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I nod. “He’ll have”—why am I ordering for him?—“whatever you have on tap. Whatever people here love. Your special.”
I don’t know anything about beer, but I know he likes it, and his nod sets me at ease.
“And a tequila sunrise for me. Thank you.”
I don’t want to drink a stupid, tropical cocktail. I don’t want to eat. I’m sick to my stomach.
Sterling killed someone, and he’s telling me in the middle of the bar like it’s nothing. Even after the server leaves, he doesn’t say anything, his fingers steepled together. Exuberant laughter from a few tables down hits my ear, snapping me out of my stupor.
“You can’t just tell me you killed someone and move on,” I hiss, leaning in. “Jewel—I mean, she told me the ghost is yours, but—”
“She told you?”
Shit. Shouldn’t have said that.
“Just some things. I was worried about you.”
“It’s fine.” He huffs out a laugh. “Considering that it’s why she doesn’t trust me to lead the coven, I thought she would have told you everything by now.”
“She doesn’t trust you?”
None of it adds up. Jewel has been singing his praise for as long as I’ve known her, constantly talking about what a great leader he is. Then again, Sterling knows her better than I do.
“She began mentoring me to help me learn to control my magic,” he said. “My death magic.”
Death magic? I’ve never known a death witch, but there are tales of young witches incapable of holding back their so-called gifts. Is that what happened to Sterling?
My lips part. “Then it was an accident—”
He breathes deeply, rubbing his chest. “Yes, but does that matter? I’m a reaper. I killed my first love, and now she wants revenge. It’s a wonder she hasn’t done more.”
A reaper. That’s what they’re called. I’ve never wanted to research them more deeply, but I suddenly wish I had.
“How old were you?” I ask.
It seems like the best place to start.
“Nineteen. Too old. Should have known better.”
Too old? He was still a teenager. Most witches don’t have control of their magic at that age, but it doesn’t have such a dire outcome when they’re kitchen witches or seers. I can’t blame him for this, and surprisingly, I’m not afraid of him.
I’m sad for him.
Sterling knows about anxiety. That was clear by the way he helped me through my panic attack, but I’ve never seen signs of his anxiety. It’s here now, looking up at the ceiling, his breath ragged.
“Hey,” I whisper, soft for him despite the secrets he’s been keeping. “Do you have any… meds for this?”
He nods. “But I can’t drive. They make me tired. And I definitely can’t drink.”
“Then don’t.” I smile softly. “I’ll drive us home. We’ll have a bite to eat. No big deal.”
He doesn’t say anything, but slowly, he nods and reaches into his pocket for what he’s searching for—an orange bottle. He shakes out one white pill and takes it with water.
I flag down the server and ask her to bring us two mocktails instead, along with a quick appetizer order. Maybe it’s silly that I want to stay when I should be running, but there’s more to the story. If he’d killed someone in cold blood, Jewel would have said that.
“Tell me about your magic,” I say calmly.
“I’m a reaper. What more is there to say?”
