After texting out a long, heated paragraph to Selena, I reach my house. As I thought I would, I get there before Tristan. I grab my backpack, and go into my house, tossing my backpack on the kitchen table with a dull thud as I pass. Then I go down to the basement after unlocking the three padlocks, and grab all the mostly empty vials of ingredients that I use on the full moon.
As I'm juggling all of them in my arms and walking up the stairs I hear the door shut. Somehow I manage to get upstairs, put all the vials in a bag, and lock the basement again before tristan appears in the doorway of the kitchen.
"Hey are you ready to go?" He asks.
"Yeah, grab a couple of these jugs," I say and grab two of my own before heading out the garage door, jugs and bag of vials in hand.
When Tristan sees all of my cars, he lets out a low whistle. "So are your parents like super rich or something?"
"Don't bullshit me. You and I both know that I don't have parents."
We toss all of our stuff in the trunk and when I close it he leans against it to say, "Yeah, I suppose if you had parents they wouldn't let you have a torture dungeon in the basement or kidnap people."
"I'm guessing you haven't told anyone about that?"
"Even if I wanted to, you and I both know that I wouldn't be able to because of the magic crap you pulled on me."
"Good."
"So what's your story? You're super rich, stronger than a grown man, and can hypnotize people."
"I don't hypnotize people. It's called compulsion. And I really don't feel like telling you my life story. Get in the car."
He does as I say and I start to drive us into the country.
"Can I ask where we're going?"
"No."
"Please? I'd like to prepare some last words if you're going to kill me and throw me in a ditch."
"If I was going to do that, you'd be dead already, and ditches aren't really my go-to hiding spot."
That's not really true. I'm going to kill him in a while, and one time I did put a body in a ditch, but I buried it there.
"Yeah, that gives me a ton of comfort," He says sarcastically.
"It should."
"So where's your accent from?"
"Tons of places," I say.
"Oh come on, you won't give me a real answer to something that small?"
"No, I'm serious. It's a mixture of German, Russian, French, British, Italian, Greek, and some others that I have forgotten. I know quite a few languages, so it never stays consistent. It switches depending on the day."
"Jesus, how old are you to have lived in so many places?" He teases.
"I don't know, I stopped counting around 1,000."
"Wait, are you serious?"
"Yup. Oh look, we're here," I say as we pull into the driveway of an old farmhouse surrounded by land.
"Where are we?"
"Don't worry about it," I say and pop the trunk. "Grab some jugs."
He listens, and as we walk up to the house, a large woman that looks to be in her mid twenties runs out.
"Alaina, it has been too long!" She exclaims.
"Hello Evie, I ran out of ingredients again," I say.
