Page 3 of Bewitched by the Fruit Bat King (The Bewitching Hour #3)

I parked in front of Morana's shop, taking a moment to check my reflection in the rearview mirror.

One of my better marketing campaigns, that whole "vampires don't have reflections" thing.

Right up there with "sunlight turns us to ash.

" The truth was a lot less dramatic - sure, daylight made us squint like hungover college students, and our natural night vision meant sunny days were about as comfortable as staring into high beams. We were weaker during the day too, but dying?

Please. I'd started that rumor back in the 1800s to keep hunters from barging into our sanctuaries during daylight hours when we were resting.

Sometimes the best protection was just letting humans believe their own ridiculous folklore.

The last time I'd visited Morana had been.

.. interesting. She'd turned a vampire duke into a chinchilla for interrupting her tea time.

He'd made an adorably furry addition to her collection of cursed objects for a week before she'd reversed it.

Probably reversed it. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen Duke Matthews since then.

The sign above her shop morphed from "MORANA'S ANTIQUITIES" to "YES, KANE, I KNOW WHY YOU'RE HERE" as I approached. Show-off.

I straightened my tie again, grabbed the bottle of juice, and pushed open the heavy oak door.

The familiar scent of ancient books, exotic incense, and just a hint of brimstone washed over me.

A cat that might have been Egyptian, might have been a former customer, watched me from atop a stack of grimoires.

"You're late," Morana's voice drifted from somewhere in the labyrinth of shelves.

"I just got here."

"Yes. Late." She materialized from between two bookcases, looking like someone had crossed a runway model with an ancient goddess and sprinkled in just a dash of eldritch horror for spice.

Her silver hair defied gravity in ways that would make Einstein weep, and those mercury eyes held enough centuries to make even me feel young.

"I brought a peace offering." I held up the bottle.

She plucked it from my hands with supernatural grace. "Cloudberry Essence. Usually almost $40,000 a bottle. You must be truly desperate." A slight smile played at her lips. "Or feeling guilty about that 3 AM call."

"I was having a crisis."

"You were naked in a stranger's apartment. That's not a crisis, that's a Tuesday night for some people."

"I'm the king of Eastern American vampires. I don't do naked stranger apartments."

"Clearly you do now." She produced two crystal glasses that looked older than most civilizations. "Tell me, do you always shift into bat form to check your email, or was last night special?"

I accepted the glass she offered, trying not to notice how the crystal seemed to hum when it touched my fingers. "I needed to clear my head. The merger with the West Coast coven is-"

"Boring me already." She poured the CloudBerry Essence with the kind of precision that suggested she'd probably invented the concept of proper etiquette. "Tell me about the witch."

Through the window, I watched a troll mail carrier carefully sorting through his bag, each envelope color-coded by species.

A werewolf jogged past in premium athleisure wear, headphones in his ears.

Haven's Cross: where the supernatural came to pretend they were normal, while doing the most abnormal things possible.

"She was..." I paused, searching for words that wouldn't make me sound like a lovesick teenager. "Unexpected."

"The naked part or the summoning-you-through-ancient-wards part?"

"Both." I took a sip of the juice, letting the vintage roll across my tongue. "She claimed it was an accident. A transportation spell gone wrong."

"And you believed her?" One perfect silver brow arched.

"Of course not. I can spot BS from three continents away." I set the glass down carefully, remembering these particular crystals had once belonged to someone who'd made Dracula look like an amateur. "But her magic felt... different. Natural. Like breathing."

"And?" Morana's mercury eyes gleamed with something between amusement and predatory interest.

"And I couldn't read her mind."

"Interesting." She set her glass down with deliberate care, the crystal chiming against the ancient wood. The maybe-Egyptian cat's ears twitched. "What else?"

I hesitated. Morana had a way of using information like a surgeon used a scalpel - precise, effective, and occasionally fatal to the recipient.

"Her magic tasted like caramel," I finally admitted. "I didn't even drink from her, but..."

"Ah." The sound contained multitudes. "And there it is."

She glided to a bookshelf that definitely hadn't been there a moment ago, selecting a volume that seemed to bend the morning light around it. The leather binding shifted under her fingers like it was alive. Knowing Morana's collection, it probably was.

"Kane." Her voice held an unusual note of caution. "Some doors, once opened, cannot be closed. Some fates, once acknowledged, cannot be undone. Are you certain you want this information?"

"Yes."

"Very well." She opened the book, and actual starlight spilled across the pages. The cat yawned disinterestedly. "But remember, you were warned. Now, tell me exactly how her magic felt..."

Thirty minutes and several revelations later, I stood rooted to the spot on the sidewalk, staring at a small shop four doors down from Morana's. If I hadn’t been magiced there and then back to my own office I would have recognized this spot.

But how have I never noticed her before?

The hand-painted sign read "Floramancy" in whimsical lettering, with sprigs of lavender worked into the design.

Through the window, I could see shelves lined with glass jars and dried herbs hanging from the ceiling.

My mate's shop. Right here in Haven's Cross. She'd been practically under my nose this entire time.

"Sir," my AI chimed in, "your board meeting begins in exactly ninety minutes."

“Yes, I know.”

Part of me wondered if I should turn back, avoid potential curses and complications like Morana had warned. She was rarely wrong. But the connection I'd felt still pulled me forward, towards her.

The bell above the door chimed softly as I entered, releasing a wave of botanical fragrances that put my greenhouse acquisitions to shame.

Interesting – fresh flowers filled copper buckets along the walls, while dried herbs hung from racks above, each bundle tagged in elegant script.

The morning sun filtered through those grand Victorian windows, and I had to appreciate the business strategy of the display.

The way she'd arranged those exotic blooms to catch the light?

That kind of marketing instinct, I could work with.

She was with a customer, all business-like efficiency as she wrapped up a bouquet of pink roses and baby's breath at an antique counter that had to be worth a small fortune.

Her chestnut hair caught the sunlight, and that forest green dress was a far cry from last night's startled witch in pajamas.

Much better view from this angle, if I did say so myself.

The elderly woman she was helping clutched the wrapped bouquet, nodding along like my witch – yes, definitely mine – was sharing the secrets of the universe instead of what looked like basic flower care.

I leaned against a display of potted orchids, content to watch for a moment.

The way magic moved under her skin when she gestured, like electricity under silk.

.. now that was something you didn't see every day.

When I cleared my throat, she went still as a deer in headlights. The look on her face when she turned – oh, priceless. Those remarkable eyes widened, and her pulse jumped deliciously. Two centuries of board meetings had taught me timing, and I do so enjoy making an entrance.

"Good morning," I said, letting my smile slide into something just this side of predatory.

"I believe we have some unfinished business to discuss.

" After all, no one had ever succeeded in throwing me out of anywhere, magically or otherwise, without consequences.

Though I had to admire her creativity with that ivy spell.

The color drained from her face as she gripped the counter's edge.

"Mrs. Henderson," she managed, voice admirably steady for someone facing down the vampire she'd magical-kidnapped last night, "why don't you take those roses home and try that arrangement we talked about? Come back if you need anything else."

The old woman looked between us, murmured something about young people these days, and clutched her bouquet closer as she shuffled past. Smart woman.

Then we were alone, my little witch and I. I do so love negotiations, especially when I already know I'm going to win.