Page 8 of Curses & Cold Brew
Slinking down the alleyway, I hoped to meet Ramona at the other end of the shadowy corridor.
I waited.
Any second now.
But there was no trace of her. I couldn’t have been that fast, could I?
“I thought I heard a curious pussycat on my heels.”
I jolted, whirling to find Ramona behind me. “I . . .”I didn’t think this plan through!Of course, she would hear me coming from a mile away.
She folded her arms and arched a slender black brow at me, looking somewhere between bored and annoyed. “I’ll give you one chance to tell me why you were following me down a dark alley at night.”
“Well, I–I mean, you—” I cleared my throat. “You seemed upset.”
“And you thought putting yourself in the path of an upset demon was a smart idea?” She didn’t look mad, just disappointed.
Why did that make this even more embarrassing? I was a powerful witch, not a foolhardy child.
“I can take care of myself,” I said defensively. “I’ve faced bigger and badder beings than you.”
Her lip curled, pulling a small dimple from her angular cheek.
Goddess, help me.
She looked cocky and predatory, like a wild cat who’d cornered a plump rabbit.
I ignored the butterflies dancing in my stomach and finally asked the question that had brought me here: “Why were you stalking menacingly through the night? Well, more menacingly than usual.” I cringed with embarrassment.
“What would that information be worth to you, witchling?”
A vision of sealing my first deal with her flashed through my mind. The way she’d kissed me like I was the air she breathed . . .
Goddess, that happened almost an entire freaking year ago!
I really needed to pull myself together. I should’ve just turned and walked away, but I was hopeless.
“I actually thought you might need my help,” I supplied. “It seemed like something was wrong.”
“Perceptive,” she said flatly.I may have vastly overestimated hownotannoying she found me.“Are you sure you only followed me to offer help?”
I hadn’t noticed that she’d backed me up to the wall until her long fingers reached up to tug a rogue Ichabod whisker from the collar of my cardigan. She held it between us like an offering. When I didn’t take it, she tucked it into the pocket of her blazer.“Because I think you have more than just beinghelpfulon your mind.”
“It’s a small town. Things can get a bit . . . stale,” I admitted, instantly feeling as if I had just given her information she could use against me.
“My work is not for your entertainment.” Her words should have sounded harsh, but they didn’t hold the bite of indignation.
“Please?” I pushed, my mind floating back to the pathetic, lukewarm spaghetti in my microwave.
Mischief lit Ramona’s expression. “What is it worth to you?”
“You think I’d make another deal with you? Just to have something to do?”
“It’s not my job to know what people want. Everyone thinks they know what they want when they call upon me, and they never do. My true gift is to know what peopleneed. What they don’t know they’re desperate for.”
Something in the way she emphasized the word “need” made my core tighten.
“I have everything I need,” I countered. I had a coven, a good job, a home, friends, family . . .
