Page 43 of Curses and Cauldrons

“What the hell?” I jump back and follow the end of the offending stick up into the smirking face of Agatha Fitzsimons.

“Crone. There are better ways to get a man’s attention.”

“As if I could catch your eye, Blackthorn. Sit.” She gestures at the chair across from her.

I look at my watch, more out of reflex than to see what time it is. “I really should be getting to my office.”

A vine from a nearby plant curls around the leg of the chair and yanks it out.

“Sit. You can make time for an old woman.”

I glance around the cafe. Did anyone see that demonstration of magic?

“Oh, don’t get your undies in a bunch. There aren’t any humans around. It’s fine.”

I sit down with a glare. “I feel like I’m rewarding a toddler for their bad behavior.”

Fitz chuckles, picking up her dainty cup of tea and taking a sip. “Or you just know when you’ve been defeated. You’re smarter than most of your family.” Fitz is wearing her typical matching sweatsuit; this time, it’s a unique mustard color. Her long braid curls over her shoulder and touches the top of the table.

I lean back in my chair, raising one eyebrow. I’m still distracted. My run didn’t do anything to clear my mind, but maybe stumbling into Fitz is fortuitous. She’s been around Mystic Hollows for over a century. She knows things.

“I saw you at the founders party.” Fitz’s skin is papery thin but mostly smooth except for the wrinkles around her eyes. A sign of her quickness to laugh and smile. Or smirk. That’s an expression she’s perfected.

“Yes. I remember. We spoke.” Maybe she’s more senile than I realized.

“No, dummy, I saw you at the Delvaux party. That Josephine is a beautiful girl. Shame her mother is such a raging bitch.”

I choke back a laugh and then narrow my eyes. The cafe has a counter where you order and pick up your drinks, but one of the workers appears at our table, batting her lashes.

“Good morning, Mr. Blackthorn. Would you like a drink? I’d be happy to get you anything you’d like.”

Fitz rolls her eyes and swipes out with her cane. The woman barely jumps back in time to avoid a whack to her knees. “If we wanted something, we’d get it ourselves.”

“I’m good, thank you.” I dismiss the woman with a bit less sharpness.

“Okay, well, just flag me down if you need anything.”

“Git. Go away.” Fitz pokes her cane at the woman. She jumps back and skitters away with a yelp.

“That was rude.”

“She’s the one who interrupted. As I was saying. Have you got a few more brain cells than the rest of your coven? Have you figured out Tenebris and Lumen are nothing more than names? That Josephine is a good match for you.”

“I didn’t take you for a romantic, Crone.”

The cane snaps against my shin again. I suck in a breath at the loud sound. It doesn’t hurt; I can’t feel a thing, but that doesn’t mean Fitz can smack me. My nostrils flare. “Was that necessary?”

“You seemed to forget you weren’t talking to one of your buddies. I’m not here to gossip about your crush or plan your wedding.”

“Why are you here?” I lean down and pull up my pant leg to look at my shin. That’s going to leave a bruise.

“For breakfast. Why else?” Fitz jerks her head toward her pastry and tea, but there’s a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“I should let you get back to it before your tea gets cold.” I stand, eager to get away before she lands another smack. This time, the cane whips up, halting in front of my chest and stopping me before I can step away.

“You never ask the right questions.”

I examine the old woman’s face, wondering what I’m missing. A lot, if her exasperated look tells me anything.

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