Page 57 of A Witch-ish Guide to Protectors and Pendulums

“I’m sure it is,” I replied. “But it’s important. So…”

“That’s not a problem. Have a seat.” She pointed to a rolling stool and I sat in it. It rolled backward until it hit a bank of pull drawers behind me. Connor walked over to stand next to me, placing his hand on my shoulder.

I wasn’t particularly eager to get stuck by a needle. On the list of my favorite things to do, that wasn’t close to the top. Still, necessary for saving the world and all that.

“Name?” Margaret asked.

“Simone. Lamia,” I replied.

Margaret typed my name on the computer along with other things I didn’t pay attention to before walking back over to me with a syringe that she’d printed a label for while we waited. It said: Simone Lamia. *Priority*

“Please put your arm on the counter,” she said. I did so, watching as she ripped open an alcohol pad. She swabbed my skin, let it dry for a second, and then I got the stick. The vial filled with dark, oxygenated blood. Margaret pulled out the glass tube, stuck the label on it, and laid it down while she pulled the needle from my arm, and stuck a cotton ball and tape over the puncture.

“There. That’s it. We’ll get this processed and let you know the results as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Margaret,” Victoria said.

“Yes, thank you,” I said, too. Connor gave a head nod.

“Do you have other business in Birmingham or would you like to wait in our cafeteria?” Victoria asked.

I looked at Connor. Even though we couldn’t do anything for a couple of hours, there was no way he’d let us go sightseeing and risk us becoming one of the sights being seen.

“Cafeteria,” Connor answered for the both of us. “Thank you.”

We took the elevator to the third floor. The whole floor encompassed the “cafeteria.” They could only call it that because they served food, but they had it laid out like an all-you-can-eat buffet in a major hotel resort on the Vegas strip. Jeffery and I had vacationed in Vegas once. I remembered eating cheese and mushroom ravioli while he snacked on sushi rolls in the same visit. I smiled at the memory. Finally. With Connor as mymate, I was finally able to remember Jeffery without all the grief attached. I liked that for both Jeffery and I.

“High class,” Connor muttered. Understatement. In every respect. “I’m going to have to tell Luc about this place,” he said to me. “There’s no way witches should eat better than we do.”

“What? Luc buys the wrong brand of kibble?”

Rather than grumble, he pulled me against his side to kiss the top of my head. Although I wasn’t super hungry, they had a dessert bar. Uh… yes, please! “Meet you at a table, sexy.” I winked then sauntered over to grab up a plate.

And when I sat down holding a plate filled to capacity with every chocolate or cream-filled treat imaginable, I realized that Connor and I couldn’t go any further together until I confronted this travesty of justice. “I think we need a break, Connor.”

“What?” he laughed as he asked.

“I thought I could do this, ignore what was glaringly evident. But I don’t think I can.”

“Do what, Simone? What’s glaringly evident?”

“I thought I could accept it, but…” I pointed to his plate. “Fruit, Connor? In a room full of eclairs, tarts, puddings, sundaes, cream puffs, cakes, and pies, you chose fruit?”

He bit back a laugh. “Baby—what am I going to do with you?”

“Nothing, seeing as I’m leaving you.”

He dropped some blueberries on top of a tart that he snatched from my plate, picked it up, and took a bite. “No, you’re not. Can’t get rid of me, Simone. We’re connected. That’s forever.”

His voice got all drippy with sex and I’d never cursed a huge buffet more in my life. A huge buffet or the fact that I had demons or whatever they were trying to kill me.

“Promise me that when this is done, you’ll do that one thing—the twist—that I loved so well. I need a few rounds of the twist.”

He raised his eyebrow at me. “I thought you were leaving me?”

“You put blueberries on a tart. Eat a cream puff and I’ll do that thing where I drop down and?—”

Connor shoved his hand over my mouth. “Woman,” he grumbled. We both looked down at his rapidly tenting jeans. “I’ll give you so many rounds of the twist, you won’t know what day it is when I finally let you up for a breath.” Then he dropped his hand to pop a few blueberries into his mouth, sans tart, so I raised an eyebrow and he took another bite, shaking his head at me and snickering. I loved his body, but I made my point.

---