Page 3 of Strike It Witch

I would’ve sighed if I’d dared draw attention to myself. But the plan depended on a number of precarious things, and my staying unnoticed for now was one of them. Besides, this was a complication I’d anticipated and allowed for.

Sometimes constantly second-guessing yourself comes in handy.

“Does anyone know you’re here, elder woman?” the demon asked.

She nodded.

“Who did you tell?”

The dumbass had just commanded her silent. How exactly did he expect her to answer?

“Elder woman, I asked you a question.”

She raised her eyebrows and pointed her index finger at her mouth.

“Oh, yeah.” Dark green splashed across his cheeks. His version of blushing, I assumed. “You may speak freely. Answer my questions. Tell the truth.”

A truth command.Dumbass demon isn’t so dumb, after all.

I crouched, plunged my fingertips into the soil. A frisson of power traveled through my fingers, up my arm, and into the rest of my body. The soil here was happy—well-fed, well-watered, and harboring life beneath and above the surface. That happiness created energy that powered my magic.

I used it to ready my next spell.

“You want me to tell the truth?” Ida gave him her brightest, most unhinged smile. “Fine. The truth is I did tell someone where I was going to be tonight. Two someones, in fact. I went to the garden and told the fennel and Lilibet. I do so love herbs and roses. We have the most wonderful conversations.”

Clever woman. She could’ve gone withAgapanthus orientalis, or Lily of the Nile, but the Lilibet rose was a good choice, too. It was, after all, my first name.

“Great. Another lunatic,” the demon grumbled. He thumbed at the black shimmer hanging in the air behind him. “Let’s get this over with. Walk through the gate and meet your fate.”

Ida chuckled. “You’re a poet, and you don’t know it.”

He probably shouldn't have returned her the ability to speak freely. The woman had no filter. Usually, it was one of her finest qualities.

Tonight, it was a liability.

“Laugh now,” the highway demon said through sharp, clenched teeth. “Because you won’t be laughing for long. It’s time for you to enter my little corner of the underworld.”

“You and the clichés. Sheesh.” Ida laughed and rolled her eyes. “Did you actually have a sweetie named Elaine whodied in a tragic accident on that very roador was that a lie?”

Typical. Hitchhiker demons always had a sob story handy. It was how they got people to feel bad for them and start talking.

“I have atorturernamed Elaine who can’t wait to meet you,” the demon replied.

Ida scrunched her nose. “You’ve got a torturer namedElaine?”

The hitchhiker’s green face contorted into a scowl. He stuck his hands on his hips. “Yeah, what about it?”

Ida shook her head. “No, it’s nothing. Only…the name Elaine doesn’t exactly invoke fear.”

The demon huffed. “It’s a nickname. We don’t use our real names because they can be used against us.”

“So, what’s stopping you from telling me Elaine’s real name? She’s not even in this realm. Or your name, for that matter? You’ve got me under your control. What’s the big whoop about it now?”

The demon’s eyes rolled to the left. He gnawed his sticky lower lip like a noir-movie ingenue. “You might break free and run away.”

She huffed; her body moved stiffly, since she was still under the spell, but her attitude had other ways of surfacing. “I’m eighty years old. How many elderly humans do you know who can still run?”

Clever wording. Especially since Ida was the least elderly eighty-year-old I’d ever met in my life. Last fall, she’d set a record in the Eastern Star 5K Charity Walk, beating out women a third her age and raising over ten thousand dollars for the new pediatric wing of La Paloma Regional Hospital.

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