Oh, you havegotto be kidding me.
“Good goddess, woman. You’re drunk.”
“No lies detected.” Another nervous giggle bubbles out of her, then quickly turns into a hiccup.
“Excuse me?”
“I know! I didn’t didn’t mean to drink so much, or to drunk-dial you—sorry, drunk-summonyou. But clearly something went awry tonight—a long line of somethings, actually—and I was hoping it would all just blow over, but then you stood up out of the magical darkness like,rawr, I’m the Devil, and—”
“Yousummoned me?”
A nod. Another hiccup. A crimson blush staining her cheeks.
I take in the sight of her again, the mushrooms dotting the shirt, the wild knot of hair makingherlook a bit like a mushroom too, sprouting up out of the ground as if we’re trapped in some sort of fairytale forest. It would all be quite whimsical and adorable, if I were in the mood for whimsy and adoration.
“That’s simply not possible,” I say.
“And yet, here you are. Summoned.” She spreads her hands before me and shrugs. Followed by another hiccup. “By me.”
“Only the most powerful witches can summon me.Ancientwitches well-heeled in the dark arts. Which you areclearlynot. ”
And if I don’t find the witch whoisresponsible for this, she’s certain to track me down and—
“Hate to rain on your know-it-all parade, sir, but I’m the only witch here (hiccup). So unless your all-powerful ancient well-heeled dark arts witch-person has aseriousGPS problem (hiccup), this disaster is all mine.”
The inebriated little witch has the nerve to cross her arms and glare at me. Glare! As ifI’mthe wrongdoer here.
Unbelievable.
And yet… Idobelieve her. Earnestness shines through every fiber of her tiny being. And that scent—the sugar, the bourbon—it’s definitely her magic, no trace of anyone else’s.
I cast another glance around the café. Candle wax spilled across the countertop, a black scorch mark suggesting fire magic gone awry. A stack of witchcraft books teetering beside a laptop. The aforementioned half-spent pitcher of something alcoholic.
Her story checks out.
Ah, well. A break from the routine, I suppose, and no head-bashing required.
Alas, duty calls.
“Well then.” I flash a no-hard-feelings grin. “As lovely as it was to meet you—against my will and all the laws of witchcraft and sorcery, ancient and new and yet to be invented—I think it’s time we say goodnight. Farewell, tiny drunk one, and best of luck with your future spell-casting.”
She blows a few curls out of her eyes and offers a sad wave. Again, something inside my chest twinges.
Indigestion. Obviously. Mental note to speak to my chef about preparing a milder sauce for Taco Tuesdays.
“Well?” I demand. “What are you waiting for?”
“Um… for you to… leave?”
“Hellfire help me. You reallyareout of your league, aren’t you?” Crouching down so we’re eye to eye, I place my hands on her shoulders and speak slowly and clearly. “When a spellcaster summons the Devil, that spellcaster mustun-cast in order to set him free.”
“Un-cast?”
“Release me from the spell. Sooner rather than later, if you don’t mind. There’s still a chance I might make my appointment with the twins.”
“What twins?”
“Neither here nor there. The un-casting, if you please.”
