“I love you too, Teach.” Petting the length of his ponytail running down his back, I kiss his braids. “You know that I choose you. No matter what. I choose you, I choose this, I choose us. You’re what I want.Allthat I want.”
Willan sits back so he can look me in the eye, a haughty smile ghosting over his lips. “Well, you have me. And I’ve got you too, right?”
“Always.”
Willan’s tender kiss has never tasted so sweet.
WILLAN
The day has arrived.
Five months since Nikolo moved into my apartment.
Nine months since the night I told him I love him and want to turn.
One year since we agreed to be friends at that horrible diner.
Tonight, it all changes again.
It’s been months of planning, paperwork, counselling sessions, medical appointments, but tonight is the night Nikolo will turn me, and I’ll begin my new life with him, as a vampire.
It hasn’t been a smooth road. But as I soak in the bath, watching the sun through the bathroom window and waiting for the doctor to come for my final health check, I don’t regret a second of it.
Well, not entirely. Right now, I kind of regret not taking a nap at some point in the last thirty-six hours. I’ve still got a long night ahead of me. Usually, I’d make myself a tea to knock myself out or give me a bit ofoompfto keep going, but everything I’ve read about turning says it’s best not to take anything before you start the process. It might be cautionary overkill, but I’m not taking any risks.
Nikolo is already terrified enough that something’s going to go wrong.
Not that I really blame him. Turning someone is a big deal. He will literally hold my life in his hands during the ritual, and as my maker, he’ll need to care for me in those first few weeks until I get my bearings. And even when I do, he’s still legally responsible for all of my actions for the first twelve months.
He won’t be alone. Neither of us will. There’s a great big colour-coded chart on the whiteboard in classroom two to see to that—organised by Jesminda, Lusce, and Egbert.
Between the three of them, they’ve pored over all the glossy brochures we’ve brought back from appointments and assigned tasks and ‘on call’ duties around the clock for the next two weeks so we’ll always have someone on hand. Finn, who was turned under less than ideal—or legal—circumstances has also been offering advice. Especially on whatnotto do.
It’s definitely helped ease some of Nikolo’s worries.
The bath water’s getting cold, and the time on my phone shows that the doctor is going to be here soon. It’s time to get ready.
I prepare myself like a sacrifice to the Gods. Cleansed, scrubbed, and freshly oiled, I brush my hair out in the bathroom, but move to my ritual room to re-braid my hair for the last time.
Magic fills the room, tingling against my bare skin. I chose not to get dressed for this—I want tofeelit. The pungent scent of the incense fills my lungs and I savour it as I close my eyes, focusing on becoming a conduit for the chaotic energy around me, wrangling it to my submission.
My meditation isn’t focused on clearing my mind. Actually, it's very much the opposite. I think abouteverything. My hopes, my fears, my memories—I let my mind fetch everything, hauling it into the blank space of my consciousness. Once they are all there, stacked together, I open my eyes. My vision is blurry—caught between reality and my internal landscape—but I can see enough to perform the ritual I have planned.
With my physical eyes on my altar, I prepare the candle in front of me, binding the small candle with a thread of astal spider thread. In my mind I pick through the boxes visualised, separating some from the rest.
When the candle lights, a final, blissful act of elemental magic, I release all the things that no longer serve me, watching the quarantined boxes burn with the candle. As they blacken and eventually disappear, I can feel myself growing lighter—the energetic weight of a lifetime of baggage finally free.
It’s not a perfect ritual; it doesn’t erase everything, not forever, but it’s enough to make me feel cleansed spiritually. Prepared and ready to embrace my new life.
With the fear gone, I focus on the remaining boxes, channelling the happy memories, the love of my friends, the knowledge that I get to spend the rest of my days with Nikolo, and braid them into my hair. One last time, I weave my protection into the strands, my prayers to the Gods until the last knot is secured.
I close the ritual, lingering in my ritual room, soaking in the remnants of the magic until a knock on the door rouses me.
Slipping into my black silk pyjama bottoms, I wrap my robe around myself and go out to meet the doctor.
“So, Willan, are you ready?” The doctor—ourdoctor, Dr. Kelly—asks kindly, hugging her binder full of months of our paperwork to her chest when I open the door.
“More than I’ve ever been in my life.” I laugh, bordering on giddy with excitement. Stepping aside, I wave Dr. Kelly—a pretty, middle-aged, human woman with long blonde hair, perpetually pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail—and her nurse assistant, Paul, into my apartment.
