Page 3 of Accidentally Vacationed with an Incubus

Though her tone was light and friendly, I had the distinct impression that, regardless of what I said, Lobatowouldbe checking in with me.

“Sure,” I said. If nothing else, I could do with the company of a friend.

Lobato’s hand was hot on my shoulder as she squeezed. “You’re going to have to forgive yourself at some point, Jen.”

***

It was a long walk to the bus station.

And an even longer wait for the overnight bus to arrive.

The wind howled through the empty street, biting through my threadbare hoodie like it had a personal vendetta. I sat shivering on the cold metal bench, muttering a string of increasingly creative curses directed at Lobato and her magic-suppressing influence for my inability to conjure a simple heating spell. No matter how tightly I clutched the rose quartz in my palm, I couldn’t summon the spell to heat it. Teeth gritted, I tossed the crystal back into my bag like the useless rock it was.

Home.

The thought sent a whimper escaping my lips before I could stop it.

A real bed. A crackling woodstove. My ridiculously cozy couch that—if the house still liked me—would nudge itself closerto the fire so I could curl up with one of my tattered spicy romances and melt into oblivion.

But... what if it wasn’t there?

A cold knot twisted in my stomach. It had been abandoned for nine years, left without anyone to care for it. It had a mind of its own. What if it had decided I wasn’t worth the wait? Would it have understood that the police presence that night meant I wasn’t coming back for a while? Or worse... had it made the connection between what I’d done to the car and my parents’ deaths?

Had it abandoned me?

I swallowed the hard lump forming in my throat.

What will you do without magic?a voice slithered through my mind.

Possible Plan B: Maybe Brooke would let me crash at her place? She had tried to visit me in prison a few times, but my blanket no-visitors request had extended to her as well.

You could always summon your mate, a seductive voice whispered.

I immediately crumpled that thought into a ball and tossed it into the dark abyss of my mind where it belonged.

But the succubus brainworm wiggled its way to the forefront of my mind once more.It might just be fate that you were released from prison on Samhain, the one night of the year that you could summon your mate.

I clenched my jaw. Another voice said,You don’t deserve to summon your mate, to find happiness, not after what you did.

Lobato’s words overpowered the rest.You’re going to have to forgive yourself at some point, Jen.

She had a point. I might never be able to find it in me to forgive myself, but I would need to at least come to terms with what I’d done if I were going to have any chance of a life.

A cold wind whipped around me, and I pulled my threadbare, tattered black hoodie, the warmest thing I had in my possession, around me in vain. I looked up at the departure screen. Another half hour before the bus arrived.

Screw this. I needed tea.Now.

Teeth chattering, I glanced up and down the street until I spied a diner. Bag slung over my shoulder, I shivered my way down the street. The diner was pokey, its only occupants a young waitress leaning over the counter, chatting with a hidden figure in the back, and an exhausted looking woman in scrubs, huddled over a slice of apple pie and aimlessly pushing a crumbling forkful of pastry around the plate.

“What can I getcha?” the waitress called.

“What kind of tea do you have?” I asked, not particularly hopeful that they had anything other than “regular.”

“Regular,” she said, then tapped her finger against her chin. “Actually”—she turned back toward the service hatch—“Danny! Do we still have those teas that we got in for Betty before she went back to England?”

“In the box under the counter!” the disembodied voice called back.

The waitress disappeared beneath the counter for a moment, emerging triumphantly with a battered old box of herbal teas so dusty they probably were a remnant from the Boston Tea Party.

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