Page 16

CHARLOTTE

“Julius, hey,” I say, trying to stop myself from running into him in my haste to get into the kitchen and eat something.

My feet trip over some of the cobblestones in the floor, and the green gargoyle gently rests a hand on my upper arm to steady me.

“Hello to you too, Charlotte. I was actually about to bring this up to you.” He flicks his eyes upward to his other hand, holding a plate that wafts steam toward the beams in the ceiling.

“Really?” My jaw drops a little.

“Of course, what better way to get on the good side of your new roommate than to ply her with breakfast?” he asks with a teasing smile as he lowers the plate in front of my face.

It’s stacked with a pile of fluffy scrambled eggs studded with peppers, a hunk of fresh crusty bread, bacon glistening with grease, and a wedge of melon covered in itty bitty fresh berries.

“This looks incredible.”

“Well, I thought about a full English and decided instead to do a full Irish…well, a full Irish, Julius style.”

“Can I sit in here?”

The formal dining room is huge, meant for an army instead of a lone artist, and has way too much space. The subterranean part of the kitchen is much cozier.

“Of course. Mind if we break our fasts together?” He sets my plate down on the island next to a cup of hot coffee with cream and a bowl of plain yogurt.

“I didn’t know gargoyles needed to eat,” I say as I nod, sliding into the seat.

I’m far too entranced by the breakfast offerings to be overly polite or even embarrassed about the literal drool beading on my bottom lip.

“We don’t need to, but it’s nice. We appreciate food like mortals do but don’t gain anything from it overly so,” Julius says as he slides into the seat beside me.

He pulls another plate in front of himself and dishes large portions of the same foods he served me onto his plate.

“So you just…eat it, and it goes nowhere?” I ask and shove both a strip of bacon and a berry into my mouth at the same time.

A groan slips out of me at how fucking good they taste together. The berry is so tart and sweet, while the bacon adds a richness and a bite of salt.

I chew my bite before I glance at Julius, who is staring at me from behind the rims of those gold glasses.

His lips are parted like I’ve caught the very breath from his lungs, and his pupils are blown wide.

I flush, licking my lips, trying to tuck in my stomach but failing miserably.

He’s probably staring at me because he’s wondering why I’m shoving food into my mouth like I haven’t eaten in months.

But he’s been nothing but kind. He’s never looked at me funny before.

I flinch slightly, the sting of my own thoughts no less sharp just because I’m the one judging me. “Sorry, you make good food.”

The apology is what seems to break the spell. He blinks, and his mouth snaps shut.

“No apology necessary. It’s an honor to cook for you.

” The wings behind him freeze, flexing before they ruffle themselves.

They’re large and bat-like but have gentle movements when they want to.

“I mean, it’s really nice to cook for someone who actually needs food to survive. Helps me to…try new things.”

He picks up a small spoon and scoops a bit of the yogurt from his own small dish.

Julius brings the spoon to his lips, and instead of taking it into his mouth, his tongue darts out and licks the creamy substance from the spoon.

That clever tongue rolls around the silver utensil, making my traitorous nipples tighten.

“Enjoying it?” His lips are moving, the words are coming out, but that movement of his tongue on the spoon keeps replaying in my mind.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I’m enjoying it very much.”

“Good to know.” He shifts his chair closer to mine. “Would it be OK if I ask you a few things? You’ve got me curious.”

“Me? Made you curious?” I say, breathless.

“Insatiably so, if I’m being honest. I’ve stayed up late mulling over all the things I want to ask you.” Angling his head down so he can catch my eyes more easily, he offers a warming smile.

“Fire away then.” I beam in response.

I can deal with a little positive attention from a handsome monster . I am worthy of it.

“What brought you to Ireland? Besides inheriting the deed to the castle? Interested in the countryside?”

I bite my lip, shame flushing my cheeks as I shake my head. “Nope, I’m sorta shallow, I guess. I came to see the castle and qualify to get my inheritance.”

“Qualify? Are there hidden stipulations or something?” he asks, and that sentence makes the Irish brogue in his voice thicker.

Something about it soothes me as it makes me think.

“Not really hidden. They were right on the will in black and white. I never met the aunt I inherited this all from, so I was really surprised.” I laugh softly, forcing the sound out because that’s just what I do when things are painfully awkward inside my head.

