Page 16 of Curses & Cold Brew
“These are slate grey and cost more than all these dusty rocks,” she countered but permitted me to drag her along, nevertheless.
The shop was narrow and deep, aglow with salt lamps and astral projection lights that made the ceiling a swirling galaxyof purple and gold. Rows upon rows of baskets lined the walls, and a central table displayed different necklaces and rings along with delicately carved figurines in everything from agate to lapis lazuli.
“Be with you in one sec!” a soft, feminine voice called from deep within the shop.
We perused the piles of crystals while working our way toward the source of commotion. The building was enchanted to be larger on the inside, like a pocket between veils. It felt as if we’d been walking for several minutes before we stumbled upon Citrine, who was packaging up a bundle of beaded bracelets for a family in matching North Face fleeces.
A small child clung to their mother’s leg and peered up at me, then homed in on Ramona, who gave the kid an empty-eyed half smile. A split second of fear strained their little face, but then they beamed up at her. I’d seen this effect before. When children came into contact with Ramona, they recognized that they weren’t in danger. Adults, on the other hand . . . Well, let’s just say the smart ones knew to fear her.
The kid’s father turned and smiled at me. But then he spotted Ramona. “Oh, excuse us.” He quickly nudged his wife and child out of our way as fast as he could.
Ramona raised her chin as they passed, assessing.
I wondered if this was how she found her targets. Did this man have debts too deep to claw his way out of without some help from hell?
I didn’t need my tarot deck for a scenario to appear before me: the man losing his job in the big city and taking his family on one last vacation before uprooting their lives for another job on the West Coast. It was part intuition, part taking in his finance-bro-chic attire.
The family skittered away before I could read any more into it.
“Thatis the witch?” Ramona asked in a low voice, bringing my attention back to Citrine, who was toying with some obsidian. “She doesn’t look like she could bend the forces of nature, let alonemysigil.”
I peeked up at Citrine. She had mousy, shoulder-length brown hair, wire-rim glasses that were too big for her heart-shaped face, and brown doe eyes. She wore flowing linen clothes in burnt orange and looked like a walking jewelry display with so many necklaces, bracelets, and rings that they must add another twenty pounds to her tiny frame. A gold nose ring and stacked gold hoop earrings completed her artsy, hippie style.
“How well do you know this witch?” Ramona murmured. “She doesn’t look like she can keep a secret.”
I liked the way she implied that I was worthy of keeping her secrets, but I wasn’t about to comment on that. “She was a few years older than me at school,” I replied quietly. “And she was my camp counselor one year, but that’s probably the closest we ever were. So I know a little bit about her.”
Ramona guffawed, drawing the attention of a mustachioed patron perusing the labradorite. She gave the man a death glare, and he quickly butted back out of our conversation. I repressed a snicker at his terror but was starting to enjoy Ramona’s effect on mortals.
“I forgot about your little witchy summer camp,” Ramona said with a smirk that lit me on fire. I knew she hadn’t forgotten about it. Not after the kiss we’d shared beneath the midnight trees. “So you two bonded over acoustic singing and s’mores?”
I shrugged. “She’s mostly a friendly acquaintance, but she’s a good person. We can trust her. I have a feeling she’d tell us whatever she knows.”
“I bet I have better ways to make the little mouse squeak.”
That shouldn’t have been hot, but it absolutely was.
“Listen, be careful,” I warned. “Citrine is a powerful witch, even more powerful than me.” Ramona shot me a look. “I am powerful!” I stomped my foot indignantly, which only made her smile widen.
“Sure you are, cupcake.”
“I’m serious,” I whisper-hissed. “I feel bad for her, honestly. She nearly killed her last boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend? She’s a witch who works in a crystal shop and she’s straight?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but she’s pansexual.”
“Interesting.” Ramona shot me a look. “How did she almost kill him?”
“I don’t know all the salacious details, but the coven elders said her magic nearly consumed him when they were in bed together.”
Ramona let out a low whistle. “Talk about a magic pussy.”
My cheeks heated. “It’s the amount of her power that’s the problem, not magical sex organs,” I muttered. “It’s a terrible curse to be that powerful.” I was pushing the issue more than it needed to be. “She can never let someone in, never have a partner.”
“Maybe she just needs more than one,” Ramona offered, her lips curling with mischief as she drank Citrine in. “I’m sure the right quartet of lovers would do her some good.”
“What does that even mean?” I hissed. “Are you . . . into her?”
