Page 32 of That Ain’t Witchcraft

Calmly, he reached into the pocket of his apron and pulled out a small paper cup full of marshmallows, which he set down in front of me. “Refill?” he repeated.

“I think you may be my favorite,” I said gravely, extending my cup toward him. “Don’t tell anyone else. They’d all be jealous.”

“Right,” he said. Lowering his voice, he added, “Especially your boyfriend, who should have been a linebacker. He’d twist my head off like a bottle top.”

“He doesn’t usually twist heads off, but point taken.”

“Are you here to spy on me?”

I quirked an eyebrow. “If we are, that officially makes us the worst spies in the history of spying. And the history of spying includes some very, awfully, terribly bad spies. Like, unrealistically bad. So no, we’re not here to spy on you. This was the first coffee shop we saw, and we followed the sweet lure of hot caffeine all the way to the door.”

“There’s a Starbucks by the grocery store.”

“Oh, be still my heart, what a terrible mistake we have made, shopping locally, enjoying marshmallow flavored delights,” I deadpanned. “Seriously, it’s a coincidence. Not everyone who wanders through the door is doing so with malicious intentions. Thank you for the marshmallows.”

“Let me know if you need anything else,” said James, with the blithe politeness of a professional food service worker.

I saluted him with my coffee mug as he turned to walk away. Then I froze, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.

The man who’d just walked through the café door was tall and thin, with a pointed chin and sandy brown hair. He was dressed like he was on a lunch break from a local law firm: proper suit and tie, everything fitted exactly as it ought to be. Nothing cheap or off-the-rack for him. His wire-framed glasses managed to conceal the color of his eyes, making him pleasantly, attractively generic. He was every act one boyfriend in every romantic comedy ever made; he was every Clerk #2 from every episode of every show in the Law & Order franchise.

There was nothing about him that should have made my heart beat fast and my blood run cold, nothing that should have turned me into a suspense movie cliché, except for everything about him. Except for the fact that I knew him.

Leonard Cunningham had found me.

Nine

“You know, given the choice—given the ability to change everything about myself—I don’t think I’d have been born into this family. Because I wouldn’t only be choosing a better world for myself. I’d be choosing for my children.”

–Jane Harrington-Price

Burial Grounds, absolutely trapped

I PUT MY COFFEE DOWN, scanning the room for avenues of escape. What had seemed like a quaint, charming design before now felt like a dead-end alley specifically made to trap me. There might be a fire door on the other side of the bathrooms—why the hell hadn’t I bothered to check the bathrooms? Was I really getting that complacent?—but there might not be. Either way, if I went looking, Leonard would see me move. He would notice me.

Assuming he hadn’t already. As if on cue, he met my eyes and smiled, raising one hand to tap his temple in an utterly polite gesture of greeting. I sank farther into my chair.

I could bolt. The counter wasn’t blocked by anything, not so much as a service door, and if I waited for him to place his order and pick up his drink, I could make a break for it. Vault past James and out the door and … what? Run? On foot, no gear, no prep, no way of telling my allies that the Covenant was in town? Sam would never forgive me if I ran out on him again. I might forgive myself, if running meant he would live, but that wasn’t the case. Not now.

There were sixteen people in the café with me, not counting James, who could take care of himself, but who might not know about the Covenant and the kind of danger he’d be in if they realized he was a sorcerer. I didn’t know how good Leonard was in close quarters, or whether he’d be willing to kill innocents to take me down. I wasn’t going to bet this many lives on it.

Sometimes, the only thing to do is nothing. I forced my shoulders back and my chin up, sitting as straight as I could. This was a place where my background in cheerleading came in handy as hell: derby girls can snarl and cry and bleed, but cheerleaders are expected to retain their poise no matter what. I’ve seen girls carried off the field with broken legs, still smiling. I could do this. For them, in their honor, I could do this.

Leonard stepped up to the counter, speaking briefly with James before collecting a mug and accompanying saucer and making his way toward me. I watched him come, and didn’t move.

Finally, he was standing in front of me, so close I could have put a knife in his throat before he had a chance to move. He smiled pleasantly, indicating Cylia’s abandoned chair with his free hand.

“Is this seat taken?”

“Yes.”

He sat down anyway. I hadn’t honestly been expecting anything else.

“You’re looking well, Annie. The fugitive life clearly agrees with you. Have you been able to keep up your training? It hurts to think of all that physical conditioning slipping away because you’ve eaten too many gas station pies.”

I looked at him and said nothing.

Leonard sighed. “Don’t be like that. I swear, women are so touchy sometimes. If I implied that you’d gained weight, I’m sorry.”