Page 32 of Wicked Angel
Pinewood Valley lookedlike something out of a greeting card—quaint wooden storefronts, hanging flower baskets, and a main street so clean it practically sparkled in the morning light.
But beneath the picturesque facade, I could feel the subtle pulse of supernatural energy. The wards around the town had recognized us as outsiders, and though they weren't actively hostile, there was a watchfulness to them that set my nerves on edge.
“So much for the element of surprise,” I muttered as we made our way down the main street. Humans passed us with friendly nods, completely oblivious to the tension in the air. “Where should we start?”
Levi's gaze swept the storefronts, assessing each one with the careful attention of a predator scanning for prey. “There,” he said, nodding toward a small café with a hand-painted sign reading “Maple Leaf Diner.” “That matches the description Keeran gave us. The place where the witch mentioned the angels.”
The bell above the door chimed as we entered, drawing the attention of the handful of patrons scattered among the red vinyl booths. Most turned away after a brief glance, but I caught the lingering gaze of an elderly woman in the corner, her fingers wrapped around a mug of steaming tea. There was something about her eyes—a sharpness that didn't belong to a typical human of her age.
“That's her,” I whispered, sliding into a booth with a clear view of the woman. “The witch.”
A harried-looking waitress approached, her pen poised over a small notepad. “What can I get you folks?”
“Just coffee,” I said, not taking my eyes off the witch. “Both of us.”
The waitress huffed but didn't argue, hurrying away to the next table.
“Subtle,” Levi drawled, leaning back against the booth. “Why don't you just go over and introduce yourself?”
I shot him a look. “Because we don't know if she's friendly, and I'd rather not cause a scene in a human establishment.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Since when are you so concerned about human sensibilities?”
“Since we need information more than we need trouble.” I accepted the mugs of coffee the waitress set down, offering her a quick smile. “Thank you.”
As the waitress moved away, I saw the witch rise from her seat, leaving a few bills on the table. She adjusted her cardigan, cast one last knowing look in our direction, and headed for the door.
“She's leaving,” I hissed, already sliding out of the booth.
Levi caught my wrist. “Wait. Let her think she's escaped, then follow. Less obvious that way.”
I reluctantly settled back, watching as the old woman exited the diner with surprising agility for someone who appeared to be in her eighties. We gave her a thirty-second head start, then left our coffee untouched with a twenty-dollar bill, and followed.
Outside, the street was busier now, with locals going about their morning routines. I spotted the witch turning down a side street, her gray hair visible between the pedestrians.
“There,” I said, nudging Levi with my elbow.
We followed at a discreet distance, weaving through the crowd. The side street was narrower, lined with small, independent shops—a bookstore, a bakery, and at the end, a modest building with a sign that read “Herbal Remedies & Teas.”
“Predictable,” Levi muttered.
The witch disappeared into the shop, the door closing behind her with a soft jingle of bells. We approached cautiously, peering through the window at the interior—shelves lined with glass jars of dried herbs, crystals hanging from the ceiling, and the old woman now behind a wooden counter, arranging dried flowers in a basket.
I pushed open the door, triggering another cheerful chime from the bells overhead. The shop smelled of lavender and sage, with undertones of something sharper, more magical. The witch didn't look up, continuing to arrange her flowers as if we weren't there.
“We know what you are,” I said softly, moving closer to the counter. “And we know you've seen the angels.”
Her hands stilled, but she didn't seem surprised. “Took you long enough,” she said, her voice raspy with age but edged with steel. “I was beginning to think you were as slow-witted as you are obvious.”
Levi snorted. “At least we're not hiding behind protection wards and pretending to be a harmless old lady.”
She finally looked up, her eyes a startling violet—a color no human could possess. “Who says I'm pretending? I am old. I am a lady. And I'm only harmful when provoked.” She set aside her flowers, wiping her hands on her apron. “Now, what do you want with the winged ones?”
“To talk,” I said simply. “It's important.”
“It always is, with your kind.” Her gaze flicked from Levi to me. “A demon and an angel. But you’re not like the others.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
