Free West Coast Witch by Justen Hunter Page A

Count.”
    “Ishmael.” The man introduced himself. He gave me an inquisitive look, catching something
     on my face. “Something amuses you?”
    “Ever read Herman Melville?” I asked him. At his nod, I said. “I have a Master’s in
     English Literature. I can make the jokes, but I won’t.”
    “I commend your self-control. Much more foolish men have made jests at me, and I don’t
     enjoy being the brunt of a joke.” He rose, his movements slower than Teresa’s had
     been. But he moved with a slow, easy grace, as if he expended no effort at all in
     standing. “I am Count Ishmael, ruler of the district of the California Bay Area, and
     all vampires who dwell in it.”
    “It’s a pleasure, Count Ishmael.” I said. “Thank you for your offer of hospitality.”
    Ishmael laughed, and started to walk towards me. “Well, you have courtesy, Eric Carpenter.
     That’s a rare thing in this day and age.” He extended a hand to me.
    I shook it, and as I did, tingles flew up my spine. What the hell was that? I struggled
     to say something for a moment, before stumbling out with. “Well, what can I say? My
     grandma raised me with just a drop of respect.”
    He let go of my hand, and turned to sit back down. “And was it from your grandmother
     that you got your power?”
    I froze. Damn, this man had my number. It was a bit scary, to be honest. I was at
     a disadvantage, plain and simple. “My power?” I asked.
    “My, is there an echo in here, Teresa?” Ishmael asked as he seated himself back in
     the chair.
    Teresa smiled. “Why, I think there is, sir.”
    I bristled, feeling very much like the prey Teresa said I smelled like. Ishmael shrugged,
     and held a hand up, as if to placate me. “Sorry, Mister Carpenter. I couldn’t resist.
     You are a witch, yes?”
    I figured he could probably smell it if I lied. So, reluctantly, I answered. “Yes.”
    He nodded. “There are few vampires who are old enough to remember what a witch smelled
     like.” He studied me, looking me over. “Not a line I know, but that’s no surprise.
     It’s been two centuries since I’ve seen one of yours.”
    “And what about it?” I asked.
    “I’m unsure, as of yet. Your kind is known for being troublemakers and ones to tip
     balances of power. But, that can be interesting.” He sniffed the air a moment. “Is
     that silver I smell?”
    Again, I knew better than to lie. “Yes, it is.”
    “He’s clever.” Teresa remarked. “Our guard didn’t detect it.”
    A noise of disapproval escaped Ishmael. “I’ll have to dock his pay for that one. Silver
     shouldn’t be in here. We’ll let that one slide, though. You could see how we could
     construe that as a threat, yes?” he said, and I nodded. “So, you were bitten last
     night?”
    “Yes, Count.” I nodded. “A vampire named Darius thought I had information he wanted,
     and he tried to suck it out of me.”
    “Darius.” He furrowed his brow, and then looked to Teresa. “That name is not familiar
     to me. Teresa?”
    “He is not one of your subjects, sir,” she supplied.
    “In my territory, and he doesn’t declare himself.” A growling noise bubbled from his
     throat, and his lips peeled back. He flashed his fangs for only a moment. “Would you
     like justice, Mister Carpenter?”
    “Yea, I would.” I nodded, though I admit I had a bit more growl in my voice than I
     intended. Yea, I was pissed about it. “Since I got bit, all this shit’s happened to
     me. I’m not complaining about the supernatural, but I was assaulted.”
    “He would have to have been seen to, even if you did not seek justice.” Ishmael said.
     “I would have hunted him. He drank of a witch, and that always causes...complications.”
    “Complications?” I asked.
    “When a vampire drinks of an Arcane’s blood, there is a small chance of gaining its
     powers. Vampires who drink from weres can, over time, develop the ability to change
     their form. From a Fae, some abilities of