Page 52 of De-Witched

The woman stood on the other side of the counter. Older by about twenty years or so, if Leah had to guess, dressed in a long paisley dress, her hair was dark blond, tucked up in an intricately braided bun. Crystals swung at her ears as she waved a hand.

“I don’t care if you’re not supposed to use magic, they said nothing about me—oh!” She stilled as she spotted Leah. Brown eyes studied her and Gabriel, how close they were. “Am I...interrupting?”

Leah didn’t dare breathe. What was she supposed to do, now that magic had been mentioned? What would a regular human do? Gabriel didn’t look alarmed—but when did he ever? The earth could be imploding and he’d only glower at the inconvenience.

More evidence into the he knows column. She should probably worry about that more than she was.

“Mrs. Q.” The strong affection in his voice had Leah’s lips parting in surprise. “I told you I was fine.”

The woman didn’t move her attention from Leah.

She took that as her cue, awkwardly lifting a hand in a semi-wave. “Hi. I’m Leah.”

“Oh.” The sound was knowing, as was the look the older woman slid to Gabriel.

Leah would do many depraved things to know what he’d said about her behind closed doors. She choked down the desperate curiosity, just barely. “Gonna make introductions, Gabe?”

“Gabe?”

Gabriel ignored the woman’s choked question, though he did link his fingers at the base of his spine. “Leah, Kate Quinlan.”

Obviously amused, she focused on Leah. “You can call me Mrs. Q, dear. Everyone does. I’m Gabriel’s housekeeper.” Her accent was British, like his, warm and pleasant to the ear.

“I didn’t realize you’d hired someone.”

“Not here. In New Orleans. I—” She paused, selected her next words with care. “I...took a flight to bring Gabriel some casseroles. Do some general housekeeping.”

Leah ran her tongue over her teeth before tucking it in her cheek. “That’s very dedicated of you.”

“Oh, well, I’ve been his housekeeper since he was a little boy running naked on the grounds of the manor.”

Gabriel put a hand to his forehead, muttering under his breath.

Leah grinned. Her smile only spread when Mrs. Q clocked her dogs and swooped in, kissing them all and fussing like an old friend.

Leah went with impulse. “How about you join us for dinner? I’d love to hear more about how this one came to be the Gabriel Goodnight.”

“I have so many stories!”

“Don’t you have to catch your flight back?” Gabriel said between gritted teeth.

Mrs. Q waved that away and clucked into the kitchen. “Not at all. I’ll get dinner on if you open some wine.” She opened the fridge, which was fully stocked. “And you can tell me all about yourself, Leah.”

“Mrs. Q...”

“Don’t sass me, boy. Now, you find a decent bottle of wine—and no pranks. Used to be a terrible prankster.”

“When I was thirteen,” he grumbled, on his way to the cabinets to, presumably, find a bottle of wine.

Absolutely fascinated, Leah leaned her hips against the cupboards. “Gabriel played pranks?”

“For most of his young life. He loved to play with people.”

“And you told me you didn’t play.”

Gabriel sent her a look. “When did I say that?”

“When—” they’d been on the balcony.

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