Page 10 of It's In His Hiss

Alice raises an eyebrow. “Really? What’s your problem, buddy?”

The snakehuffs—I swear to the gods it actuallyhuffs—thencoils back, sulking.

“Great,” she mutters, crossing her arms. “I’m being judged by a pile of sentient spaghetti.”

I rub a hand over the cap, forcing the snakes tosettle down. “They’re just… not used to you yet.”

“Or they know something I don’t.” Her voice is light, but her eyes hold a flicker of unease.

She’s not wrong. And thatworries me.

The thing is, as much as the snakes seem to dislike her presence, I’m falling for her. Hard. Like, dreaming-of-her-smile-and-the-sound-of-her-laugh kind of hard. I want to kiss her more than I’ve ever wanted anything, but I’m no monster in behavior. I’ll wait for the right moment—if it ever comes.

“Maybe your mystery artist is a fan,” I suggest, steering us back to safer waters. “Ever thought about setting up a camera?”

She shakes her head. “Too logical. I prefer to believe in the supernatural explanation. Makes life more interesting, don’t you think?”

“Definitely more your style.” The corner of my mouth quirks up. I’m hooked on every syllable she utters, even when my words are drowned out by the muffled protests under my cap.

“Anyway, thanks for listening,” she says, her gaze holding mine. “It’s nice to have someone who doesn’t automatically suggest calling the cops or getting a carbon monoxide detector.”

“Anytime, Al. You know where tofind me.”

We stand there for a second too long, the tension as thick as oil paints on canvas. But I don’t move closer, even though everything in me screams to close that gap. No, I won’t be the guy who takes advantage, not when I could be dangerous to her in ways she doesn’t even know.

“Next time, bring pictures of the painting,” I say instead, backing away slightly. “I’d love to see the ghost’s handiwork.”

“Deal.” She grins, and it lights up the whole room, or maybe that’s how it feels to me.

As she turns to browse the stacks, I watch her, the heat of our almost-moment lingering like the final note of a song. And I wonder if she feels it, too, this electric current between us, waiting to spark.

Time for a subject change.

“Al, you know how you’re always saying you’re such a ‘clumsy mortal?’” I start, watching her fingers trace the spine of a dusty volume of Fae folklore. She pulls out the book and looks up at me, a lock of sable hair falling into her curious blue eyes.

“Umm, yeah,” she replies with a half-laugh. “Why?”

“Because I don’t think it’s clumsiness.” There’s no use beating around the bush anymore. My snakes seem to have calmed down for the moment, so I plunge ahead. “I think you might be, well, magical. Like a witch, maybe?”

Her eyebrows shoot up, and she blinks rapidly, clearly taken aback. “A witch? Me?” The disbelief in her voice is genuine, but it doesn’t deter me.

“Think about it,” I urge, leaning against the counter, trying to keep my tone light despite the gravity of my words. “The strange color mixtures of paint, the painting with additions you didn’t do…”

“Are you serious right now?” Her voice holds an edge of laughter, but underneath it, I sense her wheels turning. “I’m not hiding anything. Why would I hide being a witch?”

“Maybe because they aren’t exactly popular?” I suggest, tilting my head and giving her a knowing look. “Witches have had a rough go throughouthistory. If your family knew, they might have wanted to protect you from all that.”

She chews on her lower lip, pondering.

“But why wouldn’t they tell me?” Her hands grip the Fae book like it’s a lifeline.

“Parents do crazy things for their kids,” I say with a shrug. “Especially if they think it’ll keep them safe.”

“Safe…” Alice echoes, her gaze distant. “That would explain so much. Like why magical stuff either goes haywire or fizzles around me.”

“Exactly.” I nod, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension. “You could be suppressing something big, Al.”

“Great,” she huffs, slapping the book closed. “So I’m a walking disaster because I’m a closeted witch.”

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