Page 16 of When Wishes Bleed

His smile fell away with his laughter. “You really don’t know who I am?”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I scooted my chair away from him and farther into the corner. “Should I? Are you some sort of celebrity? Look around. You’ll see no telecaster here.”

“You must be the only person in Nautilus without one,” he said beneath his breath.

“What was that?” I pretended not to have heard him. He must be famous. With a face and build like that, the women in the Lower sectors would fawn over him. Any other witch would cast a love spell on him to make him hers for a time.

Furtively, I looked at my herbal supply. I was tragically out of rosehips.

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder and shoved his hands into the pockets of his cloak. “I should go. I’m sure you’re exhausted from the evening’s events.” His Adam’s apple bobbed with his swallow.

“Do you need help finding your friends?”

He snorted. “Knowing them, they won’t be leaving Thirteen until morning.”

“I think you’ll find that witches are nothing like the girls you’ve come to know in the lower sectors.”

“How so?” he asked genuinely, his tongue wetting his full bottom lip.

“We’re particular. And we particularly only pair with male witches – to whom we are hand-fasted.”

“Hand-fasted?”

“It’s what you would consider a marriage, except it only lasts for one year. Winter Solstice to Winter Solstice.” There was no judgment in his eyes, just surprise. “You really didn’t know that?”

“No, I really didn’t. But... may I ask a question?”

“You just did,” I replied sweetly.

He smiled. “What if you love the person to whom you’re hand-fasted? What if a year isn’t enough time to spend with them?”

I swallowed, trying to calm my thundering heart, and gave him the most honest answer I could, and the saddest. “I’m not sure witches are capable of loving someone for longer.”

“Are you hand-fasted to someone? With someone?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Have you ever been?”

“No.”

He quietly studied my face, his gaze locking onto mine. “Thank you again.”

I gave him a small bow. He began walking backward, opened my door, and was gone.

6

Wait!” I yelled. He paused on the step. “You promised payment.”

“I’m afraid I’m out of money,” he replied sheepishly. “But let me find my brother and our friend. They might have some.”

I felt like throttling him. He was drunk when he stumbled to my table, but sober when he asked for the reading and promised payment. If our positions were reversed, would he happily work in exchange for nothing? Then again, he was about to die. I decided to take the high road—just this once.

“I will forgive your debt to me. You have more important things to worry about at this point.”

“I’ll repay you. I swear it.”

Someone shouted, but I couldn’t make out their drunken mumbling. His friends were in the Center, turning in circles and annoying all the witches trying to clean up.

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