̶I̶s̶l̶a̶ Madame Margarita, Needs a Cold Shower

Greg kissed my neck. His mouth hot. The tips of his fangs grazed down my throat, my collarbone, my naked chest and stomach and thighs. He nipped at the pulse of my femoral artery. I threaded my fingers through the soft waves of his hair. Pulled him. Higher. His lips left a cool, wet mark on my thigh. I my spread my legs wider. With an almost tortured moan, he kissed me again, at my center. I gasped. His tongue lapped lazily, and a wave of pleasure rolled through my body, tossing my head back into the pillow.

I was close. Trembling. I was so, so, so, so close. More. Just a little more. Harder. Deeper. I arched my back. Ground myself hard against him. But his pace didn't increase. I whimpered. Pulled his hair. No change.

Vampires can't enter without permission.

The thought sprung on me in an instant and of course. It made sense. It was so clear. So obvious.

"Please," I whispered. "I want you."

Cold. His breath. My body. The room. Everything.

Greg glared up at me, eyes glowing an eerie blue beneath dark lashes. His smirk twisted. He hissed. Needle like fangs sprung from his gums, dripping icy saliva on my skin. My breath hitched. Body seized.

The vampire between my legs bit down. Hard. Fast. I screamed in agony as he pierced my thigh. I thrashed. Kicked. He clamped down. Teeth scraped bone. His tongue, rough, sandpapery, dragged its way out his mouth and all the way up to my nose and suddenly smelled of rotten tuna—

"Grumpkin!" I yelled, breaking out from the haze of my dream. "You're being rude!"

The cat bit my nose. Mewed. I swatted him away. Fluffy brat bopped his forehead against my chin, purring like the engine on a Thunderbird.

It was daylight. Early yet. Balls. I'd only been asleep a few hours.

And it's not like that was the worst dream I'd ever had. Not by a long stretch.

Yawning, I detangled myself from my damp sheets and checked my phone. Three texts from Greg.

Grumpkin followed me into the bathroom. Purring and mewing. Weaving between my ankles. Nearly tripping and killing me by method of split head on the lip of the tub in the process. Momma's little monster baby.

You know, that might not actually be a bad way to go this morning. The tub, for once, was shining and smelled of disinfectant. Like everything else in my dingy bathroom.

I sat on the toilet and smiled. Greg had even replaced the toilet paper roll. He didn't have to do that. He didn't have to remove the layer of cat hair out my shower drain either. Boy didn't even use the shower. But he cleaned it. Insisted on tidying up. Apologized profusely for the alleged mess he made but left no evidence of. There weren't even any pebbles of cat litter grinding beneath my toes.

What a guy.

Wish he hadn't dashed out of here like Cinderella catching the last pumpkin home.

Not like his little indiscretion had to ruin all the fun. I've rallied back from worse upsets before. Messier ones too. With consideringly less charming disfunctions.

As I tore off a few sheets of toilet paper there was a knock at my door. I tensed. Could say speak of the devil but it was daylight. Greg would be comatose. That, and, you know, an actual devil might appear.

If it were Kyle, he'd have just let himself in. And my sisters at least had the good sense to text me before popping over. Which meant...

Benjamin Franklin's third asshole, a customer!

"Welcome! Bienvenido!" I called out, finishing my business. "The spirits are, uh, indisposed at the moment, but will be with you shortly!"

For some stupid reason I pictured Greg shaking his head, trying to hide an amused smirk.

"Good morning!" Nazira sang from the hallway. "I hope your spirits like donuts."

Shit. Tits. Mother humper. She'd got me. I'd been had. That's it. End of the line for Madame Margarita. She was pinched for illegal corpse resurrection while taking a piss. Bet we hadn't slipped out Irwin's fast enough. My anklet triggered. There's probably even still blood on my stockings. What else could Nazira be popping in for a house call over? House calls spelled bad news bears in every dead language.

Oh, and yet... donuts sounded nice.

"Be right there!" I yelled.

Don't let anybody tell you Madame Margarita didn't go down swinging.

I grabbed the herbs drying in the bathroom window and tossed them in the toilet before I flushed. Sure, they looked harmless enough. Who's to say they're not for cooking? My probation officer scanning for signs of magic, witchcraft, and decomp, that's who. Left the sink on after washing my hands to mask the noise of me shoving my unpilfered tarot decks and spell jars into my drawers, my few remaining crystals in my shoes, sage behind my mattress, bloody stockings buried in the bottom of my hamper (had Greg put my dress in here too? That's sweet).

