Page 26 of De-Witched

“It’s...harder restraining my magic than I thought.” Gabriel tried not to stuff food into his face, the enemy toaster still eluding him. “I had a few close calls around the bar. Going into a completely human office would be like throwing myself into the deep end when I’ve had one swimming lesson.”

“Understandable,” August murmured, sipping his wine. “Still. An animal shelter? Do you like animals?”

“I don’t not like them.” He just had limited experience.

“Well, I think it’s great.” Melly speared a piece of lamb and waved it around. “Think about it, Gabriel. Minimal contact with people. This could turn out for the best.”

Exasperation filled him. “Why do you have this idea I am not good with people?”

The silence made him grumble. He chose a crispy potato off his plate to feed his frustration.

“It’s nice of them, really.”

Gabriel paused mid-chew. “Firing me?”

“Offering you another job is nice,” she corrected. A small pot of ketchup appeared at her elbow. Gabriel shuddered as she dunked her seasoned lamb into it. She caught him, grinned, but didn’t comment. It was an old battle. “They could’ve just fired you. They must like you.”

He remembered Tia’s cool stare, Emmaline’s uncomfortable gaze. Leah’s sparkling challenge. “Doubtful.”

“My offer stands, nephew.” August steepled his hands, tipping his chin down. Shadows slicked down his face. “This will be much harder work. More labor-intensive.”

Insult turned his head. “Uncle, are you suggesting I can’t do this?”

“Of course not. I’m only saying, if you don’t feel like you can, nobody will blame you if you walk away.”

Everyone was determined to think he was useless. But he was Gabriel Goodnight and he’d conquered every challenge that had ever been set before him.

“By the end of these three months,” he said, lifting his chin, “not only will I have proven to the board I can deal with humans, but I will have surpassed all expectations.” As Melly cheered, he added with bite, “And I’ll have learned how to use that damn toaster.”

His boastful words seemed far away the following day. Like, Australia.

The mixed scent of disinfectant and something he instinctively took for wet dog swirled up Gabriel’s nostrils as he mistakenly inhaled just inside the entrance of Sonny’s Shelter. He silently took in the boxy, cheap furniture in what passed for their reception and withheld a grimace. Even worse than he’d pictured.

In amongst the faded furniture and ancient magazines there were touches that made him think someone had tried: thriving plants, framed photos of animals and people—presumably rescues and their rescuers—and many more photos of dogs and cats looking...well, it was ridiculous, but he could swear they looked sad.

He smoothed away a frown as he stepped into the space. His Prada loafers squeaked on the floor.

“Hello?” he said after a moment, strolling to the empty reception desk. A bell sat on top, a sign beside it saying, Ring for Assistance.

He eyed the bell with some distaste, gingerly pushing it with one finger. A cheery sound rang out. Nobody hurried from the corridors that branched off from both sides.

This was not the way to run a successful business, not that he cared. No wonder adoptions were down, as Leah had said, if nobody was there to greet a customer, take them on the journey and make the sale. If he was running things—

He wasn’t, he reminded himself. That wasn’t why he was here.

A few more seconds passed. Unbelievable. Grumbling, he chose the right-hand corridor at random and headed down it. The rooms he passed had their doors propped open, revealing exam-type equipment and large scales at dog height. The paint was peeling in sections and some of the skirting was chipped.

A dog’s deep barks and the peal of feminine laughter pulled his attention onward.

“Hello?” he repeated. “I’m here for...”

He stopped, barely aware that his words had, too.

Leah stood in a large, open room, surrounded by dog toys of every description. She was kneeling, ruffling the fur of a black dog, cooing to him in a low, lilting voice. Her curls were tied back and she wore no makeup. She should look worn, unspectacular. But her blue eyes were bright and her laughter spilled into the room like sunshine.

“Such a good boy,” she praised the dog, pressing a kiss to his blocky head. “Such a clever old boy.”

Gabriel’s eyes tracked down over the navy sweatshirt and jeans she wore, lingering at the rip that showed her knee. Soft. She looked soft.

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