Page 115 of De-Witched

“They told you about us,” he pointed out, leaning back against the counter. “That carries a huge risk.”

“I know,” she repeated, angling her head back to look him in the face. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or anything.”

He considered her in his aloof Gabriel way. “Have they told you the consequences if you’re ever discovered?”

“Not really. I know I’d get brought before the High Family—like, your version of a royal family?” At his nod, she continued, “But other than that, details are a little hazy. Memory wipe, most likely—which, can I just say, not cool.”

“Witches aren’t known for ethics.”

“Apparently.”

“Did they discuss what would happen to them?”

The question made her still. She stared at him. “What do you mean happen to them?”

“If they were unmasked as the ones who told you without seeking permission, they could also face severe penalties.”

Chilled at the sound of those two words, she wrapped her arms around her waist. “Like what?”

“In truth, it’s been that long since the rules have been broken that it’s mostly rumor.”

He was avoiding the question. Not a good sign. “They didn’t tell me.” She thought of how often she’d pushed to know more, not even considering that she might be putting her friends in danger, and dropped her arms. “Shit. I’m such an idiot. And so are they for not telling me. I know, probably trying to protect me. Still, they should’ve said something.”

“When you want to protect someone, sometimes that trumps what you ‘should’ do.” Experience rang through the wry words.

Leah shook her head, still jittery. “It’s stuff like this that makes me feel so out of touch. I’m an adult; I deserved to know all the facts, right?”

He stayed silent, but the fact that he’d drawn her attention to it was its own point.

She tapped her fingers against her hips. “You think I should focus on the fact that they told me in the first place, don’t you?”

“Why did they?”

The memory brought a rueful smile. “Emma got drunk.”

Shock splashed over his face.

She had to laugh. “It’s why she’s so OTT about me slipping up, because she feels responsible—and it’s also why she can outdrink anyone now, because she swore it wasn’t going to happen again. It was like a year after we met, a few months after she’d introduced me to Tia, and I was hosting a girl’s night. Nothing fancy. And Emma pounded too much gin. Next thing I knew, she was claiming to be able to make magical cosmos and cooing to my plants.”

“And Tia?”

Leah tilted her head thoughtfully. “She could’ve intervened. But all she did was sit there with a smile on her face. Apparently, she had a ‘premonition’ that I could be trusted. It’s why she let me in so quickly, why we all gelled as a unit enough to open the bar when I suggested it.”

“Tia has premonitions?”

Leah knew precious little about it except that it wasn’t Tia’s primary power, but that she sometimes got strong feelings, emotions, about people, places. She nodded. “Sometimes, at least. Anyway, it shocked the hell out of me when I saw a glass float to Emma—and that was it. I was obsessed.”

His eyes followed the lines of her face, absorbing it. “Why?”

It made her blink. “Why? Because...it’s magic. It’s telekinesis and conjuring and spells. Fun.”

“Fun,” he said, as though tasting the word.

“Or it should be. But I guess...it’s not for you?”

“Being a witch is about society, bloodlines, reputation. Not fun.”

“You’ve never enjoyed having magic?”

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