Page 29 of A Match Made in Coven
They continued on until they stood smack in the center of the junkyard. Lorcan halted, blinking up at the ramshackle structure that suddenly loomed before them. If one searched “best places to commit murder” online, this would be the top result. Like something out of every cheesy slasher movie he’d ever seen. But honestly, he was less worried about a serial killer leaping out than he was about contracting tetanus from the jagged metal edges of the crumbling warehouse.
Hulking piles of junk littered the dirt—rusted vehicles, mildewed mattresses, splintered boards. And the stench… Sweet zombie breath, it was putrid. Lorcan wrinkled his nose, breathing through his mouth. This had better be worth it.
Unperturbed by the squalid surroundings, Sarah Michelle marched toward a massive discharge duct. She ripped open the cheese sticks package and waved it near the entrance, making a strange “Ch-ch-ch!” sound. “Riffy! Come on out, I know you’re in there.”
A large, filthy rat scurried out, beady eyes gleaming. “Detective Callidora, always a pleasure. How may I be of assistance today?” His unctuous tone made Lorcan’s skin crawl.
So when she’d mentioned her informant was a sewer rat, she’d meant it literally. Lorcan watched, oddly fascinated, as Sarah Michelle handed over the cheese sticks. The rat grasped them between his front paws, standing on his hind legs to nibble contentedly.
“I need information, Riffy. Clandestine gambling houses in town—what do you know?” Sarah Michelle crossed her arms, all business.
Riffy—Lorcan still couldn’t wrap his head around a rat informant named Riffy—swallowed a mouthful of processed cheese. “Well, I don’t have the specifics, but all that sort of thing ’round here is run by Silas.”
“Just Silas? No last name?”
The rat shrugged, an unnervingly human gesture. “Everyone knows him as Silas. He runs the illegal gambling and acts as a loan shark, too. Real nasty piece of work.” Riffy shuddered, whiskers twitching. “Bad news, that one.”
Lorcan went rigid, stomach twisting into knots as he imagined Elijah mixed up with such a criminal. What in the seven hells had his friend gotten himself into?
Sarah Michelle, ever pragmatic, asked, “Where can we find this Silas?”
“He’s got a bar, The Backroom, a couple miles from here. That’s where he conducts most of his business.” Riffy stuffed another cheese stick into his mouth, clearly done sharing.
The Backroom. Lorcan scoffed. How cliché could you get? An appropriate name for a bar run by thugs. Hopefully, they’d find answers and the trip to this tetanus-ridden dump wouldn’t have been for nothing.
He glanced at Sarah. She might be a grumpy, sarcastic thorn in his side, but damn if she wasn’t good at her job. Not that he’d ever tell her that. Couldn’t let it go to her pretty head.
“Well, then.” Lorcan injected a note of forced cheer in his tone. “Should we pay a visit to this Silas? I could do with a drink after this little adventure.”
Despite her eye roll, something sparked in her gaze. “Sure,Witchy Weekly’s Best-Dressed Bachelor needs a stiff drink after visiting the slums. Why am I not surprised?”
“Hey, I never said it had to be stiff.” He winked, enjoying the flush that crept up her neck. “I’m easy like that.”
“Unfortunately, that will have to wait until tomorrow, rich boy.” She huffed out a laugh, shaking her head as she turned to leave.
“How come?” Lorcan followed, hands casually in his pockets.
“I don’t know about you, but on October twenty-nine, I have to attend a coven dinner celebrating the end of the Salem Witch Trials. And I can’t be late.”
“Oh, so my family is not the only one still hung up on these traditions.”
She turned, eyebrow arched. “Don’t all the old magical families hold on to the past?”
“Regretfully so.”
Her cheeks grew pinker, but she ignored the comment. “Come on, Black, let’s get out of this dump.”
Ah, they might depart the junkyard unscathed after all, but the ditch of uncomfortable feelings splitting him in half kept on filling up with more complicated emotions.
Chapter Sixteen
My Big Fat Greek Coven
SARAH MICHELLE
Sarah Michelle’s sedan rattled to a stop in front of her grandma’s traditional single-family home. The yard was already filled with cars parked haphazardly, like a game of automotive Tetris gone horribly wrong. She groaned, resting her forehead against the steering wheel. The last thing she wanted was to face her entire coven after the day she’d had. But skipping out on Grandma Callidora’s famous “end of Salem Witch Trials” dinner was not an option.
Taking a deep breath, Sarah Michelle stepped out of her car and made her way up the creaky wooden steps. As she crossed the threshold, a wave of warmth and noise engulfed her. The scent of roasting meats and baking pies wafted from the kitchen, mingling with the chatter of her aunts as they bustled about preparing the feast, seamlessly weaving between English and the old witchy tongue. In the living room, cousins were perched on every available surface, debating the latestWitchly Heraldheadlines and gossiping about who hexed who, while toddlers giggled and chased each other underfoot.
