Hexed and Bitten

Chapter 10

“Is the infamous Arabella getting a little rusty?”

“I’m not rusty, I just have a lot on my mind,” Arabella huffed, letting Tara go and taking a step back. She smoothed down her dark sweater, watching her friend with a mixture of fond exhaustion and lingering shock.

Standing in the doorway of Hexed & Bitten, Tara looked completely unchanged by the passage of time. She wore her usual effortless charm, her golden-blonde hair falling in loose, artful waves over a black leather jacket, framing her fine, sharp features. Her bright green eyes flickered with that familiar, terrifying intelligence that always saw right through Arabella’s defenses.

“I don’t know, Bella. If this was ten years, or even two years ago, you would have sensed me a lot earlier.” Tara shrugged, a playful smirk still on her face. She shifted her weight, glancing around the dimly lit interior of the shop. The space smelled richly of dried lavender, ground cinnamon, old paper, and beeswax candles, a comforting mixture that had defined Arabella’s quiet life in Salem for the past year.

“And yet, for someone so rusty, I still pinned you.” Arabella raised a brow, a smirk of her own curving her lips. When she smiled, deep, charming dimples appeared in her cheeks, breaking through the dark, heavy worry that had sat on her shoulders all week.

“Touché,” Tara chuckled. She offered a slight bow of her head, acknowledging the hit. “Now, where is my furry boyfriend?”

A loud meow sounded from the shadowed aisle between two heavy mahogany bookshelves before Jinx came prancing toward them. His sleek black coat caught the warm amber light of the display lamps, his long tail held straight up in the air with a welcoming twitch. Purring loudly, he rubbed his head vigorously against Tara’s calves, entirely abandoning his usual Stoic guard.

“There’s my handsome little man,” Tara cooed, dropping her bag onto a nearby chair and scooping Jinx effortlessly into her arms.

Purring loudly, the cat rubbed his face against her cheek, his bright green eyes shut in absolute bliss as he kneaded his paws against her shoulder.

“Wow, little traitor.” Arabella crossed her arms over her chest, watching the display with an exaggerated pout. “I bought you the expensive salmon treats, and the second she walked through the door, I don't even exist.”

“Don’t be jealous,” Tara grinned, burying her nose into the cat’s dark fur.

Huffing, Arabella stuck her tongue out at Tara, making her friend laugh. She couldn’t help but join in. Sighing, she smiled at her old companion, a sense of relief washing over her. Arabella hadn’t realized how much she had missed Tara. For seven agonizing days, she had been walking on eggshells in her own town, constantly looking over her shoulder after catching the scent of an unknown vampire lingering under the oak trees across the street. Having Tara here brought an immediate, physical lifting of that weight.

“I need a drink,” Tara announced, carrying Jinx to the back of the shop toward the entrance leading upstairs.

Shaking her head, Arabella flipped the closed sign back over and locked the door before following her. The heavy deadbolt engaged with a firm metallic clink, securing Hexed & Bitten against the cool autumn night. She turned off the main display lights, leaving only the low amber glow of the accent lamps burning against the glass cases.

Tara had never been to her new home, yet moved as if she had been there a hundred times, not surprising, given that her magic allowed her to see what others couldn’t. Her vision didn't just register physical wood and stone; it mapped the energy of a room, weaving through the dark with total confidence. She navigated the narrow staircase leading up to the loft without a single hesitation, her boots clicking softly on the polished steps.

Upstairs, the loft opened up into a warm, open-concept sanctuary. Exposed brick walls, low leather furniture, and shelves overflowing with historical chronicles and botanical journals gave the space a lived-in, grounded feel.

Sitting in the living room, Arabella watched Tara sip her scotch while cooing to Jinx, who was curled in a ball on her lap. The dark amber liquid in Tara's glass caught the soft light of the floor lamps. The little traitor always had a soft spot for her.

Being here with Tara brought a rare comfort; she didn't have to hide who, or what, she truly was. In Salem, Arabella played the part of "Ari Waters," a sweet, approachable human business owner. She had to suppress her predatory vampire instincts, hide her strength, and constantly monitor her expressions so her subtle, dulled violet eyes wouldn't draw unwanted attention from the locals. But with Tara, the mask could drop completely. Tara knew about the coven m******e in 1912, her turning by Maximus, her sixty-four years with her former vampire family, and her painful banishment fifty years ago.

“I’ve missed you too,” Tara broke the silence with a knowing look. Her voice was low and quiet, cutting gently through the quiet hum of the room. “Do you remember when you found Jinx?”

