Karizma

Kristopher sat on the couch of his club in the restricted section. He had his whiskey with ice in one hand, his other hand outstretched against the back of the couch. He was wearing a suit with a dark purple tie, his long legs crossed over each other. His eyes were fixated on the DJ booth through the railing of the second floor. He could not see Ryleigh, but he could sense her. He took another sip of his drink.

The last week with her had been entertaining. Since he was the first of the supernatural that she interacted with, he had been more patient with allowing her to express herself. Each day during her shift, her magic would brush against his skin. Her magic’s greeting increased by the minute, to where she had surprised him by constantly brushing his skin for the duration of her shift. He had returned the favor by utilizing his super speed on her; if her magic touched him, he would dart off down to her to touch her skin with his fingers and return to his seat on the couch within the blink of an eye. His speed made him invisible, no human could see him; neither could Ryleigh, but she could feel him, and that was the point. It was like their supernatural counterparts were having a private dance session, forbidden to the visual and only approved by the senses.

Liam had regained his position beside Kristopher on the couch. Liam wore a white muscle shirt with a pair of jeans, while Grayson sat opposite of them on the other couch with a black muscle shirt and a pair of jeans. The two vampires had other obligations during the week, which had made Kristopher’s game with Ryleigh less stressful. Tonight, they had returned to drink with him, and he had resisted the urge to touch Ryleigh. Her magic was constantly brushing his face, taunting him to return the gesture. Vampires and witches had a terrible past together, they did not mingle anymore; yet, here Kristopher was, beginning to befriend one.

“Something changed in your DJ,” Liam said with a nod.

“What do you mean?” Kristopher asked.

“Her magic is stronger than it was last week, so much so that it suffocates the club. Did you not notice?” Liam asked skeptically.

“Maybe she feels threatened by something,” Kristopher said nonchalantly. He had noticed her magic’s strength slowly flex itself more and more during the week, but today it was different. Today, her magic remained in hyperdrive. He took another sip from his drink. He had been here for the past two hours, and not once had her magic faltered. Her magic remained completely, perfectly, alert. He felt concern rise for her, and his jaw clenched. He knew that magic running constantly would exhaust the witch conjuring it, but he should not be concerned with her health. He should not be concerned about how its explosive nature will affect her. She was a witch, he should not be concerned with her at all.

“Do you think we should be concerned with whatever is threatening her?” Grayson asked lazily. Grayson’s eyes were fixated on the dance floor to observe the humans. Kristopher knew that Grayson was not actually concerned with whatever was threatening Ryleigh, but he asked the question that he was sure that Liam was wondering as well. Whatever was threatening Ryleigh had her magic working overdrive to protect herself; a witch wielding so much power could be more dangerous than the threat posed to her.

“I don’t believe so,” Kristopher spoke. “She seems to be able to wield her magic rather well.”

“You sound certain, brother,” Liam said.

“I’ve spoken to her,” Kristopher shrugged. “She does not allow her magic to control her, she controls it.”

“How do you know this?” Liam asked.

“Because her magic greets me every night and does nothing more than touch my skin. If her magic controlled her, I’m sure I would have been dead by now. Whatever is scaring her, she can handle it.”

“The witch touches you. Kristopher…” Liam warned, as if speaking to a child.

“What have we missed since we’ve been gone?” Grayson asked suddenly, his eyes trained on his friend.

“It’s not like that,” Kristopher shook his head. “She’s somehow kept distance from any other supernatural entity. I gave her my word that no harm would come to her, and she’s been…playing, for lack of a better word.”

“She’s never encountered another like her? Or like us?” Liam asked in surprise.

“No, she’s kept her distance from it all. Even from humans.”

“So, this is allowing her to breathe,” Grayson murmured. “She doesn’t have to hold back with you.”

“Exactly.”

“Kristopher, vampires and witches are not friends. You know this. It’s not like she will suddenly forget that we’re responsible for the death of the most powerful witches in history,” Liam said.

“Especially if she finds out that the last few Karizma deaths have been by your own hand,” Grayson nodded. “She’ll kill you in an instant.”

Kristopher’s fangs descended in response. He slid his tongue along his fangs and shifted his gaze back to the knotted railing. He had begun to care about how such news would affect her, should she find out, and the newfound care for a witch disturbed him. His job was to kill witches, the strongest of the witches, and here he was developing some sort of concern for a common-day witch. He was sure that he was seen as the boogeyman in the bedtime stories that little witches were told. He took great pride in knowing that he was responsible for the last few Karizma demises, and he would take great pride in the next one. The last Karizma, he thought. He would finally be able to rest.

Kristopher tensed suddenly as Ryleigh’s magic brushed against his lips. Her magic stroked his fangs slowly, cautiously, then stroked his cheek. As if with concern, he thought. He quickly slipped his fangs away, but her magic stroked his cheek again. He cursed himself. Now I’ve worried her, he thought. He never revealed his fangs, and he was caught doing so just now. His eyes shifted to his left arm as he felt her magic slowly trail down his arm. He watched the invisible force as it fell down to his knuckles that were gripping the couch. Her magic danced over his knuckles briefly, then retreated completely. He released the couch to flex his hand into a fist, and then unflex it, as if he could remove the sensation of her upon his skin. It comforted him, in some way; they were like each other’s supernatural guardian angels. And I haven’t checked on her yet tonight, he thought. Coupled with my fangs, it makes sense that she’s worried.

Kristopher sped down the stairs and landed directly behind Ryleigh. Her crimson hair fell down the back of her pale skin like a waterfall of blood. She was wearing black halter top that tied around her neck, most of her back exposed, with a pair of blue jeans. Her noise canceling headphones swallowed her ears. The world stilled around him as he moved faster than the world could. He placed his hands on Ryleigh’s hips from behind and dropped his head down. “I’m fine,” his breath whispered against her ear. He lingered for a second, enjoying the closeness of his proximity with her rather than the distance. He released her and sped back up the stairs to the couch to settle in his spot. The world activated again, and Kristopher took a sip from his drink.

“What the hell was that?” Grayson asked curiously.

“You know our speed when you see it.”

“Don’t give me that, Kristopher. You know what I’m talking about,” Grayson said.

“It’s nothing. Just a game the witch and I play. When she touches me, I touch back. Like a twisted version of hide and seek,” Kristopher said.

“Kris…” Liam said slowly. “You can’t get attached to a witch. Especially since we don’t know who the last Karizma is yet.”

“It would explain why she’s so strong,” Grayson added.

“It’s not her,” Kristopher said with certainty. “She’s just a very strong witch.”

“Either way, don’t get attached, brother,” Liam said. “It’s not meant to end well for our kinds together.”

Kristopher simply nodded in response and took another sip of his drink. His eyes shifted to the railing again. He felt that small brush of air against his cheek, and this time it elicited a small smile from his lips. He fought the urge to reach out and physically touch the air near his face. The smile quickly fell from his lips at the realization. The truth was that he had grown attached to this witch; maybe it was her innocence to the supernatural world, or the odd compassion that she showed toward his kind, especially with the knowledge that his kind slaughtered hers. Whatever it was, he had grown attached, and quite enjoyed the game that they played each night.