Page 27 of Strike It Witch

The place was busier than before, but not by much, and I was able to find a secluded table in the back corner. Gladys was gone, and most of the commotion was at the bar, where Ronan was holding court with a few of his regulars. He’d changed into jeans and a bar T-shirt with his logo in green over the left pec.

“Another water?” he called out when he saw me.

“Please.” I’d have to sip this one. My coffee and water habit had me hitting the restroom every fifteen minutes. “Got anything to eat?”

“Not much, but I’ll bring you something.”

“Thanks.”

A minute later, he’d set a half-frozen water bottle and a heart-shaped polvorón on the table. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Betty.”

I was of half a mind not to accept it. Wolves could be weird about things like food gifts, and I didn’t know Ronan well enough to pick up on his intention.

But the cookie looked so soft, and it smelled like vanilla and sunshine.

“Eat it. It’s a stringless gift.” He bent down to speak into my ear. The music wasn’t loud, but it, and the murmur of the other patrons, made it hard to hear. “Who are you meeting?”

I picked up the cookie and took a bite. It melted on my tongue. Dinner was going to have to be a salad or stir fry after all the pastries I’d eaten today. My body needed veggies.

“So, is my answering your question payment for the cookie? Because I’d rather pay cash,” I said.

“Did you not hear me? I said it was stringless.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t offer anything else.

“You aren’t going to tell me.” He nodded the way people do when they actually want to shake their head instead. “Fine, I get it. Client anonymity and all that. Tell me this then. Are any of my customers in danger?”

“I don’t think so. And if it turns out I’m wrong, I’ll deal with it. I’d never let anyone be in danger on my account if I could help it.”

“Good to know.” He straightened and went back to the bar.

The man had a right to ask the question. Most of the paranormals around town knew what I did for a living. I was a travel witch with years of experience, but what I didn’t have was the protection of a coven. That was a plus for some people, since they didn’t have to pay coven rates and could rely on me to handle most anything they threw in my direction.

Covens had rules, standards.

I also had standards. Mine happened to be a bit more … elastic.

The thing that gave people a sense of security around a coven was that members pooled their magic. Because of that, a coven could defend itself and others against nearly anything. An elemental coven, especially. It was strong in ways a lone witch like me could never match.

Still, I wasn’t interested in joining one. I liked keeping my magic to myself. Plus, I hated the local coven mother with a searing, boiling hostility that even Cecil would have a hard time matching.

Half my bottle of water and the entire cookie was gone by the time the pub door opened, admitting a rush of air and a seven-foot man dressed in a long black robe.

None of the patrons, or Ronan, looked up when he entered. It was as if they hadn’t noticed him.

Oh no.

The poison detection bag I’d had Cecil craft wasn’t going to have any effect. None of my magic would have any effect. I was as helpless as a human in a room full of mages.

“Greetings, Lilibet Flores Lennox.” His voice was like a knife in a garbage disposal. It threw off my equilibrium, and I had to grip the table to stop myself from tumbling out of my chair.

Words Mom had drilled into me as a kid stomped through my brain.

No good ever comes from dealing with demons, mija. Remember that.

This meeting was not starting off on a good foot, but I was a lot less apprehensive about its beginning than I was about its possible ending.

“Hello, Bertrand Sexton.” I reached into my pocket and fingered the lavender and loose soil Cecil had given me. “Or should I call you the gravedigger demon?”

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