"Isla?"

"Patience is a virtue!"

Damn it, what else was I missing? Was this place just that much of a mess, or was more than I initially gauged taken in the break in?

The needles!

My first aid kit was amongst the clutter on my floor. I kicked it hard and quick under the bed. Grumpkin growled. He'd been hiding under there. As he crawled out, I pointed a finger at him and whispered: "Stop." A small string of magic pulled taunt between us. He obeyed. "Back under." He shimmied his fluffy butt backward until he disappeared in the inky void beneath the bed. "Good kitty. Stay."

I opened door, in my lavender robe, just as Nazira was about to knock for the third time.

"Somebody's still not a morning person, I see."

She smiled warmly, brown eyes twinkling behind those glasses. She held the Federal Donuts box up to her nose and gave a dramatic sniff. The sugary sweet aroma of hot dough weakened both my knees and my self-respect. Afterall, this could be my last meal.

I plucked one from Nazira's box before she was even through the door.

"Mmm yummy, right?" she sing-songed.

Strawberry and lavender sugar melt like lovers' spit on my tongue. Yummy was fucking right. "This is a surprise," I said, wiping crumbs and sugar off my lips.

"Nonsense," Nazira breezed on in, handing the box off to me, while I dumbly stood there, in my own home, hanging out of my bathrobe. Meanwhile, a snake hissed under today's burnt orange hijab while my probation Magistrate rubbed her pregnant belly. "I check in on you regularly, of course."

Lie.

"Oh," I cleared sugar from my throat. "How forgetful of me."

Lie.

"Mmm," she replied, straightening a teenaged era photo of my sisters with her pen. "My reports are very thorough."

Well that I don't doubt for a moment.

Yeah, obviously Nazira's rather lax stance on home check-ins in the last couple years has been a blessing. But damn girl, I hadn't known she was fudging so many reports. Knew she was in line for a promotion though. Those reports must be impressive.

Nazira eyed the room, raising a disapproving brow at my clutter. And décor. And mess. And my lack of clothing. Though she had her back to me, I saw the outline of a snake slither beneath orange silk. The flutter of fabric led my eyes downward, to the coffee table. Troll nards. I left a pentagram etched into it.

"So—"

I dropped the cardboard box on coffee table. The donuts bounced.

Nazira turned sharply. Her snakes hissed and shook until she patted them over the silk. I played off the drop by ripping open the donut box and savagely biting into a cinnamon sugar jawn. I nudged the box closer to her in offering.

She shook her head, smiling again. "So, how's work?"

Uhhhhhhhhh, "fine."

As she approached my bookshelf, a moment of panic gripped me hard in the chest. Nazira reached a hand between the books where I kept my black flame candles. They weren't essential for resurrection, but they set the mood, you know? Helped to focus Netherworld energy. Last time I lit one was when Lily was here for her shoddy séance.

But Nazira merely grabbed a book. An old copy of Pride & Prejudice I hadn't read in forever... ever? She nodded approvingly and the other books on the shelf tumbled over. No candle. Nada.

My home intruder must have taken it. Why that?

Nazira suddenly whipped my Come In, We're Open sign out her oversized purse. "What's this?"

I choked. Seriously. The doughy mass I coughed up was uglier than one of Grumpkin's hairballs. And that cat's a freaking zombie.

"It's a joke," I croaked.

"Nothing to do with any spirits?"

"Ha!" I gulped. "No, that's um, all an inside joke—" oh no "—between me and my—" stop talking, girl "—uh boyfriend."

Nazira's eyes brightened. "Oh! A joke? That's so cute! Tell me more. Tell me everything! Please. Your dating life is more entertaining than Goblin Bachelor. And I barely get to squeeze episodes in between Paw Patrol marathons."

Her pen clicked. Thrice.

"He's, uh, a vampire."

The gorgon's brow furrowed. "Do you think that's wise?"

Don't know, was it? Probably not. You'd think flesh piercing teeth and drinking human blood for sustenance would be red flags—or maybe the enthralling. He could make me his mindless little toy and I'd be a blissfully unaware bloodbag.

