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“You knew my grandmother?” I step back, out of the warlock’s reach, and examine him. There’s not a wrinkle on his perfect face, not a gray hair in sight in his perfectly trimmed beard. He can’t be over thirty-five, maybe forty.
“I look pretty good for an ancient old man, don’t I?”
Right. Warlocks don’t care for the price of magic. They bend it to their will and break all the laws of balance with no regard for the consequences. It makes sense he would alter his lifeline and tack on a few extra centuries.
Death is a part of living. None of us can escape it.
Even Callius and his youthful appearance will succumb to mortality, eventually. Maybe not for another hundred years or two, but the day will come for him just as it will for me.
Even vampires aren’t truly immortal. They, like this warlock, are merely prolonging their return to Mother Gaia’s embrace.
“Well, are you going to come in?” Callius quirks a perfectly plucked brow at me. “Or would you rather talk out here on the porch over drinks? I’ve got a pitcher of iced coffee in the fridge. Or perhaps you’d prefer wine?”
“A glass of water would be great.” I take a tentative step inside the house and out of the oppressive humidity of the afternoon.
Decked out in warm oranges and cheery yellows, the interior of the warlock’s home is even more inviting and cozy than the outside. It feels lived in and homey.
And something smells amazing.
“I baked a chocolate cheesecake,” Callius says when I tip my nose in the air. “Not to brag, but my baking skills rival that of any chef in this city. Probably the entire state.”
I want to hate his cocky attitude, but something about him is undeniably alluring, drawing me in even as I resist it. It’s like his every word is laced with a heavy dose of Valium and a side of warm honey.
It’s more than him being a smooth-talking lawyer. It’s the house, the baking, and even the cutesy Pikachu slippers.
I would prefer the dark image of what a warlock is supposed to be like instead of this.
There’s something off about Callius Crane.
I don’t know what yet, but I plan to keep my guard up.
“Now then,” Callius says as we step deeper into his home. “Would you like me to cut you a slice?”
“No, thank you.” I keep my voice pleasant, wondering if I should even accept that glass of water from him. “I wanted to sort out my grandmother’s estate and get back to Leeds as quickly as possible.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugs, guiding us past the living room, into a formal dining room, and then the kitchen at the back of the house. Each of the spaces is decorated in bright colors and each of them is as cozy as the one before it.
“Please, have a seat.” He gestures to the raised stools tucked under the kitchen island and rounds the counter.
I climb onto one of the cushioned stools while Crane putters around the spacious kitchen. The oven door is cracked half-way, and he pulls it the rest of the way open to reveal a mouth-watering chocolate cheesecake. It looks as delicious as it smells, and my stomach grumbles in protest when I decline a slice for a second time.
Callius pours two glasses of water from a pitcher in the fridge—filled with wedges of lemon and cucumber—before taking the stool next to me with his own slice of decadent chocolatey goodness.
“All right. Claudette’s will.” He slides a thick stack of papers in front of me.
I slide the document right back at him, interrupting the bite of dessert he has halfway to his lips. “I’ve already been through the will. Everything is taken care of except for the house here in town that I didn’t realize existed. I’ll need it sorted before I leave tomorrow evening.”
“You haven’t taken care of everything.” Callius chews slowly and swallows. “Claudette left me a few things to hold on to in the event of her passing.”
“Like what?”
“Like her grimoire, for starters,” he says around another bite of chocolate cheesecake.
I roll my eyes. “Like I said, I’ve already dealt with everything. Grand-Mère’s grimoire is sitting on our altar seven thousand kilometers across the North Atlantic Ocean.”
“Maybe her new grimoire is there, but the grimoire I’m referring to is different. Special. It dates back to the original Dumont witch that settled in New Orleans and has been passed down from mother to daughter ever since. Each generation has added their own incantations and rituals over the years, and I assure you, it is very much here in Nola.”
That’s news to me.
