Page 86 of Strike It Witch

I hadn’t stopped thinking about Joon’s question—about everyone’s question these days, really.

There was another, more practical reason for needing to leave, outside of my discordance with the soil.

Money.

Helping Gladys move into the park was a two-fold bonus: the park would be stronger with another tenant, and the small amount of rent would help out. But there was another fold tucked in there.

Alpha Floyd was going to pay me a whole bunch of money for theWeret-hekau Maleficium. Three times the amount Sexton had paid me, and he’d been very generous.

When the park was sold and the grimoire secured, would I be a rich witch dripping in diamonds and tooling around the continent in an Italian sports car?

Not even close.

But I’d be a financially solvent witch. A financially solvent witch with enough left over to purchase the black tulle, strapless corset dress and slingback pumps I’d put on my Dolce&Gabbana wish list a few weeks ago.

IfI was able to pull this off tonight.

I had a plan. It was a good one, but it hinged on a few things outside my control, and that meant it wasn’t foolproof.

Then again, what was?

The night was cold and clear, and thankfully, the wind was slight. I breathed in crisp air, tasting the soil minerals in it. This was the sort of night that made me want to sit around a firepit and drink hot chocolate. Since we didn’t have many months of the year in the desert when sitting around a fire was a great idea, I took a moment to be grateful.

The bookseller arrived shortly after I finished pouring the circles.

She was a striking woman, a willowy six feet tall with a smile that could’ve formed icicles in the Sahara. She looked white European, possibly Nordic, and was vampire pale. She wore a red trench coat cinched at her tiny waist and her shoes were Dior pumps, black, with a grosgrain fringe bow and a pretty little pearl. I coveted those shoes.

The woman said very little. I couldn’t tell what sort of magical she was from her aura, but I’d never been great at reading that sort of energy. She felt similar to Cecil and the Melliza cousins, so she was likely fae. That might explain whythe bookseller curse hadn’t affected her. Certain types of fae were immune to curses.

Once she’d introduced herself, she spun on one gorgeous shoe and returned to her fresh-off-the-showroom-floor Lexus SUV to wait for thefestivitiesto commence. The air in her wake was charged with magic.

Definitely fae.

Joon joined me shortly after that, and together we powered up the hex bags protecting the park. With the help of his magic, I was able to get it done quickly and had time to go over the circles once more.

“These are the most perfect circles I’ve ever seen.” He eyed me with respect. “Remind me to give you a call the next time I need to pour one.”

“Anytime,” I said.

“Yeah, me too. Anytime.” Ida crunched over the gravel in silver running shoes and a silver, windbreaker track suit unzipped to reveal a black T-shirt that read:They didn’t burn witches, they burned women. “What are we talking about?”

I slung an arm around her shoulders and whispered in her ear, “You were supposed to stay inside.”

“Pfft. I’m not playing it safe inside while my bestie is out here summoning demons.”

“Thanks,” I said, because in truth I could use the backup of a necromancer. And another magical. And hex bags. And double circles…

Contingencies and redundancies, thy name is Betty Lennox.

A shiny black, Pallás pack SUV pulled into the lot and parked beside the bookseller. A beat-up, white Ford truck pulled in behind it.

Ronan threw open his truck door and jogged to the passenger door of his father’s SUV. His jaw was tight, mouth downturned. He was clearly unhappy.

His gaze met mine, and he mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”

Oh hell. What now?

The driver’s side rear door of the SUV swung open, and a pair of pink ballet flats dropped to the gravel. Bronwyn stepped away from the vehicle, one hand pressed to her breastbone like she was expecting a punch to the chest. She didn’t look any happier than Ronan.

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