Page 18 of Sweetwater and the Witch

“Maybe I’ll wear the green one,” she said to Harriet.

Harriet chortled in what she took to be an encouraging way. The dust bunny was on the dressing table, gripping one of her favorite acquisitions, a bright-red pen bearing the logo of the Dark Zone Delivery Service:We Know the Zone. She liked watching her own reflection as she waved it around in front of the mirror.

Ravenna did not have to wonder if Harriet had thieved the pen. The DZ Delivery person who had delivered last night’s pizza had given it to her.

“All right, the green one it is,” Ravenna said. She felt very daring.

She carried the dress, a slinky, long-sleeved sheath, across the bedroom and arranged it carefully on the bed. The dress was cut demurely high in front and just low enough in back to qualify as both elegant and discreetly sexy, according to Sybil, who had helped her select it. The shopping expedition had taken place after failed date number thirty-six. Sybil had suggested that perhaps Ravenna was not sending the right messages with her little black numbers.

“Wearing it will be my own private stress test,” Ravenna said to Harriet. “If I feel uncomfortable in it, I’ll know I shouldn’t wear it on a real date.”

She wondered if talking to a dust bunny was a bad sign.

“You know, Harriet, it’s going to be ironic if this date goes well tonight and I actually do take Ethan Sweetwater to Silver Lake. It would be the first time I’ve had a second date since I got serious about trying to find a husband. Dawson doesn’t count. That fiasco happened back in Cadence, not here in Illusion Town.”

Harriet chortled and waved the pen.

“I wish you could go with me tonight but I have a feeling you’ll have a lot more fun on your own,” Ravenna said.

She stepped into the knee-length green sheath and struggled with the zipper in back. Yet another reason to get married, she thought. It would be handy to have someone around the house who could assist with zippers.

She checked the time—a quarter after six—and decided it would be okay to put on the stiletto heels. Intuition told her that Ethan would arrive at her door at exactly six thirty. She went back to the closet and picked up the high-heeled, pointy-toed pumps.

To her surprise the doorbell rezzed just as she sat down on the edge of the bed to slip on the heels. Her pulse, already beating a little too quickly, abruptly kicked up.

“Wouldn’t you know it?” she said to Harriet. “He’s not the always-right-on-time type, he’s the always-early type.”

The doorbell sounded again. This time she thought it had a distinctly annoyed, impatient vibe.

“Not a good way to start a date,” she told Harriet. “I must remember to note this in my failure mode analysis.” She stepped into the pumps and got to her feet. “No wonder he made a bad impression on those nine dates.”

In spite of having made up her mind that the evening was already a disaster, she checked her reflection in the mirror one last time. Her hair was anchored in a twist at the back of her head. A pair of amber-and-gold earrings dangled from her ears. For the most part she had kept the makeup to a minimum—it was a business reception, after all—but she had gone for a little drama with her eyes. More than one cosmetic counter consultant had told her they were her best feature.

Concluding she was as ready as she would ever be, she left the bedroom and stalked down the hall to the front door. Harriet bounded off the dresser and scampered after her. She scooped her up and tucked her under an arm.

When she reached the small foyer she yanked open the door, intending to tell Ethan Sweetwater that his dating technique was a disaster.

But it wasn’t Ethan who stood on the front steps. It was failed datenumber thirty-six, Garrett Willis. Harriet started to chortle a greeting—she liked Willis, who had gifted her with a Lucky Quartz casino and hotel pen. But the chortle turned to a menacing growl.

Willis was dressed in classic casino mogul evening casual—a well-cut cream-colored jacket, dark trousers, and a maroon dress shirt with a wide, flared collar, open at the throat. His accessories included an impressive steel-and-obsidian watch and a massive ring set with a huge chunk of rare blue quartz. He wore his tuned amber in his belt buckle.

He also had a mag-rez pistol in one hand.

“Witch,” he rasped.

For some reason she noticed the pupils of his eyes. They were pinpoints. Instinctively she tightened her grip on Harriet, who was trying to wriggle free.

“Garrett?” she said. “What’s going on?”

“I have to destroy you,” Garrett said, “before you destroy my family.”

He sounded calm—unnaturally so. Ravenna stepped out of the heels and moved back into the hall. If she got a chance to run, she did not want to be hampered by the shoes.

Garrett followed her, the mag-rez never wavering. She tried to come up with a plan. She could pull energy here on the surface, but Garrett could rez the pistol more than once in the time it took her to generate some serious flames.

She glanced past him. Through the open doors she could see the front steps and the driveway framed by the overgrown hedges. There was no point hoping that a passing neighbor might distract Garrett. The little house on Midnight Court had been affordably priced because, as the real estate agent had pointed out, it was located in a very quiet neighborhood that was just waiting to go upscale. What that meant was that there were several empty residences on Midnight Court. No one was likely to notice the open front door and come down the driveway to investigate. She and Harriet were on their own.

“Garrett, this is me, Ravenna,” she said, fighting to keep her tone quiet and reassuring. “And this is Harriet. You remember Harriet, don’t you? You thought she was cute.”

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