Page 3 of Caged Kitten

For five years, I had Lloyd Guthrie on the brain—all because of my dad. Never seen the mobster. Never heard of the warlock in social circles. Never experienced anything unusual…

Until tonight.

It couldn’t be.

Lloyd Guthrie was like the Fox coven boogeyman… He wasn’t real. And if he was, why would I even matter to him? Successful as the business was these days, personally I was inconsequential. A simple witch with simple dreams.

And a missing familiar.

More footsteps tromped down the stacks.

Run, kitten.

Tossing my head side to side, I cracked my neck. This wasn’t my dad’s worst nightmare. If anything, this was a warlock trying to rob a supernatural-run business when it looked like it was closed. Nothing more, nothing less.

My hands buzzed with offensive magic, an immobilizing hex on the tip of my tongue as I stalked back into the bookshelves. I let my heels click, wanting to draw him to me, wanting him to think my black stilettos and my flouncy skirt meant I couldn’t fight. That my lipstick wasn’t war paint. Let him underestimate me, this little witch charging headlong into the darkness.

Let him think I hadn’t done this before.

I mean.

I hadn’t.

But I had a lexicon of spells in my head—and I’d sparred with friendlies at the academy. So. Bring it.

Halfway down an aisle, I stopped, listening, waiting. My blood ran cold when a figure drifted down the aisle beside mine, footsteps slow and steady, a black shadow ghosting along in the corner of my eye. A soft exhale behind me had my palms burning. I licked my lips. Now or never.

I whipped around and fired. “Debilito!”

Red electricity crackled from my fingertips, fast and furious as it hurtled for my opponent. A tall silhouette dressed all in black loomed at the end of the aisle, and while he raised his hands, one clutching a thick, rigid wand, I caught him off guard. My hex illuminated the entire café, painted it red, highlighted the widening whites of his eyes and struck him square in his huge chest. Sent him flying back. Seconds later, he crashed into a table and some chairs, and victory twisted in my belly.

“Nescius,” a masculine voice rumbled, voice soft as velvet—and his spell strong as steel. I only managed to pivot halfway around before a blue bolt slammed into my temple, and I was unconscious before I even hit the ground.

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