“Your parents never told you? No trips with them when you were little? If you inherited the castle, then you must have ties to Ireland.”

I wince sharply, nearly falling off my seat if not for Julius.

With his tail, he catches the chair before it tips, and he wraps his hands around my waist to keep me from moving an inch.

I want to claw into him and make him release me so I can run and never look back at this beautiful kitchen and the handsome gargoyle.

It feels like he’s lit a match to start one of his simmer pots, but he doesn’t know I’ve actually filled the whole pot with flammable gas.

“My parents are dead.” The words are matter of fact, flat, even, to the ears of anyone who might expect heartbreak or deep sorrow.

He digs his fingers into my sides, grip tightening as I wiggle slightly.

Some of my urges are harder to suppress than others, and the one to flee is nearly nuclear at the moment.

Julius’ expression softens, and he tips his chin down a little.

His glasses scratch gently down his nose before he makes a soft shhh sound.

“I’m so sorry, Charlotte. Just breathe, you’re alright. I won’t hurt you,” he whispers, hands not budging, though his tail drifts up and pushes my hair back from my face.

The thought of biting him quickly passes through my mind, and it rips a laugh from me that borders on hysterical. Then, the tears that I didn’t know had been building roll down my cheeks.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he repeats, pulling me easily from my stool and into his lap, crushing me in a hug that constricts my breaths but imparts a heavy feeling of security.

“I was in high school, but it”— hiccup —“still sucks so much”— hiccup —“I never got to ask them so many questions, and then Marcus said something,”

“And what was that, sweetling?” Julius asks, moving one hand from around me to the middle of my back to rub soothing circles.

“He said I was a witch!” Even to my ears, the words sound more hysterical than my accompanying sob.

Julius stiffens but says nothing.

Tears and snot flood down my face, and surely, any illusion of possible attractiveness he might have felt toward me must fizzle and die a hard death.

“And why the fuck are you all so hot? It’s like some kind of cosmic fuck you,” I croak, the wave of emotion finally ebbing.

My hands must have been moving of their own volition because when I finally realize they’re resting against his chest, I can feel steady warmth and pulsing beneath my fingertips.

I hesitate to keep them there. But the heavy presence of Julius’ hand on my back never lets up.

As he continues to rub steady circles, it helps my breaths come more evenly.

When I can breathe without hiccupping, he speaks. “I see. I’m so sorry about your parents, Charlotte. You’re here now, and if I can, I’ll help you find all the answers you want.”

I clench my hands into fists, the lack of straight answers winding my whole being tight.

“And the witch thing?” I murmur.

“I don’t think I’m the best person to talk to you about that.

Have you thought about talking to Eloise?

She and her wife practice, and they would be much better help than any of my nest. We have some magic, but it’s entirely different stuff,” he explains gently.

He cups my cheek with the hand not stroking my back and guides my face so we make eye contact.

“But I do believe you’re a witch and a special one at that. ”

I sniffle, leaning into his touch. “Great.”

I think about contacting Eloise. I really, really, really think about it, but I talk myself out of it in the end.

It feels like a lot to put on a kindly stranger, even if she is a witch too.

Instead, I do the only thing I can think of and turn to the internet.

With supernaturals revealing themselves, there has to be a wealth of knowledge somewhere.

If anything, there have to at least be a few books that will hold more water than the stuff that populates some Reddit forums. I scroll through a forum on witchcraft for an hour before I realize that no actual witches are probably in established covens or whatever.

I shut my laptop with a groan.

I don’t want to call Eloise, but I need to. She’s the only one with any sort of information on this aunt of mine. I try to think of how I’m going to broach the subject.

Should I just come out with it and ask? Should I try to get her to bring up the big W word? Should I just try another day and do it in person?

“Fuck that idea,” I breathe.

In-person questioning quickly gets pushed to the last resort section of my mental checklist.

Suddenly, my boobs begin to vibrate. My phone is stashed in there so I don’t lose it when I’m wandering the castle. Slipping a hand into my overalls, under my shirt, and then into my bra, I peel my phone away from the flesh of my breast and wipe off some of the sweat with a wince.

“The humidity is no joke,” I grumble as I look at the screen.

Eloise is calling.

“Son of a witch,” I chuckle. “Hello?”