Page 27 of De-Witched

Which was ridiculous. And had no bearing on the situation.

Annoyed, Gabriel cleared his throat.

He earned the attention of both Leah and the dog.

“Gabe,” she said, her surprise obvious. “You came. You’re here.”

“Gabriel,” he corrected, the nickname earning a flash of what he chose to call exasperation. “Did you think I wouldn’t show up?”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, dear.”

Before he could even ask, the black dog let out a yip. Muscles bunched as he spun and charged at Gabriel.

Thoughts flared fast and hard. Human. Undercover. No magic.

So, it was with a dawning sense of resignation that he watched thirty to thirty-five kilograms of dog launch at him. Paws hit his chest, a large skull headbutted him hard and gravity kicked in, toppling him like a bowling skittle.

“Oomph.” His breath rushed out as he hit, followed by a secondary grunt as the dog delivered a loving lick down the middle of his face. Saliva stuck to his skin and reeked as Gabriel pushed the dog’s head back.

“Get down,” he demanded, the growl clearly the language the beast spoke; he happily did as ordered. He sat at attention next to Gabriel, panting, pushing against his leg with an adoring look in his soft, brown eyes.

Prone, Gabriel stared sourly back at him. His ass ached, his face felt sticky and his waistcoat had two dirty paw prints marring the silk.

When he looked up, Leah stood over them, hands tucked in her jeans’ pockets. She was fighting a grin.

“Clearly, he’s learned manners from you,” he said as politely as he could, brushing off his waistcoat. He conjured a handkerchief into his pocket, fighting the zip of pain, considering it a necessary evil. He wiped the cloth down his face with a grimace.

“He’s much better behaved.” A laugh trembled out as she gave in. “You said the magic word. U-P. We think it was a trick his previous owner taught him before she died. That’s how Chuck here came to live with us. Nobody else would take him after his owner passed away from cancer. Too old at eight for a lot of people. He’s a little needy.”

She slapped her thigh and Chuck padded over, leaning heavily against her.

“You should warn people.” Gabriel pushed to stand, tucking the handkerchief back in his pocket.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

He didn’t answer, brushing off his suit trousers. He felt Leah’s eyes on him like a physical touch and ignored how his muscles tightened.

“You’re wearing a suit.”

“Indeed. Your eyesight is impeccable.”

“You’re wearing a suit at an animal shelter.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I like suits.”

“Then you shouldn’t wear them to this job.” Leah cocked her head back, and he realized with a jolt how much shorter she was. Her personality more than made up for it.

She sighed. “Don’t you own any jeans, Gabe?”

Sardonic, he crossed his arms. “I’m fine as I am.”

“Tell me if you still think that by the end of your shift.”

“Is this what I’ll be doing?” Gabriel glanced around what he assumed to be some kind of playroom. A few cats watched him lazily from their carpeted tower in the corner, whilst a three-legged white-and-ginger dog eyeballed him from a cushion twice its size, a raggedy teddy drooping out its mouth. It looked half a second from charging him as it rumbled a few warning woofs.

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