Page 18 of Crown of Tides and Fury

“A new truck? Why’s that?”

“It appears the very sight of this old bucket has folks upset.” He gestured off to the right where a woman snatched up a child from a double pram and hurried toward her house. The man gripping the handle crossed himself, his gaze glued to Wickham. Then he, too, snatched up a babe and followed the woman. “Can a witch be Catholic?”

Wickham watched them too and scoffed. “Believe me, t’isn’t the truck.”

Long ago, Kitch had inspired folks to cross themselves as well, so it was almost a relief he wasn’t the cause this time. “Still,” he said, “if ye ever wish to slip into town unnoticed, like…”

“I’m Chieftain here. I’ll do as I please. Besides, I dinnae get to drive her much anymore.” Wickham rubbed a hand along the faded dash. “Reminds me I’m a man. A father. A husband. And I might, one day, get to live that simple life again.”

“Else why are we here?”

Wickham nodded. “Else why are we here?”

* * *

They stoppedbefore a small house with bright yellow trim—a house far too cheery to belong to a witch. But the woman who flung the door wide before they had a chance to knock couldn’t have looked more the part if she’d tried.

She and Wickham seemed old friends, judging from the kiss on the cheek and the way he marched into the house before he was invited.

“Auch, but I’m glad for a friendly face,” she said. “I havenae had visitors for days. A lass might starve.”

“People still leavin’ town?”

“A steady trickle. We’re a ghost town, all but.”

“Jez, ye know Kitchens, surely?”

She smiled and extended her hand. “I do now. Welcome.”

“Don’t ye love it?” The witch’s mouth hadn’t moved, which disturbed him, but then a little white and yellow bird poked its head out of her nest of hair and spoke again. “Don’t ye love it?”

“Indeed,” he replied, which seemed to excite the creature enough to make it dance.

The witch winced, then pulled the bird from her hair, where its feet had become tangled. She placed him on a horizontal pole and led the men deeper into the house. Kitch fought the distractions of the colorful living room. His job was to protect the boss.

He moved to the window so he could see anyone coming down the drive. He wasn’t too worried, considering the reaction they’d had thus far had people running in the opposite direction, but he took no chances. He split his attention between the drive and the conversation.

“Won’t ye join us, Mr. Kitchens?”

“He willnae,” Wickham answered for him. “And we havenae come for tea.” He took both her hands in his, prepared to give a speech.

She beat him to it. “Ye’ve come with more questions.”

“Aye,” he said. “The woman ye sent us to last time—”

“Sarah was helpful then? And now, ye’ve got more of a tangle.”

“I have.”

“And the sea witch?”

“Sea witch?”

“The Third who is drawn to the sea.”

Wickham exchanged a look with him, then he faced the woman again. “If ye’d used the wordsSea Witchthe last time, ye might have saved us a month of searchin’.”

“Oh? Sorry, then.”

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