Three's a Spell

Odd Roommates

[Elora]

‘This must be a home address,’ I noted to myself as I typed the numbers and street name that Sylas sent me into my GSP. I had never been to that area in town. The map showed buildings so far apart– nothing like the suburb that I live in or the city where my shop is located.

I have made countless home deliveries during my time in this city, but this one seemed so different. These two men seemed so lively,

I did not expect them to go home so early. I tried to imagine what they would be doing at home while there was a party in the streets of the town.

Were they secretly just home-bodies? They are so old that maybe they just enjoy more refined evenings. Are they sitting by a fire playing chess and sipping wine? Maybe I have it backwards, and they are such social butterflies that they are hosting a party of their own; they do seem to live in one of the largest homes in town.

I found myself lost in thoughts of what their house might be like– they didn’t seem like the type to have a modern mansion with white walls and a glass staircase. I pulled myself from my fantasies as I realized what really gave me all these ideas; they were vampires. It is very common for vampires over a few decades old to have obtained wealth, especially if they are sired to those even older.

At the end of the day, these are strangers… vampires… and I am going to their home alone. We may be living in a world where many species get along but ‘criminals’ come in every shape and size. For a short moment, I tried to tell myself to stay calm and take a deep breath. ‘And I turned him purple?!’ Then I thought about it, ‘why am I not afraid?’

‘Maybe I just trust them because they are just so hot,’ I thought to myself, ‘but whatever it is, I need to apologize and fix what I’ve done.’

By the time I arrived at Vernon and Sylas’s home, I had rewritten my apology speech three times and still hadn’t decided whether to knock like a normal person or use the enchanted doorbell that hooted like an owl.

‘Why does it matter? You’re making it awkward!’

I settled on knocking. Twice. Then once more because twice just did not feel right.

‘Yeah, because that wasn’t weird.’

The door swung open before I could second-guess myself again.

“Right on time,” Sylas said with that signature smirk, his long blond curls draped effortlessly past his soft-featured face and down his shoulder, leaning against the door frame in a silk housecoat like he’d walked straight out of one of my gothic romance novels and into my life.

“We were beginning to think witches couldn’t tell time.”

I blinked. “I brought tea,” I said, suddenly feeling nervous, holding up a tin of my best moonleaf blend like it was a peace offering.

Vernon appeared behind Sylas in a black button-down shirt, tight only against his thick crossed arms. His sleeves were rolled halfway up his forearms, showcasing the hand that was still stubbornly violet. His short dark hair was neat, and perfectly complemented the sharp angles of his face. “How did you know about my Sylas’ weakness? Tea indeed might earn you a pardon.”

The inside of their home was exactly as dramatic as I settled on in my fantasies—black marble floors, flickering candelabras, and a grand piano that seemed to be playing itself softly in the distance. The walls were lined with shelves, not of books, but of things: ancient relics, potion bottles, taxidermied bats wearing bowties, and a cursed mirror in the corner (which winked at me when I passed).

They led me to a sitting room with beautiful royal armchairs that hugged a stone chess table. There was a chaise lounge that appeared to be the catch-all spot for jackets and coats, similar to my bedroom chair back home.

Vernon sat on a leather couch that rested in view of a cold stone fireplace. He gestured for me to sit beside him while raising a suggestive eyebrow. As I sat, the surprisingly soft couch hugged my thighs and hips and welcomed me with a comfort I could never reach with the large vine hammock-like couch I have at home. ‘Maybe I should grow a pillowy moss in that hammock,’ I noted to myself, immediately thinking of how I could achieve this comfort in my own home.

I untucked my satchel from under one arm and took a breath. “Okay, if I’m going to fix your hand, I need to concentrate. Do not distract me. Or flirt. Or, I don’t know, smolder at me.”

Sylas gave her what seemed like the most smoldering look he could muster. “I make no promises.” He stood behind the couch and leaned forward as his hands gripped the top of the couch frame.

Vernon rolled his eyes, extending his still-purple hand. “Sylas, let the witch work.”