampires ended when humans realized they were greatly outmatched. Once a peace treaty was signed to end the two-month brutal war, the United States government handed over control of three cities to vampires: Charleston, New Orleans, and Savannah, the only three cities the vampires had requested since they felt most comfortable in historic cities. Likely, because many of them were as old as dirt. I hadn’t met a vampire yet who liked modern living and skyscrapers. So, with the money my mother, Zara Farrington, left in her estate for me, I found the most Victorian building in Charleston and turned the little space into something that was all my own. Every detail—from the antique bookshelves in rows and around the perimeter of the square shop, to the thick vintage oak furniture in the small sitting area, to the Frankincense incense—were all to vampires’ tastes, and my bank account had never looked better. My fridge no longer contained only hot dogs and leftover macaroni and cheese, but also had healthy food grown in my garden on the roof, and I hadn’t eaten a hot dog in a year.
Leaving the vampire to browse the new releases on the table by the door, I approached the counter and turned on the radio.
“It’s time for a new beginning. For vampires to no longer hide in small cities but to flourish in business, in government, in freedom. It’s time for vampires to stand above, not below, humans.”
The sound of Ezra von Stein’s grating voice was equivalent to nails on a chalkboard. Vampires were as bad with politics as humans. Maybe even worse since vamps lived by a different code. There were no jails, no juries, no kindnesses. You mess up. You die. That was the code of Ari von Stein, the current Vampire King of the United States, and Ezra’s brother.
After the war ended, Ari created peace between vampires and humans by accepting the three cities gracefully, by declaring peace so no other lives were lost, and by enforcing a treaty that only willing humans were on the menu. Thus came the Vampire Human Rights Act, protecting humans’ rights. For any blood given, they were paid a hefty sum by the vampires who employed them. Most vampires had grown used to drinking blood from a glass instead of sinking their fangs into a neck. Except Ari’s brother, Ezra, had been gunning for Ari’s position so he could destroy the laws Ari spent a decade building.
“What a load of horseshit,” my best friend, Gwen, said, approaching from the back room with a box of new releases in her arms.
When I opened the shop three years ago, Gwen had applied for the job I’d posted online, and I’d hired her on the spot. While witches weren’t supposed to befriend vampires, and typically stuck to their own coven, I’d never done things most witches did, and Gwen was the gravy to my biscuits. Her fangs glistened dangerously, but her heart was pure gold. She’d been turned into a vampire against her will when she was twenty-seven. Things like that didn’t happen anymore, thankfully, not with the laws Ari had in place.
“Hush, you,” I rebuked Gwen quietly. “No politics in the shop. It’s bad for business.” Everyone was on one side or the other, and no one seemed to see common sense anymore. The divide between vampires was a true, real, terrible thing.
The vampire kept his focus on the books ahead of him, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I changed the station and Taylor Swift belted out of the speakers. The last thing I needed was to start my night off with the endless politics that plague the United States. Turning to Gwen, I asked, “Better?”
“Much.” Beginning to sing along, she took out some of the new hardcovers and headed off to sort them on the shelves.
I turned my attention back to the vampire standing at one of the bookcases. “Can I help you find anything in particular?” I asked him.
“I’m finding what I need, thank you.” The vampire ran his fingers over the spines of the books. “You have a wonderful collection of suspense novels.”
“Thank you. I try to keep up on the newest releases. Do you have a favorite author?”
He glanced over his shoulder and gave me a knowing grin. “Too many favorites to only name one.”
I restrained my snort. When you’re hundreds of years old, you’ve likely read a gazillion books. Vampires were immortal. Witches were not, but they did have much longer lifespans than humans. Most witches lived five hundred years or more. Powerful witches lived over a thousand years. The aging process slowed to a crawl once a witch turned twenty-one, after she passed the Summer Solstice Rite, a rite of passage for every witch. It took a few hundred years for a witch to look over fifty in human years. “Please let me know if you need any assistance.”
He bowed. “I will, thank you, miss.”
Determined to get ahead of my to-do list, I pulled some new stock out of the box on the floor and set to putting them out on the display. The new James Patterson would likely sell out quickly. Vampires loved a good mystery. I’d even sold two copies of Twilight. One to a vampire turned as a teenager, who had stars in her eyes over Edward. The other to an older gentleman who called it comedy. Nonetheless, my paranormal section wasn’t nearly as stocked as the rest of the genres.
Once I returned behind the counter, the vampire headed my way. He’d chosen a few books, setting them down. The first book was Nora Roberts’ latest. A vampire with a heart, always a sentiment that amazed me. “I haven’t had a chance to read this one yet,” I told him, scanning the barcode, catching a whiff of the strong aroma of his sandalwood cologne. “When you come again, please tell me what you thought of it.”
He smiled, his fangs up close and personal now, his dark eyes guarded like he’d seen and done things that would break me. “I’ll be glad to.” He offered a thin plastic card. “I’m paying by credit.”
I was leaning forward to reach for his credit card when he inhaled sharply. On his second, deeper inhale, he cut his gaze to my face. The vampire’s eyes widened and darkened, death shining in their depths. I jerked my hand back, reeling under the hatred burning on his face, coldness sinking into my bones.