Page 13 of Curses & Cold Brew
Ramona rolled her eyes. “That man was insufferable.”
“Which one? Robert Downey Jr. or Cumberbatch?” I couldn’t imagine Ramona watching films, but who could resist a sassy British detective?
“Doyle.” She turned toward the door, her words trailing behind her. “Sold his soul for fame and never did deliver the love scene I demanded. Are you coming or not, Watson?”
“What? Oh. Right. Crystal shop,” I said, flustered. “It’s closed at this time of night, but why don’t we meet at Witch’s Brew tomorrow morning and head over together?”
I followed her out to the street, closing the door gently behind me so as not to wake anyone else in the B&B.
“Or,” Ramona added tightly, “we can go wake up this Citrine now and intimidate the answers out of her.”
“Or,” I cut in, emphatically waving my arms, “we don’t make enemies in town when we’re trying to figure out who is snatching your paydays out from under you, and you just trust me and play nice this one time.”
Ramona’s jaw tightened. “Fine. We’ll do it your way,” she gritted out. “But I don’t play nice,ever. You would do well to remember that.”
With that, she disappeared around the corner, leaving me to walk back to the apothecary with a whole lot of questions and anticipation swelling in my chest.
8
RAMONA
Isat at the small table at the back of Witch’s Brew Café, staring grumpily down at my lemon blueberry scone. When I glanced up, I found the blonde café owner, Willow, and her mullet-clad sister, Harlow, watching me from the espresso machine.
“What?” I barked, making them jolt in unison.
“Nothing!” Willow squeaked. “You enjoying the scone?” She nodded at my untouched plate.
I picked up my fork and knife like I was going to impale someone with them. “Yes.”
“Great!” she said through a smile that some might have called a grimace.
“Do you want a coffee?”
“Sugar-free cold brew, no cream,” I snapped.
“Okay! You got it!” The human café owner knew my usual order, but she still scrawled it onto her largest plastic cup and passed it to her nepotized barista.
“Dude, chill,” Harlow muttered to her sister.
The café was always busy this time of day. The creatures of the town filtered through the tourists and capitalized on the influx of revenue. One of the mayor’s employees stood outsidethe café’s bay windows, passing out flyers for Midnight Market, which every tourist took with a smile.
“Here you go.” Harlow placed the frosty beverage in front of me, then immediately turned on her heel. She hadn’t been part of the community for long, but she knew better than to linger, which meant I already liked her more than ninety percent of the locals.
At that thought, Agnes slid onto the seat beside me.Speak of the devil.“You’re even surlier than usual,” she said by way of greeting.
I lifted two fingers to my temple as I took a sip from my cup. “Agnes.”
“What are you doing haunting this place so early in the morning?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I replied. “Didn’t that bleach-blonde human almostkillyou last year?”
Agnes let out a shrill laugh. “Nearly. But I’ve moved on.” She tipped her head toward Harlow. “Her girlfriend and that redheaded witch saved me, so all is forgiven. Not to mention, they took care of Katie. Though, the new fishmonger isn’t as chatty.”
“Iris.”
“Is that the new fishmonger’s name?”
“No,” I gritted out. “The redheaded witch. Her name is Iris.”
