Chapter Eight

I should have been sleeping.

That was the plan. Sort of. Maybe. If I were the kind of witch who tucked herself in at a responsible hour and let chaos rest for the night.

I am absolutely not that witch, and I had errands.

By the time the moon had tucked itself behind a few lazy clouds, I was up to my elbows in a crate of foul-smelling jars, humming softly as I evaluated each one like an apothecary judging a wine cellar.

“Too runny… too fresh… ah, there you are,” I cooed, pulling a dusty jar from the back of the crate and holding it up to the moonlight.

Rotten garlic.

Soft, collapsing cloves floating in an amber liquid I wouldn’t dare name aloud. It smelled like a graveyard’s bad breath—and it was perfect.

From the couch, I heard a low, groggy voice. “What are you doing?”

I didn’t turn. “Sleeping.”

A pause. Then, deadpan: “You’re whispering to a jar.”

“That’s not just any jar,” I said, tucking it into a canvas satchel already filled with various questionable substances. “That’s year-old fermented garlic in vinegar, aged next to my compost bin under two blood moons.”

I could feel Dylan sitting up sharply behind me. The quilt rustled. He sounded more awake now. “You’re not sleeping. You’re plotting.”

“Semantics, handsome.”

I turned and caught his expression—a mixture of concern, confusion, and something that looked suspiciously like amusement.

“It’s just a small errand,” I said with mock innocence, reaching for my reading glasses and slipping them on as I sorted through a pouch of labeled cursed herbs. “A light, casual, extremely petty drive-by hexing.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Of who?”

“The vampires, obviously.” I plucked another jar from the shelf, this one containing what might’ve once been onions but had since achieved sentience. “They’ve yet to be invited.”

“That tracks.” He was definitely more confused.

“Oh, and something about sheer silken robes and full-moon bathing. It’s honestly impressive how hard they try to turn everything into a burlesque show.”

Dylan blinked. “So, your response is… what, exactly?”

“Olfactory assault.” I grinned. “Rotten garlic bombs. Little enchantments sewn into the invitation. Toss a few into the hedges, maybe sneak one into the foyer. Nothing lethal. Just... morale damage.”

“You’re going to bomb the vampire estate.”

“Not the whole thing. Just the parts that matter.”

He stared at me. “You’re actually serious.”

I tucked a bundle of enchanted cloves into my boot and tightened the strap of my bag across my shoulder. “As a dead paladin.”

“What if they catch you?”

“Oh, they’ll definitely catch me,” I said cheerfully, stepping into the pentagram carved into the living room floor. “But it’s all part of the fun. Keeps them on their toes, and they just love the drama. Adds just the right amount of tension for boring immortal beings."

“You realize you sound deranged.”

“I’m festive.”

I cast the teleportation sigil with a quick flick of my wrist. The circle beneath my feet lit up with a sickly green pulse—exactly the hue of a poor life choice.

I turned back just before the magic surged.

Dylan was still watching me from the couch, hair mussed, blanket half-fallen, like some unwilling bystander to witch-fueled nonsense. His eyes darted between me and the floor.

I winked. “Try not to miss me.”

And then I was gone.

*************

The vampire estate loomed ahead, all moonlit marble, ivy-draped archways, and overcompensating architecture. Honestly, it looked like a gothic romance novel had made out with a cathedral and produced this ridiculous eyesore.

Still, I had to admit—it had flair.

I stepped right up to the front gate without hesitation. No sneaking, no illusions, no cloak-and-dagger nonsense. Just me, my satchel of spicy decay, and the absolute certainty that I was about to get yelled at in four different ancient dialects.

A pair of sleek obsidian doors towered over me at the entrance, guarded by nothing but silence and an enchanted knocker shaped like a disapproving gargoyle.

I knocked. Once.

The door opened almost immediately. Of course it did.

Standing there in all his undead glory was a ridiculously handsome vampire. Tall, smug, and clearly someone who’d spent centuries perfecting the art of looking bored and irresistible. Blonde hair swept back, sharp cheekbones, eyes like a lake you drowned in willingly.

And, gods help me, he wore a vest. Silk. Deep blue. Tailored to within an inch of its unliving life.

He looked me over slowly, a smile curling his lips like he’d just smelled something scandalous and enjoyed it.

“Thea Davis,” he drawled, voice dipped in honey and sin. “To what do we owe the pleasure—or is it a threat tonight?”

“Hi,” I smiled sweetly. “You’re looking as unnecessarily attractive as ever, Niklaus.”

“Flattery? From you? I must be dreaming.”

“Nope. This is real.” And with that, I shoved him—hard. An invitation was basically stamped on his chest.

Niklaus stumbled back with a sharp “Oof!” and a flash of fangs. I stepped past him into the grand foyer like I owned the place, my boots echoing across polished marble that was about to regret knowing me.

“Is that... garlic?” he choked, nose wrinkling at my proximity.

“Rotting garlic,” I corrected, already palming the first jar from my satchel.

“You wouldn’t—”

I would.

I lobbed the first jar into the nearest hallway alcove. It shattered with a deeply satisfying smack, releasing a cloud of pungent doom that spread like a curse through the corridor.

Niklaus winced and covered his mouth with his sleeve. “What in the abyss is wrong with you?”

“So many things,” I said cheerfully, throwing a second bomb into what I hoped was their meditation chamber. “But tonight? This is your official invitation and a warning all in one.”

“Garlic—”

I hissed in satisfaction, flinging a third jar into the grand parlor.

The estate was quickly filling with the smell of fermented garlic, spoiled onions, and rage. Curtains billowed. Someone screamed faintly from the east wing. I couldn’t have been more pleased.

“You’ve declared war,” Niklaus gasped, stepping gingerly around a puddle of garlic sludge forming on the tile.

“Oh no,” I said, smiling widely. “This is diplomacy.”

I tossed a final jar down the main staircase just for good measure. It exploded at the landing, sending up a cloud of greenish mist that made even me wince.

Niklaus stared at me, jaw tight, nostrils flaring. “You know I won't forget this.” He flashed his teeth.

“I'm counting on it,” I purred, stepping back toward the front door with a satisfied bounce in my step. “Just wanted to make sure you arrive in the right mood. Scared."

He opened his mouth to reply, but I was already standing in the reactivated teleportation circle I’d pre-carved into the stone just outside their threshold for emergencies.

“Tell your master I said hi!” I called over my shoulder as the air shimmered.

Then I vanished in a flash of green light, the sound of vampires coughing and faintly burning curtains echoing behind me.