Waking up with a hangover is, hands down, one of the top five things I hate most about alcohol.
Right after accidentally reviving ancient vampires and hearing my cat talk.
"Ugh," I groaned, rolling off the couch and landing face-first on the floor with a heavy thud. "Great. Perfect. Exactly how I wanted to start my day—dead inside and horizontal."
Above me, Salem perched regally on the couch cushion I had just vacated, blinking at me like I had ruined his sleep.
I winced, clutching my head. "I had this fucking stupid dream where you were talking," I mumbled through the pounding in my skull, chuckling dryly at myself. "You had, like, this snarky-ass voice and everything. Very 'I told you so.' It was weird."
I pushed myself up to my elbows, still woozy, still drunk on regret, still very much convinced last night had been some sort of magical meltdown of the brain.
Then came that same amused voice I hoped had only lived in my dreams:
"You do know the undead in the basement is still naked, right?"
I froze.
Absolutely. Froze.
My eyes locked onto my cat.
Salem licked his paw.
"Oh no," I whispered, horror washing over me in waves.
He raised an eyebrow—yes, my cat raised a metaphorical eyebrow—without even pausing the grooming.
"Fuck," I hissed, dragging my body into a sitting position and clutching my throbbing head. "It wasn't a dream."
"Nope," Salem said casually, hopping off the couch. "You talked to me. Screamed a bit. Had a whole breakdown. It was very dramatic. Ten out of ten."
"Oh my god, I need an exorcism."
"I'm not the problem here, witch," Salem said, stretching like the world's most sarcastic yoga instructor. "You've got a very naked, very awake vampire in your basement. Who's been waiting all night, by the way."
I stared at him.
He stared back.
I stared harder.
"Still naked," he added cheerfully.
I groaned, letting my head fall back onto the floor with a dull thump. "Can I just die now and save him the trouble?"
"Sure," Salem purred. "But if you're dead, who's gonna feed me?"
*******
Right. The gorgeous vampire.
I had to deal with him first.
The talking cat? That was a tomorrow problem.
Or a never problem if I kept drinking.
But for now? Vampire. Naked. Basement. Stake still in his chest. Probably annoyed. Possibly hungry. Definitely smirking.
I dragged myself up from the floor like a hungover zombie, mentally filing the whole "my cat talks now" crisis into a folder labeled Later—Maybe Never.
"Okay," I muttered, shuffling to the kitchen. "Priorities."
I opened the cabinet and reached for the hot cocoa mix. Because if I was going to deal with a supernatural Adonis in my basement, I needed emotional support sugar first.
Then, bath. Because I felt like I'd rolled in cemetery dirt—and I had. Literally. Grave dirt was still under my nails. Sexy.
Then, clothes. For him.
Because yeah—funny thing—I had prepped the cage, the spells, the stake-binding incantation, the protection charms, but not a single fucking thought about the fact that the ancient vampire might not be conveniently wearing a tux in his eternal slumber.
You'd think I was new at this.
"Oh wait," I groaned aloud, dropping onto a kitchen stool with my cocoa. "I am new at this."
And to make matters worse, I had very clearly read the name in the vampire registry—or grimoire, whatever—the ancient, dusty book that had belonged to my grandmother and smelled like mildew and secrets.
Lucy. The vampire's name was Lucy.
A female name.
A girl name.
Not a name that should belong to a six-foot-something shredded mystery man with cheekbones that could cut glass and an ass that made me forget God.
I sipped the cocoa angrily.
"Of course Lucy's not a girl. That would've been too easy. Of course my first vampire resurrection turns into some supernatural himbo situation."
"Technically," Salem said from the kitchen counter—because of course he followed me—"the name Lucy comes from 'Lucien,' which is a masculine name in Old Latin, but sure. Keep panicking. It's entertaining."
I gave him the deadliest glare I could manage on two hours of sleep and a half-functioning brain.
"You wanna go talk to him?" I snapped. "He might like cats. For lunch."
Salem just purred and batted my spoon off the counter.
"Asshole."
********
I was currently standing at the basement door, clutching a wrinkled pile of old clothes that belonged to my ex.
Don't ask me why I still had them. Emotional damage? Revenge planning? Lazy closet purging?
Point is—they still smelled like too much cologne, regret, and that one time he "accidentally" sexted his coworker. Perfect outfit for a naked vampire overlord.
Next to me, Salem paced dramatically across the hallway rug like he was about to give a TED Talk. Apparently, talking cats are very chatty once they start.
"And another thing," he said, tail flicking in time with his words. "You never clean my litter box properly. Half-scoop jobs are a crime against feline-kind. I've been sitting on this for years, by the way."
"You're not even using the litter box anymore," I hissed, trying not to drop the clothes. "You're talking. You have opinions. This is not the time!"
"Exactly," he replied, pausing to glare at me. "Because your emotional support cocoa is not going to protect you from Mister Bitey downstairs. But sure, bring him your ex's hoodie. That'll definitely calm him down."
I took a deep breath and ignored my cat.
Me. The girl who couldn't teleport right, nearly got buried in a grave hole, and had to use will magic because spells never liked her—me—I was about to go back into a basement where a possibly pissed, definitely gorgeous, completely naked vampire was probably still lounging around like it was a damn sauna in hell.
And yes, I was procrastinating.
Hard.
I slowly opened the basement door.
Cold air rushed up like the building itself exhaled. That same unnatural chill that seemed to seep right into your bones. The kind of cold that made your nipples alert and your soul reevaluate its life decisions.
I swallowed. "Okay," I said to myself, adjusting the pile of clothes. "You're a witch. You've got a protective charm. You've got a snarky cat. You've got… your ex's gym shorts. You're totally fine."
Behind me, Salem muttered, "You are so not fine."
"I swear to Goddess, Salem, if you say one more word—"
"—I'll stay up here and call the magical authorities if you die, yeah yeah," he said, hopping up onto the banister and flicking his tail like a gavel. "Go on then. Face your fate. And maybe offer him deodorant."
I rolled my eyes, adjusted my necklace, whispered a quick protection charm just in case, and began my descent into the vampire-infested underworld also known as my freaking basement.