Page 8 of The Accidental Witch

Hervé sighed. “And ze words…ze words ze snooty British man says are…are from a very bad witch. It is, I think, a very bad spell or maybe a warning...”

Robbie’s mouth fell open. “A what now?”

“He said it’s a spell from a very bad witch. You deaf now, too?” Nina asked, making a face.

Wanda sighed, hopping up from the settee and approaching them, her tone gentle rather than demanding like Nina’s. “How do you know this, Hervé?”

“Witches are my business, of course, mon amie. All witches have ze broom, and I am a witch’s broom. Robbie must be a witch!”

Letting go of Hervé, Robbie began to laugh out loud, the sound echoing around the enormous chambers of the basement as she gasped for air, bending at the waist.

Tottington put his hand on her back. “Roberta, do remember your standing.”

She threw her head back and laughed harder until tears streamed down her face. “Mystanding? My. Standing? Fuck my standing, Tottington! This is crackers! A witch?” She took a deep, ragged breath to control her laughter. “We’re standing here in a damn castle, with a violent supermodel and two hot babes who haven’t blinked twice since we told them my story, with atalking broomnamed Hervé, and he’s telling me I must be a witch—and you’re worried about my standing? Have you lost your stiff upper lip’s mind?”

Tottington gave her a haughty look of disapproval, the only sign he might be even a little angry were his flashing eyes.“Surely, there’s a better way to express your disbelief than with foul language.”

Just as she cocked her head at T, preparing to let him have it, a tall drink of water sauntered into the room with a short blue man in a suit a lot like Tottington’s, cutting off her rant.

A blue man.

But forget the blue man.

There was a tall man with chin-length hair the color of a good whiskey (and she knew good whiskey) with deep gold streaks threading through it, the greenest eyes she’d ever seen, wearing a pair of worn jeans that clung to his muscled thighs and a flannel shirt under a puffy black vest.

He was so good-looking, Robbie caught her breath, stopping cold as the blue man (the blue man!), introduced him.

“Ladies,” he said in a rich British accent, again a lot like Tottington’s. “This is Master Greer Winthrop, and he claims to have vital information involving your newest client, Ms. Roberta Tisdale. Do make him feel welcome.”

Everyone, including Robbie, stopped all motion and looked his way.

He eyed them all with a hard but curious glance, and said, “As Archibald said, I’m Greer Winthrop, and I believeyou,” he pointed at Robbie with a flare of his nostrils, “have my grandmother’s hand.”

Chapter

Three

If she wasn’t laughing hard enough before, she sure was now. The giggle bubbled up from her throat until it spilled from her mouth like jelly beans from a jar.

His grandmother’s hand? What in all of absolute madness was this man babbling about? Sure, he was pretty to look at, but weren’t all the hot ones either obsessed with their reflection or completely nuts?

The thought made her laugh harder. So hard, Robbie reached for the nearest wall to lean against. Then she felt bad for making snap judgements, the way people made judgements about her.

She probably looked insane, but if that was the case, these people—these people who hadn’t batted an eye at her talking broom and Nina’s fried hair—were a whole lot more likely to end up in a damn straightjacket before she was.

Wanda was the first to welcome the hot guy named Greer, smoothing her skirt before holding out her hand. “Wanda Jefferson, and the laughing hyena’s name is Roberta Tisdale. She contacted us via our website. We were just getting to know one another and her…situation.”

“She’s reached meltdown, I see,” he said calmly, his voice deep, resonating in her chest as Robbie fought more hysterical laughter by putting her wrist over her mouth.

Nina held her hand out to him. “Nina Statleon, and ya think? We still haven’t even told her much about us. We were in the stages of finding out what the fuck happened to her after she set my damn hair on fire.”

He cocked an eyebrow, driving his hands into his jean pockets. “Human?”

“Painfully fucking human,” Nina retorted, whatever that meant.

Human? Wait. Weren’t they all humans?

“She’s in shock,” Wanda offered. “It might be a minute before we can get any more information out of her.”

---