"Touché," she said. "But. How did she not know? She's a witch, right?"
"Yes, she's most definitely a witch. I could sense it inside of her the moment I walked into her store. She has great power." Carefully, so as not to cause her any undue pain, I sat on the side of the bed. "I'm just not sure what kind."
"And you didn't just make her come with you so you could force her to fix me?"
I searched Kenya's face, looking for answers she couldn't provide. Finally, I shook my head. "No," I finally said simply.
"Good," she said. "I'm glad of that, at least. It wasn't so long ago that I was a human woman, you know. I remember how it feels. How vulnerable I was."
"She's not human. She's a witch."
"Mmm-hmm. Still human." A shiver ran through her, shaking the bed. I tugged the blankets up around her shoulders. "What are you going to do now?" she asked.
"I'll go see her again," I said. "Tomorrow, I think. I caught nothing about her family in her thoughts or words. She might be the way to save you without bringing hell down on the coven. I can ask her again, and this time I'll stay until she agrees."
"Well, you'd better hurry, before the other witches decide to bring her into the fold." I could almost feel the fever in her eyes as they studied my face. "What?" she asked. "What aren't you telling me?"
I stared down at my hands. "She said her name was 'Smith'."
"Smith?" she asked. "Not Moss?"
"No, Smith."
Kenya struggled to sit up more and I grabbed another pillow and stuck it behind her. Heat radiated from her skin. But it was better than the icy hold of death.
"That makes no sense," she said once she'd caught her breath. "The Moss witches are the only coven in the area. The only one in this country, as far as I know. If she's from a different coven, it would be too dangerous for her to live here. Witches don't like outsiders. Not even another of their kind."
"That's what I thought, too. That she had to be one of them. But if she doesn't know what she is, she wouldn't know of the danger she is in." That fact struck me harder than it should have. I didn't like the idea of this woman in danger. From me or anyone else. "I have reason to think perhaps she just changed her name."
"But," Kenya said with a thoughtful expression, "If she's not one of the Moss witches, perhaps the odds are better that we can convince her to try to lift this spell for me."
I looked at my friend and gave her a smile. "That's exactly what I'm hoping."
A shadow of hope softened her features, but it was fleeting. "Why do I get the feeling you're not as gung ho about this idea as you were earlier? If she isn't one of them, and she doesn't know about us, then there's no danger to the coven. Right?"
"Right." I tried to give her a smile.
"Killian..."
I scrubbed the top of my head, trying to rid myself of my conscience. "It's just...she's innocent in all of this is all," I told her. "And I find myself hesitating to drag her into it."
Kenya laid her hand on mind. "I don't like it, either. But what's our other option?"
A picture of Lizzy flashed through my mind, her hand inching toward the pepper spray to protect herself from me. My body hardened with the challenge, the memory of her sweet scent still as strong as if she were standing right in front of me. "There isn't one."
Chapter 4
Lizzy
I waited all the next day for the man to come back. Every time the bell above the door chimed, I would jump near out of my skin, my eyes darting to the front of the store to see if it was him. By the end of the day, the muscles in my neck and shoulders hurt from all the tension I'd been holding in all day.
Rolling my head on my shoulders, I waited for the water to heat and strain the coffee through the little cup and into my mug. I'd lugged the machine here from my apartment. My only other option was to walk three blocks every time I needed a refill, which had pretty much been every hour on the hour today. I'd barely slept last night. And when I finally did drift off around two in the morning, I'd dreamed the strangest dreams, all filled with a twisted medley of nude bodies covered in blood, writhing against the music of New Orleans.
I'd woken up feeling extremely uncomfortable, the erotic images resonating in my mind while I showered and threw on some black jeans and a white sweater with fuzzy cuffs. I'd hoped the dream would fade as the day went on, but although the images faded, the feelings they created had only intensified, leaving me restless and yearning. But by the end of the day, I'd managed to fill my head with enough distractions that, eventually, it fizzled to a mild ache. However, it never completely left me.
I was never so grateful to my old dog for scaring that man—Killian Rice—away yesterday. Not that Wiggles would be able to catch him if he'd ran. But my pup's heart was in the right place. And apparently the guy wasn't comfortable around dogs.
So, today, I'd pulled his dog bed out of the storeroom and set Wiggles up right behind the counter, where he'd be sure to see anyone who entered the store. Funny enough, he didn't so much as grumble at one person all day.
