Page 83 of A Witch-ish Guide to Protectors and Pendulums

I turned down street after street until coming to the end of a road. A dead end. Yeah, if I survived this, I’d lobby to change that term. No one needed that kind of trauma reminder. The only structure left looked like one good wind would blow the thingright over. Still, my Scooby-sense told me that the witch was here somewhere. I walked up to the building and tried to open the door, but it was locked. A locked door, here? Right. Despite being scared out of my mind, I lifted my fist to knock.

No one answered. So I knocked again. No one answered again. I knocked a third time and the door finally creaked open. Very frightened eyes peered out at me. Then once they’d taken me in, they grew huge. The door swung open. Someone grabbed my arm and dragged me inside, slamming the door behind me.

She spoke, but I didn’t understand her.

“English?” I asked, hoping beyond hope that she had a better education than I did. She nodded once. Her eyes assessed me skeptically. I know… trust me, I know. What was a purple-haired, English-speaking American doing knocking on her door, especially in the dark? She was in for a whopper of a tale… if she helped me.

“Who are you?” she asked in almost-perfect English. Just with an accent of the region attached.

“My name is Simone Lamia. I need help.”

“What are you?” she asked next and yes, I rolled my eyes, even in this precarious situation. I always got that question. Why would it be any different here, while my life was on the line?

“That’s a long story,” I replied.

“Your name is Simone Lamia, and you need help?” she asked, and okay, we were going to play the repeating game now.

“Yes. I needyourhelp.”

“Myhelp? Why me?”

“You’re a witch. I require a witch.”

“How did you find me? All the witches have gone into hiding. I have wards around the building.”

“I sort of have witch powers,” I replied.

“‘Sort of’? So you’re a witch? I don’t get ‘witch’ from you.”

“Well, I have witch-ishpowers.”

“Witch-ish powers? I don’t understand.”

“Can I sit down? I’m exhausted and feeling a little vulnerable here. More than that, I’m running out of time. Are you willing to help me or not?”

“You will explain?”

“I’ll explain everything.”

She nodded once and turned, walking inside.

I followed.

Please let Dream Mr. Pooches be right.

Chapter

Twenty-Two

The woman led me into a very homey room with a flowered sofa and a fire flickering in the fireplace. Despite the fact that we were in a desert, the temperature dipped when the sun went down, giving the night air a nip. A muted-puce wingback chair sat across from the sofa. The furniture looked old and worn but comfortable.

“Please, sit,” the witch offered. She didn’t have to offer twice. I dropped into that ugly puce chair and sank down. Oh, yeah—old and worn but comfortable, indeed. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked and there was my in.

“That’s what I’m here for,” I replied and she stared at me, head tilted, blank look in her eyes and a slacked expression on her lips. I sighed. “I’m in pretty desperate need of a healing tea.”

“That’s why you needed a witch,” she mumbled. “Oh—I’m Shafira. Welcome to my home, Simone Lamia.”

I laughed at the way she’d just remembered to introduce herself. But given the way I’d barged in on her at night, this one was on me.

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