Page 32 of Midnight Witch

Brimstone and Tarang greeted one another with anxious rumbles.

The incubus finally let her go. “What the hell is going on?” His brow furrowed as he looked from Mae to Nikolai. “I got this crazy phone call from Violet. She wasn’t making any sense. She said something about the New York coven coming after you! Is it the work of the Dark Council?!”

Mae didn’t answer right away.

She stared at Cortes, her pulse racing. “You remember who I am?”

The Columbian nodded grimly. Popo ruffled his feathers uneasily on his sorcerer’s shoulder.

“I helped Enrique resist that weird magic,” the parrot mumbled. “It was a close call, though. If I hadn’t been in the room with him at the time, we would have been in trouble.”

Vlad stared. “What weird magic?”

Cortes observed their surroundings warily. “It might be best to have this conversation somewhere else. Right now, everyone you used to consider an ally should be treated as a potential enemy until proven—”

Tires screeched in the distance, drowning out the rest of his words. A battered Volvo shot into the junction to the south, turned sharply, and barreled up the street toward them.

Vlad’s eyes flashed crimson. Cortes unleashed his sword.

“It’s okay,” Mae said hastily.

The Volvo squealed to a stop next to them. The window wound down.

“We need to move,” Violet said tensely from the driver’s seat. “They’re on our tail.”

Miles was staring at the building on the corner. “What happened to your apartment?”

“It’s an illusion,” Mae said bitterly.

Vlad’s expression grew pinched. “We should go to my place. Whoever it is that’s after you won’t be able to—”

The low hum of a scooter had their heads whipping around. It took a few seconds to figure out which direction it was coming from.

Mae’s eyes rounded.I know that sound!

A green Vespa rounded the bend to their right.

Riding it was Mrs. Son-Ha. She was dressed in a thick purple coat, orange flannel pants, pink trainers, and wore the world’s ugliest fanny pack strapped to her belly. Her Chihuahua Dexter sat in the front basket of the scooter, his gray muzzle poking out from under the hood of a hideous, yellow coat.

Mae gaped. “Bet—Betsy?!”

“Who’s Betsy?” Cortes asked, nonplussed.

“Her Vespa,” Nikolai mumbled.

Cortes looked at him dully. “She called her scooter Betsy?”

Popo shifted on the Columbian’s shoulder. “That’s a real ugly dog. Don’t go near it, Enrique. It might contaminate your good looks.”

Mrs. Son-Ha pulled up beside them.

“Don’t think I didn’t hear that, you bag of flea-infested feathers,” she snapped at the parrot.

Dexter yipped.

“I—I don’t have fleas!” Popo squawked, flapping his wings.

Mae finally recovered from the shock of seeing the gossip queen of Koreatown riding her trusty scooter. She blinked dazedly.

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