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“And the realm?”
He puts his hand to his heart. “Promise.”
I smile genuinely at him, a feeling of friendship filling my soul. My sense of danger must obviously be broken because here I am entertaining a vampire. Strangely, I felt no threat coming from him. The vampire the other day definitely gave me pause. I had no doubt he meant harm.
Raúl, though, feels different. Curious.
“I must go, but before I leave, what’s one question you’re dying to know?” He winked when he said dying.
I have so many questions I want answers to, including what happened to his eye. “If I bake you food, can you even eat it? I thought vampires only drank blood.”
He grins mischievously. “We do need blood to survive. But food?” He kisses the tips of his fingers. “Food is for pleasure. For community.”
“Community?” The idea sounds absurd to my ears. We eat to live, and that’s that.
Raúl flashed me what I am starting to believe is his signature mischievous smile. “You could come find out, if you’d like.”
I laugh and shake my head. “No, thanks.” I pause for a quick second. “Do you kill people to survive?”
His face turns grave, and he shakes his head. “We do not need to kill to survive. We rely on willing donors for blood.”
I think about that for a minute, finally nodding. It makes me feel better knowing a horde of vampires isn’t outside killing humans.
He stands on air, swirling his arm in front of him in an elaborate bow. “Tomorrow, then, princess.”
With that, he descends the tower. Like last time, he turns and waves before the trees swallow him whole.
The next morning, I wake with a smile on my face. I haven’t had much opportunity to make and keep friends, and the idea of Raúl coming to have someone to talk to excites me. Something about him draws me to him, and I don’t want to resist. I rush to my morning chores, making sure everything is just right. Mother shouldn’t be home for another few days, but sometimes her visits run shorter than expected. I always want the tower to be tidy for her, the way she likes it. According to her, a clean tower is a clean mind.
Once my chores are done, I rifle through the cold box and food storage, categorizing our ingredients. Raúl said to make him food, but told me no preferences. Nor, by the abyss, allergies. Vampires probably don’t worry about that sort of thing, though. I pull out basic ingredients and rejoice when I find a few rare eggs in the back of the cold box. We used to have chickens on the grass outside, but they were eaten by animals in the night. Since I couldn’t leave the tower, Mother decided to bring me eggs when she could.
Putting my hands on my hips, I stare at the food, hoping it will inspire me. When nothing comes immediately to mind, I waltz down to my floor. One stack of books, nearest the stairs, consists of cookbooks. Only one is a dessert book, but it’s all I need. I carry it upstairs and page through the recipes, finally landing on one, a round lemon tart.
In my happy place, I whirl around the kitchen, humming a song as I measure and mix. I pop the tart into the oven. Our oven isn’t the largest, but it is the perfect size for two people. And the perfect size to cook a beautiful lemon tart.
While it’s cooking, I bring out my language book. I need to study a bit. It isn’t long before I can tell the tart is done by the smell.
I pull it out of the oven and lemon scent fills the room. With a satisfied smile, I place it on the table when I hear a voice from outside.
“Rapunzel. Let down your hair.”
Chapter Seven
Mother is home.
Panicking, I quickly shove the tart into the cold box. I wipe the last of the flour off the counter before running to the window. I throw open the glass and drop my hair down, stepping on the coil and holding it steady.
In minutes, Mother slides down from the windowsill. Dust and ash cover her head and clothes. Her eyes and skin, though, remain bright, clear. “Took you long enough.”
I don’t respond, but drag up my hair. Her bag drops onto the tile, tied to the end of my locks. She takes it and narrows her eyes, scanning the room. “What’s that smell?”
“Lemon,” I say, purposefully not elaborating.
She purses her lips and looks me up and down. “You were baking?”
For a moment, I consider lying. Historically, it hadn’t worked. I drop my shoulders and face the truth. “Yes.”
She stalks to the kitchen, eyebrows drawn together. She flings open the cupboard doors, searching for the culprit. I stand there, my heart racing. My shoulders tighten as she nears the cold box. I hold my breath as she opens the door and pulls out the tart. She sniffs it once and draws back as if disgusted. Without any hesitation, she flings it out the window.
