Page 22 of The Secret Life of a Witch

“Not think. Know.”

“You’re more oblivious than I thought, then.”

“Hey.” I reach out and lightly pinch his chest, eliciting a chuckle from him. “I may live in my own little world sometimes, but I’m not oblivious.”

He rubs the spot where I pinched him. “If you say so.”

“Hunter,” I protest. “Stop saying that.”

“Why?” he asks innocently. “It’s the truth.”

When I glare at him, he laughs.

“I don’t know why you’re getting upset about this,” he says. “It should be a good thing.”

I lift my brows. “That a demon hit on me?”

His amusement fizzles. “Not that part. I’m serious, if I ever see it again, I’m going to kill it.”

“No killing, remember? Molting spells are okay. Killing … not so much,” I remind him. “We’re completely steering away from the point.”

“Which is?”

“Well, for starters, I’m pretty sure the demon might not just know where my sister’s body is, but he may even know some stuff about her death.”

“Even if he did, we’d have to track him down in order to get answers.”

I elevate my brows. “Or go to the place he warned us not to go.”

He slips the keys out of the ignition. “No way. I mean, for all you know, he wanted you to go there and threatened you to put the idea in your head.”

I unfasten my seatbelt. “You think he was trying to set me up?”

“I’m not sure. What I do know is demons can’t be trusted.” He climbs out, and I follow suit, meeting him in front of the truck.

“And what about him acting like he never saw a witch before?” I ask, drawing my sunglasses over my eyes as the sun peeks out from the clouds.

Hunter puts on a pair of shades, too. “Depending on what kind of demon he is, he might not have.”

I untie my plaid jacket from my waist and slip it on. “You didn’t recognize what kind he was?”

“No, which means he’s probably something rare.”

He starts across the parking lot, and I hurry after him until I am by his side. I wave at a couple of middle-aged pixie women as we pass by them. The tallest one has glittery skin that casts a shimmery glow in the sunlight. It reminds me of the magic sample Hunter and I collected. I pull my jacket tighter around me, aware that almost anyone could be a suspect.

“Will you relax?” Hunter hisses as we reach the glass doors of the station. “You’re making me nervous.”

“Sorry.” The wind kicks up, blowing strands of hair into my face. “I don’t even know why I’m nervous.” Other than I have one of those unsettling feelings again; a silent warning that something bad is about to happen.

“Mr. Trickleten—the guy in charge of the paper—is a leprechaun, so you need to make sure you aren’t nervous,” Hunter says as he wraps his fingers around the door handle.

“I didn’t realize he was a leprechaun.” My nerves become even more frazzled.

Leprechauns are the worst. Tricky and mean, they twist everything you say until you confess all your secrets. Then theyuse them against you in the worst possible way. I guess it sort of makes sense that a leprechaun would be a reporter.

Time to put your game face on, Eva.

I suck in an inhale and release it before squaring my shoulders. “All right, I’m officially chillaxed.”

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