My belly warmed.

A rattling emitted from under Nazira's hijab. She touched her enchanted glasses and I'm ashamed to admit I looked away. Reflex. Pure instinct. Stupid fear. But she didn't turn me to stone. Instead she harrumphed and pushed the peachy frames further up her nose. She pulled that rose gold notebook out her purse and quickly jotted something down.

"Um he's not actually my boyfriend."

Nazira gasped. "Did you just lie to me?"

Yes, girlfriend, this is your grave. Dig it deeper now. Just a little more. That's it!

A silvery black snake emerged from the button of her hijab, swaying and flicking its tongue at me. I stepped away. The countertop poked my back, trapping me. Every quick, little flutter of the snake's tongue in the air felt thick. Sticky even. Like it was reaching out to taste my lies.

Nazira gently nudged the snake's head back under her scarf.

"What! No," I giggled. Cue that dying goose noise. "Well, I mean, not intentionally. I just, I mean, you know how hard it can be to define a relationship these days. Had him over just a couple of times and I'd like to have him over again and—" the phantom memory of Greg's cool lips on my neck made me shiver, "—no, honestly, I'm not entirely sure what our relationship is."

"Aw, honey!" Nazira clutched her chest and eased herself into my chaise. It wobbled. She recovered with grace, I promise you, cradling her baby bump and patting the cushion beside her as an invitation to sit. "Completely understand. Dating's a rough game. Do I think it's smart for you to become involved with a vampire, with your history? No, of course not. But it's your love life."

Queasiness pinched my stomach. "My history."

Nazira snorted. "Alright, so that answers my next question; have you told him? Careful with that conversation. Vampires are, famously, undead, honey. I'm just saying maybe don't get your hopes up that he takes kindly to your record. It's, phew, it's some gnarly stuff. Oh, stop pacing like I'm your mother inspecting if your room is clean! I won't deduct, well, many, points for this. I need to talk to you about something."

Was that my robe I tripped over, or my intestines exploding out the pit in my stomach? Either way, I landed on the chaise. Greg thinks I'm human. A big ole faker. He hates it. What'll he think of me if he really knows...

Nazira patted my sweaty hand.

"Isla, did you steal forbidden necromancy tomes from the Philadelphia Public Library?"

"What? What tomes? No! That's absurd. Like I need a book to perf—I'm reformed!"

Nazira wrote something down again. She clicked her pen. She clicked her pen a lot.

"Of course," she said sweetly while her snakes hissed. "I didn't think it was you. Not really the library card type, are you? But, you know, have to check. Because you are you and stealing cursed texts possessing the secrets of the forbidden magic is punishable by—well, let's say you won't have to worry about any future manicures! Oh. Don't suppose you know how to bartender without the use of your thumbs. Or hands?"

"I didn't steal any books."

"No. You didn't."

"I didn't even know the public library kept those books!"

Nazira, managing to carefully balance her round frame without toppling over, stood.

So did I.

"Naz. Really. I mean it. This wasn't me. I don't know nothing about no stolen books. I'm straight, okay. Cross my heart. This isn't my problem. "

She cupped my cheek and smiled. "I trust you."

A snake tongue slithered out and nearly grazed my cheek. A different kind of hissing followed, from under my bed. I shot Grumpkin – his one yellow eye glowing from the shadows – a look and tried to stealthily flick my finger at him, motioning for that damn cat to scoot himself back under the bed.

Mewling slightly, Grumpkin retreated.

Nazira didn't notice him. I think.

"Anywho, it would be a shame for you to fall off the wagon with the finish line in sight, sweetie, that's all I'm saying. Now what in Society's name is happening with this kitchen!"

And like that, cheery Nazira waddled out of my reach and to the kitchenette, tsk tsking at the sink full of dishes like she hadn't just accused me of the one crime I haven't even committed. I had a lot of problems. Overdue library books weren't one of them.

What kind of sicko even steals books on the forbidden arts of necromancy out the library? Come on, you eBay that junk, obviously. Or a flea market. And it happens the same week an actual necromancer's apartment gets robbed, twice. And of all my occult fixings, too! My crystal ball, the Ouija board, my black flame –

Oh.

Maybe this was my problem.

... and maybe I knew a guy who could find some unreturned books before the library racked up the lates fines and the Magistrate could pin me for that too.