Page 32 of De-Witched

Gabriel didn’t understand. Leah had promised him a check every week, not that he needed it.

Still, he didn’t comment on that, nor the undertone of desperation hinted at in Sonny’s words. Discomforted by the gratitude, Gabriel stood silent until Sonny finally left him to it.

So, he thought, as he dumped contents and refilled trays, then cursed as the fresh litter went flying. The shelter was struggling. He couldn’t say it wasn’t obvious, even if Leah hadn’t mentioned it. There were a lot of occupants and not enough staff, and it showed. Unlike an aging society witch who refused to let go of her looks, the shelter couldn’t spell itself a facelift. It was sagging at the corners and if it wasn’t careful, it would soon deter its customers simply by looking run-down.

Not that it overly mattered to him, but one of the first rules in business was that you projected an image of success, which bred trust. Sonny needed to present the image of a well-run facility, not somewhere desperate for money. Though he had to admit, for Sonny it wouldn’t be as easy as finding the right spell to fix the cracks.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t realize Leah’s young friend was standing by the door until he was halfway down the line of pens.

He straightened, smoothing a hand down his blue silk tie, then grimacing at the chalky residue left behind. Perhaps Leah was onto something with her advice about jeans. “Hello.”

The girl blinked big brown eyes. “Hello.”

She was dressed as she had been the last time he’d seen her, ripped jeans and a T-shirt. Her blue nails were bitten down on her left hand, and she lifted her thumb to nibble on the edge.

“I’m Gabriel,” he said, discomforted.

“Sloane,” she said in a voice just as unsure. She stared at him.

And stared.

It appeared neither of them were talkers. Gabriel shifted, trying to come up with a subject to put her at ease. His sister would have fallen into conversation effortlessly, but Gabriel had never been easy with people.

Finally, he said, “You volunteer here?”

She nodded. He noticed she took a deep breath before saying, “I like hanging out here after school.”

Now he nodded. Slid his gaze to the side and then back. This was like holding a hot cauldron with bare hands. “You must like animals.”

“Yeah.”

Why was she standing here? He had no interest in talking to a human teenager, but he couldn’t flick her off. It seemed too much like kicking a puppy.

“You’re doing that wrong, you know.” She gestured at the sack of litter he held. Her hair swung forward and she dipped her head, as if she regretted the criticism.

He could choose to be offended, but she wasn’t mocking him. “I’ll find my way.”

“I could show you.” She peeked through the curtain of hair.

He didn’t frown but it was close. “Why?”

“If I show you, you could answer some questions for me.”

“About what?”

“New Orleans.” She smiled, and something about it struck a familiar chord. Her next words came out in an eager rush. “I’ve always wanted to go but my sister won’t let me.”

“Won’t let you?”

She shrugged, toed the floor with a sneaker. “Too dangerous still. Maybe someday.”

He’d heard that plenty from his own family. “Maybe someday” had been the recurring theme, until it had been replaced with never.

He eyed the sack, the mess he was making and what he’d halfheartedly cleared up. Then the girl who watched him, all hope and shyness. He didn’t particularly want company, but again, he couldn’t bring himself to shake her off.

“Fine,” he agreed, awkward and abrupt. “Show me. And you can keep the cats out of the way as well.”

“They’re just looking for some love.”

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