Bled & Breakfast Read Online Free Page A

Bled & Breakfast
Book: Bled & Breakfast Read Online Free
Author: Michelle Rowen
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I’d previously thought it was a paperweight.
    “This”—Heather patted its head absently—“is Hoppy. My pet toad.”
    “Her
familiar
,” Rose corrected, nodding. “Witches need familiars.”
    My eyebrows shot up. “You’re a witch?”
    Heather had the grace to look embarrassed. She ran her fingers over the antique-looking gold locket she wore on a chain around her neck. “Hardly. I mean, I try to do a little magic every now and then. But doesn’t everyone?”
    “No,” I said firmly. “Not everyone.”
    “The other girls won’t let her in their coven,” Rose said. “They’re mean to my Heather, especially that nasty Miranda Collins.”
    “Grandma,” Heather growled under her breath, her cheeks reddening.
    “Miranda’s part of a coven?” Thierry asked. “So you were baiting a real witch, Owen? Doesn’t seem very wise to me.”
    “She’s harmless.” Owen shrugged, absently studying his fingernails. “She wouldn’t try to hurt me. She’s crazy about me.”
    “You’re sure about that?”
    Owen regarded him with a bored but patient expression. “Women adore me. Miranda included, despite her momentary hissy fit. To hurt me would be to hurt any chance she ever has of being with me again.”
    “What a tragedy,” I said under my breath.
    “Nobody understands Owen,” Heather said, standing up. “He’s wonderful, really.”
    Hoppy let out a low croak.
    Heather glanced at the toad. “Owen helped me find Hoppy. Two months ago I broke up with my boyfriend at the time—then he took off without a word. Owen tried to cheer me up with an afternoon at the beach . . . and there Hoppy was, in the middle of a spring rainstorm on the shore. I brought him home, gave him a box to sleep in. He’s been with me ever since.”
    Rose nodded. “Familiars choose their witches.”
    Heather sighed. “Hoppy is not my familiar, Grandma.”
    “Not with a silly name like that he isn’t! When I practiced, I had a lovely black cat named Sheba.”
    “You’re a witch, too?” I asked, surprised. It was witches galore around here.
    Rose stroked her white hair to neaten it. “This is Salem, dear. Everybody’s either a witch or they
want
to be a witch.”
    “Not me.”
    “Of course not. You’re a vampire.”
    A vampire who sincerely hoped for a minifridge in her room.
    Since Salem wasn’t a hotbed of vampiric activity, except for Owen and the occasional missing person, and didn’t have any blood banks—businesses that sold the red stuff by the ounce to paying fanged customers—we’d gone the BYOB route.
    The last
B
didn’t stand for booze.
    Or actually, I should say that
I’d
gone that route. At his age, Thierry didn’t need to drink blood regularly to survive.
    Heather showed us the room on the second floor. It was small but quaint, with a double bed, a vanity, and an en suite bathroom. Every fabric, quilt, and afghan in the room appeared to be homemade.
    “You weren’t kidding about the special features.” I stared at my reflection, which included both vampires standing behind me as well as Heather. Rose had temporarily excused herself to put away her gardening supplies while we checked out the room.
    While we couldn’t see ourselves in regular mirrors, luckily there were
special
mirrors manufactured for the vampire population. Problem was, they were very expensive, so not everybody could afford one.
    “I’ve never understood why we don’t have reflections,” I said. “It’s just so bizarre, isn’t it?”
    “It’s a witch thing,” Owen offered.
    I glanced at him. “A witch thing?”
    “I’ve heard this rumor over the years,” Thierry said. “Legend has it that there was once a witch who loved a vampire, one who was very vain about his appearance. One who was loved by many, be they witch, vampire, or human.”
    “Was his name Owen?” Heather joked.
    “Very funny,” Owen said, then frowned. “Wait, was it?”
    “No, not Owen. The legend goes that the vampire betrayed this
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