Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73252 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73252 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“Oh, shit.” As if I didn’t feel bad enough already.
Marie laughs and lets go of my hand. “You have two choices, my dear. Accept that this is a shitty situation and figure out how to get out of it, or accept that this is a shitty situation and give up. You can choose to find a way forward. Just because you can’t see a path that leads to how things end well doesn’t mean you can’t make one. Create one that will take you exactly where you want to go.” She gives me a pointed look. “Or you can just not even try. Wallow. Totally give up.”
“I’ve never been one to give up.” There have been times I’ve wanted to, times I probably should have, but either stubbornness or strong will keeps me going.
“I know,” she says. “And I know I don’t really know you yet, but I can sense that energy about you.” She smiles. “And another thing, if it makes you feel better about this not being some charity case—I wouldn’t put this much of my own energy into just anybody. Something that tells me you’ll figure this out.” She studies me for a second. “You have a tenacity about you. A stubbornness that’s beautiful. You would make an excellent member of our coven, and call me selfish for wanting to recruit you.” Her smile widens. “I want you on our team.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling both conflicted and flattered at the same time. Because there’s something else Marie isn’t saying. Something quite obvious that we’re both aware of.
I can’t join her team and become part of the coven and still be married to a vampire. I would have to choose: Xavier or my heritage.
Chapter
Six
“Hey, everyone,” Marie says as we walk into the little tavern. It reminds me of a bar I’ve been to a few times when we’ve hunted in New Orleans. It’s not overly crowded, but I’m still surprised by how many people are here. And it leaves me with so many questions.
This place is obviously some sort of dimensional pocket or plane of existence or whatever the hell you call it, but people just come here to hang out? Can you live here? Marie said you don’t need to be from New Orleans to walk through the portal, so how many portals are there?
Can you create a portal from anywhere?
I need to make a list of everything I want to ask because there’s so much, I’m bound to forget something.
“Long time no see,” a man says, turning away from the bar so he can give Marie a hug. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Wren,” Marie says. “She’s the witch who was kidnapped by the Order that I told you about.”
“Way to rip the Band-Aid off,” I mutter.
Marie laughs. “Keeping secrets hasn’t done you any favors.”
I can’t argue with that.
“Interesting,” the guy says as he looks me over. “An Order member. I think most of us go out of our way to avoid them.”
“I can’t blame you there,” I say. “I go out of my way to avoid them, and I’m one of them.”
I think. Maybe. I close my eyes and rapidly shake my head. I don’t know anymore. I don’t think the identity crisis has fully hit me yet because I’m still dealing with another crisis.
He extends a hand. “I’m Dennis. It’s very nice to meet you. Welcome home.”
His words make me suddenly emotional, and I smile as I fight to keep the tears at bay. Because underneath it all—under all the shock and disbelief—I do feel like I’m home. I feel like I belong. This might be the one place where I can fully be myself without anyone looking at me like I’m some sort of freak or being awkwardly impressed by what I can do. There have been plenty of times, with a friend like Delphi or around my brothers, when I’ve felt like the odd one out. Not in a bad way, exactly, but given the lifestyle I grew up in, it would just be nice to feel normal.
Yeah, it’s pretty fucking cool that I can telekinetically manipulate objects. And yeah, I’m aware that isn’t something you see every day. But wouldn’t it be nice to just be who I am without someone looking at me in disbelief?
Maybe.
Or maybe I secretly like the attention and just don’t want to admit it to myself.
The truth is, I don’t know. I’ve never lived any other way.
“Do you want a drink?” Dennis asks. “My treat.”
“I’ll have a vodka cranberry,” Marie says, “if it’s your treat.”
“I meant the new girl,” Dennis says with a laugh. “But sure, Marie. I’ll buy you a drink too.”
“Same for me,” I say. Dennis flags down the bartender while I look around, dropping my guard so I can get a full sense of the place. It really does look like any other New Orleans bar. There are maybe fifteen people inside, about half of them sitting at the bar, talking and laughing. There’s a full table in the back that just got served a tray of mozzarella sticks and cheese fries.