She lets out a displeased hum. “Never mind. I knew it. You’re lost without me.”
“How kind of you to grace me with your presence in my hour of need.”
“My people will invoice you my appearance fee.”
“Do all Witches talk as fast as you two?” Lazlo says.
We both jump, startled. Arna Jean looks down. “Your interns are getting awfully young.”
“I’m Lazlo,” he replies, giving her a toothy grin.
“Nice to meet you, Lazlo. I’m Arna Jean. You can call me RJ.”
I shift on my feet, restless, and can’t resist asking any longer. “How was your postgraduation world tour? How was the food?” For a couple years, I got a taste of what the world was like outside the Holler. Just enough to whet my appetite.
She shrugs. “Danced in Berlin. Hiked in Corcovado. Made strudel in Salzburg. Ate my weight in roti in Bhubaneswar. Kissed some people in… a number of places. It’s easy to be lots of different people the farther away you go.” She inhales, a big two-nostril effort, like she’s picking up the smells of sunshine and good dirt, the soul of the Holler. “But home is home.”
“Glad to hear Webb and Fudge didn’t greet you with angry signs.”
“Oh, I ran into Fudge’s crotchety ass the minute I got home. That lady believes too much in Jesus and not enough in moisturizing. I like to watch her face add a new wrinkle for every piercing I get.” Her eyes narrow. “Is it true you’ve been pissing off Webb and his church ladies? I hope you’re not doing all that labor for free.”
I catch her up as best I can. By the time I finish, I’m not so sure my plan is a great idea anymore. By helping the Farewitch who’s helping the Warlock, she’s stepping into the middle of trouble. I just don’t know what kind yet.
Two nights ago, I ran bangs-first into the chilling reminder that the Warlock is a magical being who could pluck me off the vine of existence.Go to bed before I put you to bed. I shiver. Though, it might only be at the memory of his deep voice. Despite the cold edge ofhis attitude, something about being half naked in front of him really changes the taste of any fear I might have.
“And the Warlock does pay me. Well.” Hence why I was able to even hire Arna Jean temporarily.
Her brown eyes churn with mischief. “I bet he does.”
I choke on water I’m not even drinking. “It’s not like that—he’s not—” My hands go over Lazlo’s ears. “Are you accusing me of sleeping with a man to get something I want? Shame on you.”
She snorts. “Please, you’re too tired to ever bring someone home, or you’re too busy to fight insurance over birth control. Either way, we both know you’re not getting any.”
There’s a fragile little bubble of quiet and then it pops and we’re both cackling like we’re storybook Witches plotting over a bubbling cauldron. Maybe that’s where the stereotypes come from. People are just afraid of women laughing.
Ears free now, Lazlo looks more confused than ever.
I wipe the joy from my eyes. “Are yousureabout this? If the Widow Witch decides this year’s victim is in line for my cornbread, I don’t know if the shop’s wards are strong enough to keep her out.” Now that I’ve seen her power in person.
“I can handle the shop. Lucky for you, Bookwitches make terrific entrepreneurs. This Holler could use less blind faith and fear and more concrete hustle, more belief in numbers and evidence. Right now, all you need to worry about is healing your patients.”
Plural. “Not sure I’m healing much these days.”
Her expression softens. Besides Silas and Nurse Carolina, she’s the only other person who knows the truth about my mom. “Self-pity looks as terrible on you as those clogs.”
“Ouch,” Lazlo says.
“Ignore the town, ignore the gossip.Youcame tome. Trust your gut.”
She’s right. As always. If the Warlock can ask for help at…whatever age he is, I can do it at thirty-one. Lord, I’ve missed her. “Thank you. For taking care of the Apothakery.”
“Because? Say it out loud.”
I take a deep breath. “Because I can’t do it alone and I need help.”
“Gold star. Look at you, breaking one bad generational habit at a time. For the record, I would’ve said yes no matter what. My travel funds are dry. And we make too good a team.”
The tight grip of anxiety inside my chest eases. “Because you’re also a shamefully chronic workaholic?”
