Page 47 of Strike It Witch

I let myself into my trailer and fell into bed. My dreams were, for once, blessedly benign.

Four hours later, I awoke a little refreshed and a lot more optimistic about life. The radio played three great songs in a row and the tinyCrassula rupestris—miniature succulent—I’d repotted last month had new growth. Life was good.

I was halfway through mint-tea preparations when my cell rang. I’d overdone it on coffee last night and was cutting back on caffeine today. Mint tea was all I could handle.

A wicked smile curved my lips as I picked up my cell and tapped the screen. “Hello, it’s the filthy, low class, trailer-park grunge witch.”

“W-W-What—” The person on the other end of the line sneezed six times in rapid succession. “—the devil did you do to my office?”

It worked. Cecil and Fennel would be thrilled.

“Who’s speaking?” I asked, barely hiding my glee.

“You know who it is, evil witch.”

I clicked my tongue at him. “Now, now. Use kind words, Alpha Floyd.”

“That’s Alpha Pallás to y-y-you.” He sneezed again. “Did you put wolfsbane in my office?”

“That would be unconscionable, Alpha Floyd. I would only do that to someone I wished horrible things on. Someone who’d tried to trick me into purchasing a cursed book. Someone who?—”

“Show some respect and stop calling me Alpha Floyd, witch. Godsdamn it, how do I—” Another sneeze. “—get rid of this stuff?”

“Tell me why you wantWeret-hekau Maleficium, and I might be persuaded to give you my own personal antidote for fae wolfsb—er, early spring allergies.”

Fae wolfsbane was poisonous to wolf shifters in large doses, and it was like having a wad of horseradish injected directly into your sinuses in smaller ones. Especially when those smaller doses were combined with a time-release spell, crammed into a hex bag, and hidden in the room a wolf spent most of his time in.

He let out another series of sneezes.

“Go into your bathroom and close the door, Alpha Floyd. Wash your face with soap and water.”

On the other end of the line, a door slammed shut and water ran. Rasping growls and muttered curses echoed tinnily, telling me he was in a small room. The bathroom at the back of his office, presumably.

“That’syour antidote? I have to stay holed up in the can?”

“For now. Tell me more about the book.”

“Fuck off.”

I ended the call, set the phone on the table, and resumed making my tea.

When it rang again, I let it go to voicemail and took a shower.

Five minutes, twenty calls, and twenty-four angry texts later, I let Ida into my trailer. We drank tea, and I drew on her eyebrows. She’d wanted to look saucy today, so I gave her a sharper arch.

When the twenty-first call came in, I decided to answer it. The alpha would just drive over and accost me if I didn’t.

“Hello, it’s Betty.”

“What the hell did you do to Alpha?”

Or send his son.

I held out the phone to show Ida. I’d assumed it was Floyd calling, but Ronan’s name was on the screen. That’d teach me to answer without looking.

“Just a little payback for trying to get me cursed. No worries. Call him back and tell him you convinced me to talk to him. But warn him, if he cusses at me again, I’ll hang up, and he can sneeze himself into oblivion.”

Ronan muttered something that sounded like, “Why me?” Aloud, he said, “Fine. I still plan to go to L.A. with you to meet that bookseller.”

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