Pulling herself toward the edge of the bed, Michonne drew a deep, shuddering breath.

Fuck.

She massaged her temples with the hope of calming herself down. It wasn't Kali's random visit that kept sleep from her this time, but the same stubborn hallucination of Britney watching her with a pair of glowing eyes and blood seeping from her neck. Pain relievers dulled her aching migraine but did nothing to stop the distracting delusions.

Michonne winced as a blinding flood of visions washed over her, causing her to stagger into the bathroom. She felt a sickening mix of helplessness and anticipation; something she thought she had learned to control since moving to Atlanta.

Apprehensive of what she would see, Michonne placed her trembling hands onto the cold granite counter for support before reluctantly staring into the mirror. Gazing at her reflection, a pair of menacing black eyes drilled back at her. They were like two gleaming stones of onyx, lit up by small streaks of violet in the iris. The same unique color that both her mother and grandmother bared while plunging into the spirit realm.

Closing her bewitching black eyes, she rubbed them ferociously with the heels of her palms.

Not again.

For more than two-years, Michonne had mastered the skill of numbing her nerves and suppressing her family's curse, or gift depending on the way others perceived it. However, something about this time felt different to her.

As a child, Michonne spent most of her nights after school with her grandmother, Coffey learning all about the rich history and influence of Conjure passed down from generations. It was said her family came from a long line of powerful shamans going as far back as the first mass of Africans that were forced to set their shackled feet upon the shores of Virginia. She savored the nights of climbing out of her bedroom window to explore the forbidden French Quarter streets and over to the little home that sat on the banks of the Mississippi River. It was a welcomed break from her mother's religious ramblings. Whilst, plaiting her grandmother's delicate coils, she eagerly listened to stories of mischievous spirits and the art of necromancy. Something her mother once did before converting to Catholicism and believing all rootwork was sinful and the working of Satan.

As time went on, Michonne's sense of duty to carry on the family tradition died alongside her grandmother and then mother. Though, she still performed small rituals on the side to assist her in the things she wanted or needed, presumably out of habit or desperation.

Drawing in another deep breath, she timidly opened one eye before the other, and as if the gods themselves had heard her thoughts, her eyes had returned to their normal shade of the darkest brown.

Three Days Later

Awake before the first rays of sunlight, Michonne sprinkled in a handful of cinnamon and pinch of cascarilla for luck and protection in the half-filled bathtub. Slowly placing one foot before the other, she glided into the silky water. Instantly, she felt her drowsy body relax against the roman tub.

After three days of deliberating, she had finally succumbed to Rick's offer.

Three-thousand dollars per week was tempting, to say the least. Almost too good to be true, she thought to herself while dangling the job letter over her candlelit face, once again, scanning over the time and address. With that kind of money coming in, it would take her no time to save and eventually move out of the city, possibly even travel to France like her idol, Josephine Baker.

Michonne sat the letter down, baring a bright grin at the possibility of performing in the Theatre des Champs-Elysees. Cheerfully squealing to herself, she sank further down in the tub, submerging her head and drowning out all of the sounds around her.

Perhaps, the prosperity spell wasn't a waste of time after all.

She deduced underwater, her thoughts soon reeling toward Rick Grimes and what sort of man he could possibly be.

Was he an old perverted, balding man in an ill-fitted suit or some young, insufferably rich brat with money to burn?

She mulled over the endless possibilities of her future boss before uncovering her head, her long dreads heavy with lukewarm water.

….

Despite only four hours of sleep, Michonne felt peculiarly energized. Slipping into a red blouse and her favorite hip hugging jeans she'd set aside earlier, she ran back over to the mirror to double check her makeup. She traced back over the neat eyeliner just a tad more to perfect her cat eye. If she was going to be someone's personal assistant, she was going to be a sexy one. She smirked to herself, tossing the eyeliner pen in her purse before grabbing her keys and withdrawing from the cozy studio apartment.

…..

From the cabaret, it was a thirty-minute drive into King's County. Michonne swallowed, her mouth feeling suddenly dry as she pulled into a long winding driveway. The car engine growled down the bumpy road as she peered out the window, completely in awe of the southern gothic landscape. The live oaks were swathed in Spanish moss as they wilted over the lonely graveled road, leading to a massive antebellum estate. Her stomach churned while reflecting on the dark history associated with plantation homes.

Removing her black aviators, Michonne withdrew from the older coupe and gazed over the towering entry. A burnt orange hue spread across the sky as the sun slowly roused to life.

Drawing a breath of humid air, she allowed herself another moment for composure before strolling onto the front porch and gently knocking on the door. With just the smallest effort, the door swung open like if it was left partly agape on purpose. The creaking noise made her blood run cold as she stepped inside.

The dull light of morning seemed to faint out of existence as darkness engulfed her inside the grand entrance like the thick velvet curtains on stage. Michonne let her eyes wander over the grandeur of the staircase and old western memorabilia scattered throughout the walls before locking on a silver Colt Python locked away in a pristine glass case. She inched closer for a better look as a heavy southern drawl jolted her back into the present.

"You're late." A voice of velvet echoed throughout the vaulted foyer.

"How'd you know I'd even agree to this?" Her eyes roamed the room for the source of that arousing accent. "I don't remember making any promises." She continued, defiantly.

"You can say I'm a very good judge of character." Said Rick in the smokiest, most alluring tone Michonne had ever heard. The subtle sound of his footsteps above her head teased her ears as she followed the direction of his voice.

"So…What do you need a personal assistant for?" She questioned, one hand clutching the bannister as she pulled herself up the steps. "Coffee runs and dry cleaning?" She added, her voice laced in sarcasm.

A deafening silence caressed her skin like a cool breeze as she cautiously sauntered up and into a elegant study. Michonne's breath caught in her throat as her body stilled by the intensity of his blue gaze ensnaring her attention.

It's him.

The blue-eyed stranger from Kali's office sat nonchalantly behind a large encompassing desk. His wavy brown hair brushed back, curling behind his ears.

He was beautiful in a way that drew you in but something about him reminded her of a fully mature lion that'd lure in prey by its beauty just to strike and sink its teeth into whomever came too close.

Rick scanned over her delicate face for a reaction, but silence continued to linger in the air like the suspended moment before a falling glass shatters on the ground.

"I have no use for coffee and I can manage my own dry cleaning." His eyes pierced through her, unwavering. "You have read all of the conditions for this position, I assume." His gaze hardened, watching her every move and every tick in her face.

Swallowing down the dryness in her throat, she inched closer and feigned an attempt at a calm demeanor. "Yes." She answered, her voice a faint whisper as he eased himself out of the chair, walking around the desk and ceasing inches from her.

"Good." His cool gaze penetrated that of her warm brown eyes as he added,"- I also assume you know those dreams of yours are not delusions, Ms. Campbell."

He placed a thick emphasis on her surname, causing a shudder of unknown reason to travel through her.

Michonne furrowed her brow in uttering disbelief. "How do you know about my dreams?"

A subtle smile graced his pouty lips, curling up at her noticeable discomfort. "It happens to every human that is lured by a vampire."

She felt her lungs tighten at his words. Even though she sensed the man who killed Britney and the officer who saved her may have been something other than human, hearing the word vampire hit her harder than a crushing wave.

"Are you going to kill me?" She looked up and studied his obscenely attractive features for a response.

He let his eyes linger over her sensual frame and plump lips before corking a brow at her question. He anticipated for her to scream, run or even dissolve into tears, but she did none of those things.

"I have no interest in harming you unless you give me a reason to." He paused for a tense moment. "Besides, I need your presence in New York tonight."