Page 65 of Beyond the Cottage

After that, some unlucky deals left her with hopeless cards, and when all was said and done, Ansel took first. While Isobel huffed her displeasure, he grinned at Gretta.

She glanced away with a flush and stretched her arms over her head. “I’m turning in. Where can I get cleaned up?”

“Washroom’s over there,” Isobel said, pointing at a narrow door. “I’m going to bed, too. Sweet dreams, honey.”

Gretta closed herself in the tiny room and did her best with the water Ansel had brought in before dinner. After the swamps, she’d never take indoor plumbing for granted again.

She scrubbed her teeth with a clean rag and washed off as much sweat as she could. When she came out, Isobel and the raccoons were gone, and Ansel claimed the washroom.

Gretta unbound her hair before removing her belt, tunic, and mud-crusted boots—the abused leather would need a serious polish when she got back to civilization. She spread a crocheted blanket over the couch and sat with her back propped against the armrest. It was going to be a long night keeping vigil.

Ansel came out barefoot, absently lifting his shirt hem. When he saw her, he hesitated. He let the shirt fall back in place.

“Light on or off?” he asked.

“Off.”

He collected a throw pillow from a chair and doused the lantern. Bright light from the moon and swamp came in from the windows, casting blue-green shadows throughout the room.

Ansel reclined on the rug with his arm folded under his head. His white shirt pulled taught across his chest, exposing an inch of stomach, and fluttery nerves rolled through Gretta.

Which made perfect sense. She was in a witch’s hovel. Ofcourseshe was nervous.

“Goodnight,” he said.

“Night.”

Gretta shifted on the couch, wishing she’d brought Lady Lovecock on the trip.

Chapter 24

Crickets chirped outside the open window. They paused when a bullfrog croaked. An alligator answered with a groan, which silenced the frog and set an owl hooting.

Gretta tied knots in her hair with one hand.

She scratched a mosquito bite until it bled.

She picked at a tear in her camisole and scolded herself for making the hole bigger.

The bottle of dandelion wine kept calling to her, and she’d almost caved before deciding she ought to keep her wits about her. Sneaking the wine would also make it harder to stay awake.

Heaving a sigh, she read her pocket watch by moonlight—six minutes had passed since she'd last checked it. Her wine buzz had completely faded, allowing the night’s absurdity to fully settle in.

Gretta Fairleaf, professional witch hunter and all-around curmudgeon, not only camped on a witch’s sofa, she’d fraternized with the woman. While drinking her booze. And cheating at her card game. Philip would laugh his ass off.

Thinking of Philip only made Gretta feel worse. While she’d been kicking her heels up with villains, he and Brand had probably been out looking for her. Hopefully their search hadn’t gone too far-flung. She wanted to leave for the capital as soon as her boots landed in Antrelle, and if she and Ansel left early enough, they might make the afternoon train. That was, if he quit being stubborn and got on board with her plan.

Ansel shifted on the floor.

“Are you awake?” he asked, voice raspy.

“Out like a light.”

“I can’t sleep either.” His clothes rustled as he turned to his side. “Tell me something about your life.”

Gretta drummed her fingers on her abdomen. She should have known joining his card hustle would make him chummy. Then again, she’d had more than her fill of silent pondering.

“What do you want to know?”

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