“Fine line, Mushroom, and I’ve been known to walk it on more than one occasion. That in itself is a skill. Highly underrated, if you ask me, this line-walking business. In fact, I’m rather—”
“Inside.” Still not meeting his eyes, or any other part of his body, I jab my finger toward the apartment door. “Now.”
He huffs and puffs and waltzes into the apartment, pausing only to smile and pluck a bit of chamomile out of my hair before heading straight for the kitchen, where he proceeds to rifle through my pantry, cupboards, and fridge.
All without placing so much as adishtowelover his dangling bits.
“You areliterallya walking health code violation right now!” I follow him inside, Grumpy and Sunshine slinking in behind me because when it comes to the Devil's antics, somehow my formerly antisocial cats have come down with a case of FOMO and can’t leave his side. “I can’tbelieveyou were out there naked in front of all those people!”
“Perhaps next time you’ll reconsider inviting me to observe at the tea shop. Which, by the way, is a thing I’ll need to do if I’m to help devise a plan to save it. And you. Goodness, what’s gotten into your hair?”
I shake out a bit more chamomile. “Just work on devising a plan for the money. Leave the day-to-day tea shop business to me.”
“The two are intricately bound, Mushroom. Just like us.” He grins again, then leans his hip against my kitchen counter and glances down at his fingernails, as if he’s contemplating a manicure. “Ah, fate. Such a cruel mistress, is she not? Anyway, back to this health code business—take a breath, love. This isn’t a restaurant. And thank the Devil for that, since you have notoneappetizing thing to offer. No canapés, no caviar, not an imported cheese wedge in sight. Tell me. How are you not starving?”
“Sorry my palate isn’t asrefinedas yours. Next time I’ll be sure to have some gourmet options flown in from the coast, along with some pants, because for whatever reason you seem to be completely allergic to the ones you have!”
“Your palate isn’t the issue, nor is my lack of pants. The issue is your abject refusal to expand your mind and color outside the lines.”
“Really?Really?” My insides are boiling again, full steam ahead. “You want to see coloring outside the lines? Fine. Buckle up, buttercup. Here we freaking go.”
Without waiting for a reply, I stomp off to the spare room that houses the bulk of my non-tea witchy supplies and make a few selections. Bag of salt, black candles, matches, loaded pin cushion, athame, a scrap of black cotton, and a small obsidian bowl. I also grab the vinegar from the kitchen.
Back in the living room, with the naked-ass, tattooed-ass, obstinate-ass Devil watching me in amused silence, I yank the drapes closed and roll up the braided rug, revealing the bare hardwoods beneath. I draw a pentagram in salt, then place a candle at every point and light it. The obsidian bowl goes smack dab in the center.
Grumpy and Sunshine pad over to me, my familiars finally remembering that their mama exists, and together we sit in front of one of the candles.
“You,” I point at Devlin. “On the floor directly across from us.”
“Care to let me know what game we’re playing now?”
“The game where we banish you.”
Devlin nearly chokes. “I beg your pardon?”
“Olivy said we can’t reverse the spell, but maybe there’s a way to just…poof! Send you away. With a different spell. Like, a spell on top of a spell, not breaking the first spell, so it’s not cheating. Right? Right. Sit down, please.”
“I have questions, Mushroom. Many, many questions. Namely, how is an empathic tea witch going to banish the Devil? Isn’t that a bit of a stretch outside the ol’ comfort zone?”
“All witches have inherent magic for things like banishing, summoning, hexing, healing, growing, and manifesting. Depending on where our skills and talents lie, and how we’re raised, we’re naturally drawn to more specialized areas over time. Now sit down and give me your hand. Oh! I also need a lock of hair.”
“But where, exactly, are you banishing me to? And no,poofis not an acceptable answer.”
“Away. The exact GPS coordinates are not my concern.”
“Pardon me for prodding, but they’re very much mine.”
“If I send youaway, and it works, that means our magical bind is broken. So from there, you’ll be free to return to… wherever. Now, sit down and give me that hand!”
His energy flares with worry, but he does as I ask, sitting across from me and stretching his hand out to the center of the salt pentagram. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Totally. Hold still—just a little prick.”
“Thatis a lie! Happy to give you another glimpse if you need proof of—”
“Donotmove.” I grip his wrist, skin hot to the touch, and press the point of the athame to the center of his palm. A quick slice, and the blood wells up. I blot it with the black cloth and drop it into the bowl along with seven straight pins from the cushion.
“Now the hair,” I say, handing him the athame.
