Page 29 of Her Dreadful Will
Soleil tended to think in English and used it more frequently for spells, but occasionally, in moments like these, she found occasion to dig into her French heritage. “Merde! Merde! Tu m’obéiras, putain de voiture!”
The engine exploded to life. She dropped the starter sigil into the center console, jerked the shifter into reverse, and ground backward out of the parking spot. She made sure to show the sneering dentist-witch a choice finger of her own before roaring away from him, away from the restaurant—away from this confusing mess of an evening.
12
“Stupid witch. Cocky, idiot bastard. How dare he interfere? What does he want?”
Soleil posed the questions aloud to an alarmed Carebear, who paced the room beside her as if to say,Not sure why we’re on high alert right now, but I’m here for it. However, patrolling the premises is my job, if you recall. Just saying.
“Why did I leave the restaurant so fast? I wasn’t done with him. Save my questions until thenext timeI see him? I don’t think so. He’s not tricking me into another date—” Realization shocked her still for a moment. “Oh no. He paid for the dinner. I let him pay. I didn’t even notice, with the alarms and everything going on—ugh! Now Ihaveto go out with him again and buy his dinner. That’s just what he wants. That’s what he’s expecting. Oh, but he doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. I’m going to send a check to the clinic, and then we’ll be even, and I will have nothing more to do with him!”
She brushed imaginary dust from her hands, triumphantly.
It was a perfect plan.
So why did she feel suddenly dissatisfied at the thought of never seeing him again?
She resumed her pacing. “If I never see him again, I’ll never get answers to my questions. And that would bebad.”
She looked down at Carebear, and he bobbed his head, voicing a little bark. A response to her intense tone, of course; but it felt like confirmation.
“Wait a second—he texted me about the restaurant this morning, so I have his personal number. I’ll text him my questions. Then I can get answers without having to see him in person.”
The idea excited her so much that she nearly tripped over the Doberman while lunging for her phone.
She found Achan’s number and pounded out a fierce message. “You knew I was here in town. That’s how you knew to protect yourself from me. How did you get my location?”
She hit “send” and waited, chewing on her thumbnail.
A return message appeared. “I’m not doing this over text. Not safe. You know better.”
She flung herself onto the sofa, groaning because he was right. They shouldn’t talk about witchy things over text. That’s why the Institute had its own chat app—regular messaging clients weren’t secure enough to protect identities, and they were also vulnerable to surveillance by government institutions and greedy data-mining companies.
She typed back, “Fine. So when are you going to answer my questions? And I’m sending you a check for tonight’s bill.”
“A check? So old-school. I’m not cashing it. This evening was worth every penny I paid.”
She chewed harder on her nail, wondering how to respond—and when the phone rang, she dropped it. She scrambled for it, cursing as her fingers tangled in the soft, thick pile of the rug.
The call was from him, of course.
Soleil pressed a hand to her chest and commanded her heart to slowthe helldown. Then she touched the green icon on her screen. “You’d better be calling to answer my questions.”
“But if I answer your questions, you won’t agree to see me again.” His voice sounded rougher and more masculine through the phone. Which didn’t affect her. Not one bit.
“Well, I’m not going on another date with you,” she retorted. “I think we can both agree that one was a disaster.”
A pause. “You didn’t enjoy yourself at all?”
She squirmed. Thinking about it honestly, she realized that shehadenjoyed herself; it had been easy to talk to him, despite the unpleasantness of the restaurant. But the part of the night she’d enjoyed most were those moments by her car when she’d ripped his shirt and examined his tattoos. Her entire consciousness had lit up with vibrant interest, and with more excitement than she’d felt in a long time.
“Maybe it was a little fun,” she conceded. “Like a thimbleful of fun.”
“A thimble? Who the hell uses a thimble anymore?”
“People who sew.”
“I never use a thimble when I sew.”
