Page 26 of The Accidental Witch

“Greer! Pass the roast chicken, and quit bogarting the green bean casserole. Magic lessons make a werewolf hungry!” Marty shouted from the other end of the table with a grin.

He liked these people (and their food). He liked their sense of family, of community. He liked that they’d opened their home and welcomed complete strangers to stay with them. He liked that even though they fought, and often, they were as loyal as Labradors. It was evident they loved each other, and when the need arose, they worked in harmonious sync.

Except when they played Pictionary. He didn’t even know people still played Pictionary, but wow, had that been a ruckus over Marty not grasping the picture Nina drew forOne Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

To his eye, it couldn’t have been clearer what the vampire was drawing, but when Marty had guessed everything fromChicken Littleall the way toBlack Swan, Nina lost it. But even then, Wanda was there to mediate, and it was over as soon as it started. He liked how they moved right along without missing a beat or holding a grudge.

Not to mention, they were Robbie’s biggest cheerleaders. If she stumbled during a spell, they soothed her with hugs and encouraging words. Rather, Marty and Wanda did.

Nina cracked wise and slapped her on the back from time to time, and Arch always made a batch of Robbie’s favorite cookies—white chocolate macadamia—to keep her energy high and her motivation strong.

But what Greer liked the most?

Robbie and her heart-shaped face, her full pink lips, her soft blue eyes, and her willingness to learn how to use this magic thrust upon her.

Greer likeda lotabout her. It had happened fast and furious, like nothing had ever happened to him before.

She was insanely attractive, even with patches of her hair burned off. He liked how she related to the women, now that she’d warmed up a bit. There’d been a moment or two after meeting Carl where Greer didn’t think she was going to be capable of absorbing any more paranormal species.

But Carl? Carl was the gentlest broccoli-eating, duct-taped-together guy he’d ever met. You couldn’t help but love Carl. Once the shock had passed, Robbie fell in love with him, too.

Carl, on the other hand, immediately loved Robbie and her cats, though he was still a little skeptical of Hervé. Just last night, Greer had found them together in the library, reading quietly, the cats cuddled in their laps, Hervé leaning against the hearth of the fireplace.

Darnell gave him a thump on the back, jarring him from his thoughts. He really enjoyed Darnell. He was funny and optimistic and level-headed, and he reminded Greer of how much he missed his friends.

How much he’d isolated himself since his mother’s death. He missed his old life, and he hadn’t realized how much until spending time with these people.

The demon’s dark eyes peered at him from beneath his baseball cap. “How you doin’, man? You okay bein’ in a houseful of opinionated women?”

“Hey.” Nina nudged Darnell with a grin. “Be careful there, demon. A whole lot of opinions in this room can take your ass out.”

Darnell chewed on a dinner roll brushed with a honey glaze and chuckled his hearty, throaty laugh. “I ain’t sayin’ it’s a bad thing, now. Just sayin’, Boss.”

Greer smiled. “I’m good, thanks. Appreciate how you’ve all let me stay here while I help Robbie adjust.”

Darnell winked. “That’s just what we do, man. Always room for more in the fold.”

It was a good thing there was room, because his coven sure wasn’t helping much. Yes, he’d been out of the loop for some time now, but something as urgent as this, something as urgent as Gwinnifer’s magic stored, in of all things, a planchette—still a viable, working entity—should have the coven scrambling to figure out how to handle this.

Yet, the silence was deafening. So what did that mean? Were they hiding from him? And if so, why?

He was even ready to own up to the fact that he’d dug up Gwinnifer’s grave. He’d take full responsibility for it—he’d left a voice mail to that effect, to more silence.

For now, all he could do was focus on helping Robbie with her new life. He had no reason to believe the magic she’d inherited would be taken away. The only thing to do was move forward until further notice.

He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin and sat back in his chair, smiling at Archibald, who’d prepared delicious meal after delicious meal since they’d been here. He and Tottington, both being manservants—the title they’d given themselves—had been spending a good deal of time together, sharing stories about their jobs and their love for the women they served.

“Arch, that was outstanding. I haven’t eaten this well in a very long time. I appreciate you including me.”

Arch held up his wine glass and saluted Greer with a wide smile. “It is my deepest pleasure, Master Greer. Nothing brings me greater joy than a full stomach. Mine included,” he said on a wink.

Greer chuckled. He was plenty full all right—between the constant fresh batches of cookies and cinnamon buns, or the thick roast beef sandwiches for lunch on marbled rye bread with horseradish cream, he was going to need a crane to lift him out of here when it was time to go home.

Home. The word made his chest tight. It was a lonely place where he ate, worked, slept…and not much else. He went to the gym. He grabbed the occasional coffee at his local café, but he’d been in a bit of a funk for a long time now.

Being here with these people, sharing their meals, working with Robbie, had given him a purpose he didn’t know he’d been missing.

Teaching Robbie the art of witchcraft, especially with magic as powerful as Gwinnifer’s, left him glad to get out of bed each day—even if he did it in one of Nina’s guest bedrooms with carousels, unicorns and the biggest pink canopied bed he’d ever seen, decorated for Marty and Wanda’s children.

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