Page 15 of A Match Made in Coven
“Can you think of anyone who could hold a grudge against him or have a score to settle?”
“No.” Zoe’s eyes became glassy. “Elijah was a good man. He wasn’t perfect. But he didn’t deserve—” The woman choked on the last words, unable to finish the sentence. That her ex-husband didn’t deserve a blade to the back of the skull? Yeah, a hard truth to spit out and come to terms with.
For his business partner, too, judging from Lorcan’s clenched jaw. The wizard must be struggling to process the brutal reality of Elijah’s death as well.
Sarah Michelle jotted down a few notes in her notebook. “Thank you, Zoe. That’s all I need for now. I’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.”
Thatweagain. Hex, Sarah needed to remember to talk—and think—in the singular.
As they stood to leave, she wondered what was going through Lorcan’s head. But his expression was unreadable.
They stepped out of Zoe’s house together, the chill October air a slap to the senses. As they descended the steps, Sarah Michelle couldn’t decide if she respected Lorcan or despised him. Their family ties still cast a long shadow over their tentative truce.
They paused at the curb, the silence between them charged with an undercurrent of tension. Her base instinct was to unfurl her wings and fly as far away from this man as she could. But she needed to question Lorcan further, to finish what they had started the night of thenon-arrest before they’d been interrupted. Which meant she had to endure his unsettling presence for a little longer.
“Mr. Black.” She kept her tone steady, despite the pixies fluttering in her stomach. “You’re the next person close to the victim I need to question. Are you available now?”
A slow, devastating smile spread across Lorcan’s face. “Of course, detective,” he replied, his tone warm and teasing. An unwanted flapping beat in her chest at the sound of his voice calling her detective in that low, seductive drawl—a reaction she desperately ignored.
Lorcan’s eyes sparkled with knowing amusement as he gestured down the street. “My favorite witchy coffee shop is just around the corner. Why don’t we continue our conversation there? It’ll be much warmer than standing out here in the cold.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, smooth as honey, “And maybe you’ll be in a better mood when you’re not freezing.”
Sarah Michelle frowned, torn between her desire to maintain a professional distance and the promise of warmth and coffee. “If I’m stuck with you, I seriously doubt it.”
“Oh, come on.” He crooked his elbow, offering her his arm. “They make a pumpkin spice unicorn latte so good, it’ll melt even the frostiest detective’s heart.”
Sarah Michelle hesitated, taking in his amiable smile and how his light hair fell rakishly across his forehead. Something about him drew her in, despite her best efforts to resist. She pointedly ignored his proffered arm but still gave a curt nod.
Nonplussed, Lorcan lowered his arm and beamed at her as radiantly as if she’d agreed to join him for a moonlit broomstick ride.
But as they walked down the quaint Salem streets, past enchanted storefronts and bustling magical folk intermixing with humans, the interaction felt more like a date than an interrogation. Maybe he had some justification for that stupid, radiant smile on his face.
Chapter Nine
Fire and Friction
LORCAN
Lorcan held the door of the witchy coffee shop open for Sarah Michelle, who walked in with a determined stride, almost as if resenting his gallantry. Her eyes scanned the room for a suitable spot to sit or someone to arrest—from the strict line of her mouth, he couldn’t tell which.
Inside, the coffee shop was disguised as a quaint human establishment, but the air was thick with the aroma of enchanted spices that only wizarding folk would detect under the cinnamon and nutmeg. Halloween decorations were scattered around the room, adding a festive yet eerie atmosphere—plastic pumpkins grinning toothily from shelves, cloth ghosts dangling from the rafters, and rubber spiders clinging to fake webbing in the corners. The shop bustled with both humans and mages, the latter easily identifiable to each other by the intrinsic recognition wizards and witches felt toward their own kind. They shared a faint magical signature, like a humming under the skin—a tingling that was strong with him and the witch by his side.
Sarah Michelle continued to scan the room, her black-blue hair gleaming under the soft lighting. Lorcan studied the slight furrow between her brows and the pursing of her full lips, attempting to decipher the myriad of emotions playing across her bronzed features. Fascination mixed with wariness; determination tinged with uncertainty.
She moved with purposeful steps toward a secluded corner booth, away from prying eyes and ears. The polished wooden table was adorned with a centerpiece of miniature pumpkins, their orange sides carved with evil smiley faces. Enchanted black candles flickered in their hollows, casting an otherworldly purple light—just this side of human to be believable to mortal eyes, but clearly magical to any witch or wizard. The tiny flames danced and cavorted without melting the wax, burning without being consumed.
Lorcan’s gaze lingered on the flames, musing that if he ever got close to Sarah Michelle, the fire between them would blaze so fiercely it might instead devour him whole.
As they settled into the booth, Sarah Michelle removed her coat, revealing her uniform underneath. The tailored black fabric hugged her curves, accentuating her lithe frame.
Lorcan couldn’t resist a playful comment. “I must say, Detective Callidora, black suits you. In fact, one might even add thatBlack”—he paused, a smirk tugging at his lips—“is definitely your color.”
Her cheeks flushed, a delicate pink blooming underneath her golden skin. She appeared flustered by the compliment, her usual composure shaken. As Lorcan held her gaze, an invisible thread tugged between them, pulling their thoughts to places far removed from the investigation. She looked away first, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheekbones.
Lorcan leaned back, secretly rejoicing in the reactions he could elicit from the unflappable detective. To defuse the tension, he gestured toward the menu. “Do you trust me on the orders? Their pumpkin spice unicorn latte with a hint of phoenix feather is the best in town.”
Sarah Michelle arched a skeptical brow, her eyes meeting his once more. “Trust you? I don’t trust you on anything. But I’ll try the latte.”
He stood, winking at her. “Yes, ma’am. Drinks are on the way.”