“Yeah. I’m surprised he didn’t end up staying with you.” Arabella watched her companion snuggle deeper into Tara’s lap, his tail flicking lazily in his sleep. “He’s always preferred you over me.”

“No.” Tara looked down, her free hand gently stroking his fur, her fingers sinking into his soft coat. “He chose you, Bella. He might like me a lot, but you are his person, and he's your familiar.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t have a familiar, I lost my connection when I was turned.” She would love it if Jinx were truly her familiar, but she knew it wasn’t possible. She was no longer tied to her magic or the realm beyond. When Maximus had turned her on that blood-soaked October night in 1912, her bond to her ancestral witch magic had been severed. The bright, vibrant violet eyes that marked the powerful women of her bloodline had softened into a muted shade, a tragic physical reminder that she was dead to the earth.

“Oh, silly Bella,” Tara tsked. She set her glass down on the wooden side table with a quiet tap. “I did a little scouting around Salem.” Her eyes flashed silver as she took another sip. The sudden metallic sheen of her magic flared in her pupils before fading back to her natural emerald green. “I don’t sense a vampire... not in the way one normally would.”

Arabella stared at her. The silence in the living room stretched long and tight between them. What did she mean by that? Wasn’t there only one way to sense a vampire? A vampire was a cold, stagnant pulse in the atmosphere, an absence of living energy wrapped in a distinct metallic edge. How could someone be there and yet not be felt in the traditional way?

A memory from long ago flitted past...

The scent of crushed herbs, rosemary, dried elderberry, and sweet thyme, seemed to fill her senses, carrying her back over a century into a sunlit kitchen.

Arabella’s mother sat at the table, sprinkling herbs into a bowl, her golden hair pulled back in her usual plaits. The late afternoon light poured through the small window, illuminating the fine dust motes hanging in the air. Maharet moved with a timeless, serene grace, her posture straight and her hands steady.

“Not everything is as it seems,” Maharet said, her violet eyes meeting Arabella’s. They were the exact same vibrant, luminous shade Arabella used to possess before her turning. “The world is full of such wonderful and terrifying things. When the world is chaotic and it’s hard to find your way, remember to still your mind. Let go of the noise around you.”

“What do you mean?” young Arabella asked, leaning her arms against the rough wooden edge of the table.

“Close your eyes, my child,” Maharet commanded softly. Her voice carried the deep, resonant authority of a coven leader, yet it was laced with immense maternal warmth.

Taking a deep breath, Arabella obeyed. She let her eyelids fall shut, inhaling the rich scent of dried earth and burning incense that permanently clung to her mother's home.

“What do you hear? What do you feel?”

Her mother's voice lulled her, relaxing her shoulders and slowing her breathing. With each breath, the world quieted until nothing remained. The creaking of the floorboards, the rustle of the wind against the glass, the distant chatter of the town, all of it dissolved into a calm, infinite stillness. In that stillness, she felt them.

“That’s it,” Maharet encouraged.

Light flared behind her eyelids like twinkling stars, each distinct from the next. Not lights, others. She sensed so many supernaturals throughout the town, their distinct colored auras shimmering through the dark. Witches glowed with deep greens and warm ambers, while ancient spirits hummed in soft silver threads. Each signature was unique, a hidden signature burning softly beneath the surface of the physical world.

“Remember, my child, not everything is as it seems.”

Blinking back the memory, Arabella grabbed her glass and downed the rest of her scotch. The amber burn cleared the phantom scent of herbs from her mind, returning her to the dim, modern loft in Salem.

Her chest ached with that dull, lingering pain of the past. It was a persistent ghost that fifty years of running and rebuilding had never truly silenced. Her mother, her sisters, her coven, all taken in a single night of bloodshed, leaving her stranded between the world of the living and the dead. Would it ever fade, or would peace only come once she was finally destroyed?

“Could it be someone like me?” Arabella finally spoke up, pushing the lingering pain away. She set the empty glass down on the table, her knuckles white as she let go. “Someone who still holds pieces of who they were before being turned?”

She thought of her own unique nature, how she could walk beneath the bright sun without burning, how she retained subtle echoes of her former self that defied standard vampire lore. If she could exist as a hybrid anomaly, wasn't it possible another creature had survived a transformation with their original essence partially intact?

“Perhaps,” Tara hummed, considering it. She leaned her head back against the cushion, her eyes reflecting the dim amber light of the room as she pondered the theory. “Whoever this is, they are smart and able to cover their tracks. But don’t worry, Bella, I’ll find them.” She grinned, taking another sip.