Page 45 of Wooing the Wiccan
This conversation isn’t getting any easier to navigate. “You don’t know me at all,” I point out. “Shouldn’t you hold off even mentioning it for now?”
He shrugs his ginormous shoulders. “Probably. But I’ve got a good feeling about you. Okay.” He turns toward the reception desk. “Let’s get you a visitor badge, and then I’ll give you a quick tour of the office and introduce you to people. You’ve got an appointment with the integration department at eleven thirty, and then we’re having lunch with Noah after that. Sam said he told you about Noah?”
I nod, quickening my steps to keep up with his longer stride. “Yes. He’s human too.”
“Meh. I always considered him to be part gremlin. He can be vicious when he wants.”
That’s not the most comforting thing to hear right now.
“But he’s the expert on human magic, and Sam tells me you’re in the program already? Hey, Candice,” he says to the receptionist before I can reply. “We need to sign in my temp-bro Jared.”
The woman smiles warmly at me. She’s pretty, looks to be in her early thirties, and has horns poking through her impeccably styled hair. “Hello, Jared, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Candice, the executive receptionist. I’ve got everything ready for you.”
Her calm normality is a beacon in the past five minutes of Alistair’s chatter. I smile back at her, say hello, and sign where she tells me to before taking possession of a badge on a lanyard.
“Are you going to take Jared around?” she asks Alistair. “I can call one of the admin support staff to watch the phones?—”
“No need,” Alistair declares. “I’ve got this. Team Bro is vetting him for potential membership.”
They are?
Candice rolls her eyes and winks at me. “I’ll see you later, then, Jared. Welcome to the community.”
Sam made me feel welcome last night, but this is the first time I’ve heard those words, and something about them lifts a weight off my chest. “Thank you.”
We’ve taken five steps away from the desk before Alistair picks up the thread of our previous conversation. “So yeah, Sam said you’re already pretty experienced with magic?”
“I guess that depends on how you define experience. I’ve been going to lessons—the program, I guess—for a few months, and R—” I cut myself off. That name means something here. I don’t know exactly how much Sam told Alistair, but I don’t want to talk about my current personal situation, and I really don’t want people to think that I’m trying to claim some sort of status by mentioning him. “A friend has been helping me practice as well,” I finish. “I didn’t know it, but he’s an elf.”
“Elves are such great friends,” he informs me, swiping us through the security gate. “My bro Caolan is an elf. Some of the stuff he can do with magic isepic. I don’t think I’ve met an elf I disliked—their king sets a high standard for being awesome, and they all try to live by that.”
“Oh,” I mutter, casting around for a way to change the subject. “Um, I don’t want to be rude, but is it okay to ask what species you are?”
The beaming grin he gives me is reassurance that I haven’t offended him. “Sure! It’s totally fine to ask as long you do it nicely like that. Most of us can tell each other apart, but humans struggle with it, at least at first. My bro Caolan says there are times he still can’t always be sure if he’s talking to an incubus or a vampire.”
“I promise not to be rude if I ask,” I assure him. I spend most of my days teaching five-year-olds how to use manners—I’m pretty sure I can handle using my own.
“I’m a hellhound,” Alistair proclaims. “Uh, I mean canid shifter. Did anyone explain the name to you?”
“Only that humans used it to vilify your species and then it stuck.”
“Our species leader at the time thought it was funny and made it our official species name.” From the way he’s chuckling, I guess he thinks it’s funny too. “We don’t have anything to do with hell, I promise. Mostly since hell’s not real.” He stops and gives me a concerned look. “You’re not religious or anything, are you?”
My chest gets tight. I’m still not thinking about how what they’ve told me changes everything I’ve believed. “I’m Wiccan.”
His expression clears. “That’s a good one, as far as religions go. You guys don’t believe in hell either, so you’re not going to try to burn my house down with me in it.”
My lips part in shock. “People do that?”
Alistair shrugs. “Only once. I’m over it now; it was a long time ago. Hey, Jim!”
A big horned man looks up from the desk we’ve stopped beside. “Hi, Al. Who’s this?” He sounds friendly enough, but the expression on his face doesn’t really match.
“Say hi to Jared. He found out about the community by accident, and now we’re helping him get acquainted with it.” He turns to me. “Jim’s a demon, as you can see by the horns. Here in the office we don’t worry too much about disguise glamor, but obviously outside it’s a priority. Now, what I was going to say before about knowing who belongs to which species—if we’re glamoured, it’s going to be nearly impossible for you. Sorry, but your senses aren’t developed to be able to smell us apart.” He elbows me. “Get it? Smell us apart?”
My laugh is entirely involuntary, but I don’t begrudge it. He’s been nice; the least I can do is laugh at his jokes. “That’s a good one.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Jim says, but Alistair’s moved on.
