Heir of Night (The Thorne Hill)

I’m ready a whole minute before Eliza comes through the door. She looks around the living room as if she’s never been here before.

“Ugh. This is what you paid the decorator to do?” she scoffs, glaring at Lucas. “It’s so plain.”

“Compared to your Barbie Dreamhouse, I suppose it is,” he retorts, and it dawns on me that this apartment is plain and modern, more Lucas’s taste than Eliza’s over-the-top girly decor.

“Ready?” she asks me.

“Yeah. Let me go pee first.” I make a face and hurry to the bathroom and back. We all leave together, and Lucas and I part ways once we get outside. He’s going to talk to some other vampires about business deals or something and will meet us back at The Taproom later.

“Where to first?” I ask Eliza.

“Michigan Avenue and we’ll work out way through the shops. It’s not a far walk from here, and being back makes me miss being so close to all that good shopping,” she adds wistfully. “I did get arrange a car for us so you don’t have to walk.”

“Thanks. That was very thoughtful.”

She grins. “I can be occasionally. Let’s go.”

Twisting in my seat, I look at the entrance of the crowded bar. Melinda called me while Eliza and I were shopping to tell me she’d come across something on a demon hunt that she’s worried is cursed. Since I’m in the city, I told her to bring it—in a salt-filled box, of course—and I’ll check it out. We’re meeting here, and Abby and her friends should be here soon as well.

Currently, I’m alone in a booth, sipping on a mocktail that Rene, the other vampire bartender, made me. A weird feeling started to creep over me not long ago, making me wish there was vodka in my drink instead of just seltzer water. Looking through news articles for any signs of the Horsemen is probably furthering the unsettled feeling, but I can’t help myself. I’m not really paying attention to what’s going on around me until someone slides into the seat across from me.

“I noticed you were alone.”

I turn my head up and see a man with dark eyes and short dark hair smirking at me.

“Yeah, and I’d like it to stay that way,” I say, already annoyed. I like my personal space, and this guy is in my bubble.

“Aw, come on, sweetheart, don’t be like that,” he says, and it’s then I realize he has a friend with him, recording us on his phone. The fuck?

“First,” I start and put my phone down, “don’t call me sweetheart. And second, I can be any way I want.”

“Dammmn.” The guy laughs, looking into the camera. “Are you on TikTok? I just crossed half a mil followers and have to make good on my challenge to come up and buy the prettiest girl in the bar a drink.”

“No,” I say shortly, mentally debating which spell to cast on the loser.

“No?” he asks, genuinely shocked.

“No,” I repeat.

“Why not?” He motions for his friend with the camera to come closer.

“You really want to know?” I fake a smile. “You’re not my type physically, and I find your personality to be invasive, annoying, and pathetic.”

His friend howls with laughter, going on and about how he got burned, which pisses Mr. Clock App off. He recovers quickly and makes a move to grab my hand. I telekinetically stop him, but no one watching would know what was going on. The guy, however, doesn’t understand the invisible force holding him back.

“It’s just one drink,” he says with that stupid grin on his face, snatching his hands back.

“I believe she said no.” Melinda comes up behind the friend and stares down both guys. I lean back and smile. Melinda is about my height and of average build. She keeps her reddish-brown hair pulled back in either a braid or ponytail most of the time and dresses in plain clothes. She’s easy to overlook, but piss her off, and she will kick your ass. “So do us all a favor and leave.”

The guys grumble, but the one across from me frowns and gets up. “Fuck you, bitch.”

Melinda grabs his arm and twists it behind his back, shoving him down against the table. “What did you say? I missed it.”

The guy grunts, and Melinda lets him go, smiling sweetly. “Let the door hit you on the way out.” She lets out a sigh and shakes her head. “Anyway, hey, Callie.”

“Hey. Thanks. That was awesome.”

“It felt good.” She tries not to smile as she sits across from me and takes her purse off her shoulder.

“Offering to buy a pregnant chick a drink is low.” I roll my eyes at the two guys who are taking their bruised egos out the door.

“You don’t really look pregnant sitting like that,” she notes and pulls a large Ziploc bag out of her purse. A gothic jewelry box is inside, with salt spilling out, hence the baggie. “It’s what I found it in.”