“Three against one isn’t odds I like,” I admit.
“One of us will always be with you. The other two will attack at random, but never together,” Marcellus assures me as we climb into the back of Ada’s black Audi.
“The best defense is offense. We’re going to work on recognizing when a skilled person is trying to influence you mentally.”
“Like now. Look down,” Ada instructs softly.
I glance down to see my fingers are tapping the window against my own will. I jerk my hand away from the glass and meet her gaze in the mirror. “How long have I been doing that?” I whisper.
“Less than a minute,” Ada replies.
My hand trembles. “I didn’t feel a thing.”
“It’s a trick, a gentle nudge that makes the person believe the idea has come from them. It’s a slithering snake in your mind, carefully weaving its way through your consciousness. In order to sense them, you need to know your own mind. How it’s ordered. The natural way your thoughts form. Once you understand this, it can no longer be used against you.”
“What my sister is not telling you is she was a gypsy in her human life. This means her powers of persuasion were already high. Our vampirism heightens the best and worst traits, so she’s basically a freak of nature.”
“Jealous,” Ada coos.
“Yes, you wench.”
“Sisters,” Marcellus mutters.
The absolute normalcy of the moment makes me laugh.
“I think we broke her. Bossman is going to be pissed,” Ruby whispers.
“You’re all just so …”
“Powerful?” Marcellus guesses.
“Stunning?” Ruby adds.
“Normal,” I blurt.
The hisses that follow make me laugh harder. I wipe away the tears and focus inward. I breathe in and out slowly, as I allow myself to fall into a meditative trance. I imagine my brain is an apothecary. Each topic has a shelf. Each spice family is matched together. The wards on my shop alert me when someone tries to enter against my will or tamper with my products. I hold up my hands and cast the words, watching as my magic becomes visible. The brilliant green streaks form a neon perimeter before they disappear.
By the time we park and slip onto the crowded streets, I’m more aware of my surroundings in myself.
“I’ve actually got some shopping to do,” Marcellus says.
Intrigued, I follow beside him, as the girls disappear into the crowd. Their ability to blend into their surroundings is frightening. They’re built to hunt. My eyes drink in the shops we pass and the people. Sangria is a town I don’t frequent often. Primarily for vampires, though humans mingle unsuspectingly as well. To them, it’s an eccentric town for those who don’t fit into the mainstream. Fondly referred to as the Austin of Louisiana, it’s a best-kept secret. The energy here is different.
We slip down an alley and pause at a rusted door. Marcellus raps twice, and a tiny rectangle slides open. The piercing gray eyes are arctic cold.
Marcellus nods. The rectangle is closed, and the door opens, hinges creaking in protest. It takes an effort to make my feet work so I can follow him into the dimly lit space. The walls are black, and the blue lighting does little to brighten the space. Vampires of all shapes and sizes line the front bar. Like a predator with the scent of prey, they turn to study me.
Head high, I follow Marcellus, keeping the barriers around my mind locked down tight. We weave our way through the crowd, and down a hallway through a door that says staff only. The shop is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Plastic bags full of blood are lined up in glass cases, hanging on racks in refrigerators with glass doors, and actually bottled in cans and glasses.
My jaw drops.
“Welcome to the Blood Shop, My Lady. It’s where we come to stock up on all of our favorites,” Marcellus says. The title is meant a warning. All eyes are on me, and I need to act accordingly.
“It’s amazing.” I nod to the proprietor behind the counter dressed smartly in an expensive suit.
“You honor us with your visit, Lady. I’m Monroe, the owner and sommelier of this establishment. I make sure we have the freshest, tastiest, and free-range options.”
I nod my head. “Is he telling me this is all farmed from willing donors?”