“I’ve manipulated some memories,” I say under my breath, his vampire hearing too damn good as he lets out a scandalous gasp.
“That’s a very naughty witch thing to do,” he says.
“In my defense, it was to protect my friend, my coven. As far as memory retrieval, I haven’t been great at it. Iris is better.”
He hums again, a gloved hand rubbing his chin.
“You could try it on me. This honesty you speak of. I could show you a memory.”
I bite my lip and stare at him. Is this vampire so emotionally unwell that he doesn’t even know how to have a conversation about himself? Would it really be that much easier to just have me slithering around in his mind”
“What kind of memory?” I ask him, again, my curiosity always wins out.
He’s trusting me with something, and it feels like a big win, and I’m going to take it.
“Ask me what you would like to see and I’ll consider it.”
“How about when you were turned?” I ask. He makes a huff, falling onto his back, the moonlight glinting off of his too handsome face.
“Really going for the jugular with that one,” he says.
This sends a little thrill down my spine. Would he really be that vulnerable with me, and why would he want to be.
“There’s a chance I can’t even do it, anyway,” I say self-deprecatingly.
“Go on then, try it,” he says, his arctic eyes feel like they’re piercing through my soul.
I raise my wand, with no intention of hurting him like the spell warrants. Being able to look into his mind, gain access, is like the first stepping stone to being able to do what I want.
I take a deep breath, holding my wand, and gasp as I’m brought back to 1924 in Warin’s mind.
Chapter 12
NEW ORLEANS 1924
“Bonjou,” Clement says, as he helps me load the gin into the back of the truck.
He’s the best brewer within an hour of New Orleans, and business has been booming. Things taste so much sweeter when they’re illegal.
“Hey, Clement,” I say, as we check over our shoulders, making sure the cops or any unsavory types aren’t watching our pick up.
“Have you spoken to Achille or seen him lately?” he asks about his grandson.
“No, sir, I haven’t,” I tell him honestly and the man nods with frustration.
“You hear anything? You’ll let me know? That boy never fucking listens or checks in.”
“Yes, sir. Speaking of next week, the boss wants to double our order for the week,” I tell him.
He takes a deep inhale, taking off his flat cap, running a towel over his sweaty head before putting the cap back on.
“I’ll see what I can do. You tell him daytime crew only now, ya hear? I don’t care how much money Mr. Oz wants to throw atme. I’ll brew his gin, but I ain’t dealing with his night crew and if I hear anything about Achille joining the night crew I’m done. I don’t care about the consequences.”
I furrow my brow, placing the produce boxes overtop of the crates of gin.
“I was hoping to join the night crew,” I tell him honestly.
That’s the next step.
