Garlic in the Blueberry Scone.

Sable Nightshade had one rule in life: never trust a vampire.

Vladimir Draven had one rule too: never trust a witch who puts garlic in her scones.

It was 8:15 in the morning, and they were already breaking both rules.

"YOU PUT GARLIC IN THE BLUEBERRY SCONES?"

Vladimir's voice echoed through the aisles of The Wandering Page, Sable's cozy little bookstore. He stood at the front counter, holding a half-eaten scone like it had personally insulted his ancestors. His pale face was twisted in disgust. His dark eyes were wide with betrayal.

Sable Nightshade looked up from the stack of books she was shelving. She pushed her glasses up her nose. Her best friend, a bubbly witch named Poppy, was standing next to her, holding a tray of fresh scones.

Sable sighed. "It's a bakery item, Vladimir. Garlic is a flavor."

"Garlic is a weapon," Vladimir shot back. He dropped the scone onto the counter. He brushed his hands together like he was trying to get rid of a disease. "You're trying to kill me."

Sable rolled her eyes. "If I wanted to kill you, I'd use a wooden stake. Not a pastry."

Poppy giggled. She set the tray down. "He has a point, Sable. You did put a lot of garlic in there."

"Thank you!" Vladimir said, throwing his hands up.

Sable shot Poppy a look. "Whose side are you on?"

"The side of good baking," Poppy said, grinning. "And good baking doesn't include garlic in blueberry scones."

Sable sighed. She walked over to the counter with crossed her arms. "Fine. I'll make a separate batch. No garlic, just for the vampire."

Vladimir straightened his dark coat. He tried to look dignified. "I would appreciate that."

"But," Sable said, holding up a finger, "you have to stop glaring at my customers. Mrs. Higgins said you hissed at her yesterday."

Vladimir's eye twitched. "She was wearing a cross the size of a dinner plate. It was offensive."

"She's eighty-seven years old, Vladimir. She thinks you're a goth teenager." Sable said, sounding defensive.

"I am four hundred and twelve years old!" Vladimir snapped back immediately.

"You look twenty-two. Deal with it." Sable responded with a smirk.

Vladimir opened his mouth to argue. Then he closed it. He let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Fine," he muttered. "I will be... polite."

"Good," Sable said. She turned to walk back to her books.

Something sudden happened.

Vladimir moved fast. He was suddenly right next to her. His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Sable froze, her heart skipped a beat.

"Vladimir?" she said, her voice barely a whisper. "What are you doing?"

Vladimir didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on her neck. His pupils were dilated. His breathing was heavy.

"Vladimir," Sable said, louder this time. She tried to pull her arm away. "You're scaring me."

"I... I can't help it," Vladimir whispered. His voice was strained. "Your scent. It's... different today."

Poppy dropped the tray. Scones went flying. "Sable! Get back!"

But it was too late. Vladimir pulled Sable closer. He bared his fangs and then, very gently, he pressed his lips to her neck. Sable squeezed her eyes shut. She waited for the pain but it didn't come.

Instead, Vladimir made a small, confused sound. He pulled back. He looked at her neck, then at her face and finally at her neck again.

"What?" Sable asked, opening her eyes. "What is it?"

Vladimir stared at her, his face was pale.

"You..." He swallowed hard. "You smell like me."

Sable blinked. "What?"

"Your blood," Vladimir said. He took a step back. He looked terrified. "It smells like my blood. Like... like we're connected."

The room went silent. Poppy gasped. She clapped a hand over her mouth.

Sable stared at Vladimir, her mind already racing.

"That's impossible," she said. "I'm a witch and you're a vampire. We're not supposed to be connected."

"I know," Vladimir said. His voice was shaking. "But the bond... it's there. I can feel it."

Sable's heart pounded, she looked at her wrist and saw something there, she could feel it. A warmth in her chest. A pull toward Vladimir.

"What does this mean?" she whispered.

Vladimir didn't answer. He was staring at the front window. His face had gone from pale to ghostly white.

"Vladimir?" Sable said. "What is it?"

He pointed a trembling finger at the glass. Sable turned and immediately, her blood ran cold.

Standing outside the bookstore, peering through the window, was a woman. She was tall and dressed in a black cloak that shimmered like oil. Her eyes were red, a Sharp smile in her face and she was looking directly at Sable.

"Who is that?" Sable asked, her voice switching into a terrifying murmur.

Vladimir's voice was barely a whisper. "My mother."

Sable's jaw dropped. "Your mother?"

Before Vladimir could answer, the woman raised her hand. She tapped one long fingernail against the glass. The window frosted over and Ice spread across the pane.

Then, the woman spoke. Her voice was cold and smooth. It slithered through the glass like a snake.

"Hello, little witch," she said. "I've been looking for you."

Sable grabbed Vladimir's arm. "What does she want?"

Vladimir swallowed hard. He looked at Sable and his eyes were full of fear.

"She wants to meet my mate," he said. "And she's not known for being... friendly."

Sable stared at the woman. The woman stared back. Her smile widened and then the lights inside The Wandering Page went out.

Sable stood in the darkness. Her heart pounded. She could feel Vladimir's cold hand find hers.

"Vladimir," she whispered. "What do we do?"

He squeezed her hand. His voice was steady.

"We run," he said. "Very fast."