Page 25 of The Monsters We Are

“No, not really,” he replied.

Delilah let out a little growl. “Then why lie?”

“Maybe the truth will only confuse you more.”

Anabel sighed and slapped his arm. “Xavier, you’re an idiot.”

He chuckled. “You adore me really.”

Feeling eyes on her, Wynter looked to her right. A trio of witches swiftly averted their gazes. She recognized them. The Oasis Coven lived in the city not far from Cain’s Keep. They’d also once been led by Demetria, a witch who’d not only wanted Wynter dead but died at her monster’s hands.

The newly appointed Priestess of the trio, Kyra, cut her eyes back to Wynter. Clearing her throat, the woman nodded. “Wynter.”

“Kyra,” she greeted in return.

Once the Oasis witches were out of hearing range, Delilah turned to Wynter. “I’m still not sure I believe that they weren’t in cahoots with Demetria.”

Plenty weren’t so sure, which was why many residents gave the coven the cold shoulder. Wynter kind of felt sorry for them. Paying for other people’s fuckups never felt good. “They convinced Cain’s aide that they weren’t involved. Maxim doesn’t strike me as a person who’d be easy to fool.”

Delilah took another swig of her drink. “Hmm, well, I don’t like that they were staring at you.Fartoo many people keep looking at you. It’s pissing me off.”

“It’s not as bad as it was before Cain made his speech, so it seemingly had the desired effect on the majority of the town’s population.”

A figure dressed as the grim reaper jumped out of the nearby shadows with a maniacal laugh.

Anabel screamed in his face and threw her pizza at his feet. Wynter, Xavier, and Delilah laughed while Hattie didn’t react whatsoever, absorbed in her book.

His shoulders shaking with silent laughter, the reaper backed up, melting into the shadows once more.

Standing very still with her hands balled into tight fists, Anabel ground her teeth. “That wasn’t funny.”

“I have to ask,” began Xavier as they resumed their walk along the street, “why didn’t you toss the pizza at his head or something? Why his feet?”

Anabel threw up her arms. “I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking. I panicked. I don’t operate well when running on panic.”

Delilah snorted. “You don’t operate well in general. And I say that with love.”

Anabel scowled. “Screw off, Del.”

The Latina blew her a kiss. “You’d miss me if I wasn’t here.”

“Yeah, like I’d miss a punch to the tit.”

Hattie looked up from her book. “What does it mean if someone figs you?”

Wynter almost tripped over thin air. Anabel let out a groan. Xavier coughed to hide a laugh while pounding a fist on Delilah’s back, since she’d began to choke on her drink.

“The heroine’s threatening to walk out if the hero ever again talks about figging her,” Hattie elaborated. “What does it mean?”

“It’s just another word for ‘tickling’,” lied Anabel, who’d recently proposed to all but Hattie that they should provide “innocent” bullshit answers to the old woman’s awkward sexual questions.

“Bless you for explaining.” Hattie patted Anabel’s arm. “I’d believe you if Delilah wasn’t still snickering to herself. Now someone tell me what it really means.”

Xavier leaned into Wynter. “She’ll only ask a perfect stranger if we blow her off.”

“Come on, tell me,” urged Hattie.

Wynter cringed at the mere thought of explaining. “Can we talk about this later? It’s not . . . pleasant, okay? It’s painful.”

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