The cursed digital clock on the cracked wall blinked 2:03 a.m. in blood-red neon. My train to the School of the Supernatural leaves at 6:00 a.m.—still hours away, but close enough that panic had started nesting in my gut.
I had everything.
Well, almost everything.
Still needed more vampire blood. Because of course I did.
– Forged documents? Check.
– A head full of spite and black magic? Double check.
– Enough vampire blood to complete the ritual? Hell no.
That last part? Still missing.
So yeah, guess I'll just have to trick some poor vampire student into donating a pint of his undead juice. Maybe smile pretty, drop a hint of witchy, lure him somewhere private, and hope to the ancient gods that he doesn't notice until after I've bottled him like a soda.
Desperate times, people.
At this point, it should be very obvious—I am not your average Miss Good-Tissue witch.
