Page 32 of Blue Moon Mistress

A sound like falling sand echoes behind him and all I have to do is glance over his shoulder. He turns bodily.

“What is that?” He glares at himself in the reflection. All he’ll see is an overly ornate black-glass mirror.

“It’s an ephemera glass.” I say, watching him, instead of the words coalescing on the dark glass. “Basically a witches message board.”

“That’s cool.” He moves as though he might go to it and I catch his arm.

The last thing I need is my mother seeing him. “It is, but its read receipts are a little more detailed than a text. If you tried to read what it says, the witch who sent it would see you and probably come try to gobble you up.”

“Are you saying you have bad witches on speed dial?” He smiles, teasing.

“Of course. And not everyone knows how delightful werewolves can be.” I pull his face back to mine for a long kiss. And when I break it, I say. “I don’t want to share you yet.”

“If there’s any sharing, we would collectively like it to stay within the group.”

I smile against his lips and keep my thoughts to myself.

Because everyone thinks dating a witch is cool until they find crows feet in their refrigerator, or drink the wrong cup of coffee, or start to get paranoid that she’s just using them for sex magic.

No single man has stuck around for longer than a few weeks. I can’t imagine keeping four of them for longer.

So, I smile and I let him drag me against him, and I forget just how temporary this will all be.

“What,” he asks as he takes two steps back, putting some distance between us. “Would you be doing today, if you weren’t entertaining a gentleman caller.”

When I laugh at his choice of words and shoot him a glance, he shrugs. “I’ve put in my hours with the classic movie nights.”

One of the local theaters was built in the twenties and had the Egyptian themed decor of the time. When the multi-screen complex opened up near the now-defunct mall, it had switched back to live performances and showing classic movies from the reels of dusty films someone had found in the basement.

And they’d created a ‘gotta catch em all’ style game to get more people to come in.

“Does that mean you have your passport checked off?”

“Nope. I’m about six shy.” He reaches for my hand, sliding his fingers over my wrist. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

“On a day like today,” I glance out the window, at the pale gray sky and the silhouette of birds. “I probably would get lost in the woods foraging. It won’t start raining until after the sun has set.”

He hums and looks out the window too. “I know better than to go mushroom picking. But I guess you’d know all the good ones and the bad ones.”

I nod. “And I pick both.”

Leaving him by the counter, I go to the ephemera glass and press one finger to it, an icy chill running down my spine, but it’s just my mother, continuing to worry about the Carraway plot.

With a heavy sigh, I press the glass again. “She was resting peacefully when I left. Let her stay dead.”

It disappears in a wisp, and I turn back to an amused smile from Johnny.

“Mothers are allowed to worry,” he says. “It’s part of their job description.”

I don’t ask how he knows it’s my mom.

I finish the last of my tea and set the mug in the sink before taking his hand and pulling him into the conservatory. It has the most comfortable couch.

But as soon as we step inside, his nose twitches. He doesn’t even look at the tall windows or the plants.

“You and Joshua had some fun in here.”

“It’s been days, how could you possibly still smell that?”

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