“How awful for you,” she says flatly. I notice she does not come bearing pastries today.
“You assured me you would arrive on time today, and yet?—”
“I’ve had a busy morning, Dr. Panties In a Bunch! Jeez!”
“What happened?”
“A lot! First of all, I nearly ruined my boots in the woods yesterday, and chipped my nail polish trying to clean them, so not only did I have to wait around all morning for my new boots to be delivered, I also had to repaint my nails. And there still not totally dry, so whatever you do, don’t touch me.”
Memories flash. The silken warmth of her skin beneath my fingertips. That little hitch of breath. The look of wanting in her eyes, most certainly a reflection of my own…
Utter foolishness.
“I can assure you that I won’t,” I say.
“And anyway, it’s raining? Or it was. Everything takes longer when it rains. You should’ve planned better. Let’s hope the bookstore is open today—I don’t think Helena has a phone, either. What is it with you old people?”
For all that is terrible and unholy,thisis the witch tasked with overseeing the portal between realms? With keeping the boundary safe and untampered with?
“For your information, Miss Bonnivarde, I’m thirty-two.”
She cocks an eyebrow.
“At least, Iwas.”
The witch looks skeptical. “Before or after the invention of the wheel?”
“A demon is not allowed to reveal his demonic age. To do so is akin to a fae revealing his true name in the tales of old.”
She laughs, a sound I’m becoming all too attached to. “You are totally making that up.”
“Miss Bonnivarde.” I cast a raised eyebrow. “Are you questioning my scholarly merits?”
“I would never,” she teases. “But in the future, if you want to give me shit, you should probably do something about those bright red ears.”
“Noted.”
We walk in companionable silence, the misty morning giving way to drizzle again, but neither of us is bothered. The streets are nearly vacant, and for a moment I feel as though the witch and I are in our own private realm, strolling the streets of some quaint little village, no concerns but enjoying each other’s company.
“I read one of the books, you know,” she finally says. “Well, part of it. While my nails were drying. The one on divination? Slow going—you know I’m not a big fan of words on the page.” A self-deprecating laugh. “But it’s actually pretty interesting.”
This comes as a surprise. “Miss Bonnivarde. Are you… taking initiative?”
“Maybe? I just don’t want to fall behind. Yesterday was only the start, and we don’t have the grimoire yet, so I figure I should get a jump on things. The reading itself didn’t go too badly. The diagrams were super helpful.”
“Any aspect of particular interest?”
She beams up at me, excitement dancing in her eyes. “The Tarot card stuff is super cool. I found an old deck in the basement too. The one that gave me that vision? Anyway, I think I’d like to start there.”
“Excellent choice. The perfect complement to your channeling capabilities.”
Her enthusiasm brightens my mood. Despite her chronic lateness, and lack of pastries, she’s proving quite an eager student. Perhaps I didn’t give her enough credit.
And a channel, besides! Very rare. A small, defiant part of me wishes we could avoid this nasty transfer-of-power business and find a way to work together long-term. How I would love the opportunity to study her properly, to observe her as she discovers new techniques and blossoms into her full magical awakening?—
“Shoot, my nails.” She stops on the sidewalk and thrusts her hip toward me, jacket fluttering. “Can you grab the stuff in my pocket?”
“You know my rules about touching.”
