Page 4 of Beyond the Cottage

“You have become reckless. Speaking as your friend, though, I’m more concerned about your personal life than your professional one.”

“My personal life hasn’t changed since we met.”

“Maybe not the shape of it, but the scope has.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Brand nodded at her mostly empty glass. “You’ve been drinking too much. When you aren’t hunting, you’re hiding inyour apartment. I can’t remember the last time I saw you outside work. It isn’t healthy.”

Gretta scoffed. It wasn’t as if she had a deep roster of buddies beating down her door. And so what if she preferred it that way?

“I’ve never been a social butterfly, Brand.”

“You know what I’m getting at. This obsession with witches used to focus you, but now it’s a prison you won’t even try to escape from.”

Gretta glanced away. An aggravating tightness clogged her throat, but she resisted finishing her drink.

“I’m fine.” She pushed the glass away. “We’ll grab coffee sometime when we get home. And if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll cut back on the booze.”

“That would help, but I wish you’d also find someone to talk to. Someone who understands what you’ve been through.”

Nobody can possibly understand.

Rather than giving in to rum-soaked melancholy, Gretta pasted on a smile and stood. “You’re right. Will do.”

Brand’s green hand gently squeezed hers, swallowing it whole. “Please, Gret. Think about it.”

“Absolutely.” She dropped a kiss on his cheek. “I better head back. Gotta sleep it off for our big hunt.”

“See you then.”

“Bright and early.” She gave Brand another smile and concentrated on keeping her gait steady as she left. The Painted Tit might be a dump, but they sure as hell didn’t water down their stock.

When she pushed out the front door, sultry air blasted her. The revelry around the corner to her right had grown louder, so she hung a left, carefully picking her way over tree roots that had busted through the sidewalk. She was now too tipsy to fly, but walking made her spinning head worse.

She dug her palm into her forehead, replaying the conversation.

Your personal life is fine, she reminded herself. If anything, her job was the problem. Sometimes it seemed like she was the only one who gave a shit about fighting witches anymore.

But maybe Brand had a point. She should ease up on the sauce. Starting tomorrow.

Gretta’s bladder interrupted her thoughts. An alley stood a few yards away, but full dark had fallen, and she was drunk, not stupid. Abdomen clenched, she stumbled into the closest building with light coming through the windows.

“Where’s your bathroom?” she asked the bartender. He flicked his rag toward a hallway in back.

This place was seedier than the Painted Tit, and she could only imagine the quality of its facilities. When she got there, she nearly retched from the smell, but held her breath and made quick work of it. She leapt from the foul room with a cough.

Next time, she’d take her chances in the alley. How did anyone tolerate such disgusting—

An arm snaked around Gretta’s neck, and a pungent wad of cloth cut off her scream.

Thrashing, twisting, she clawed the arm as it dragged her into the shadows.

Hot, whiskey breath tickled her ear. “Settle down, sugar.”

Gretta moaned into the cloth. Dumb with liquor and panic, she clumsily kicked and arched her back, fumbling for the knife at her belt. Before she could palm it, her double vision plunged into black nothingness.

Chapter 2

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