Page 7 of Wolf, Willow, Witch
Tehlor shifted her eyes away from the counter, staring at the two women. Up close, she noticed balm crusted in the corner of the blonde’s lips and a cheeky silver bracelet that spelled ‘saved’ on the brunette’s wrist.
“Do you accept community flyers?”
“No,” Tehlor said, dragging the word out. Moon Strike Nursery publicly displayed community flyers in the front window, but she scrunched her nose and shook her head anyway. “Why? What’s your mission, ladies?”
“We’re spreading the word about a joyous event,” the brunette exclaimed. Her blue eyes widened, and she smiled.
“Well, I love joy.” Laughter flared in her throat. She traded her attention between the two. “Is there a new church in town?”
“Not exactly new,” the blonde said, curt and cold. “We’re hosting an event next month. Worship, song, praise, healing. You wouldn’t be interested, would you?”
Tehlor hummed, considering.
“I’m Amy.” The brunette stuck her hand out.
Tehlor glanced at Amy’s palm and picked up Gunnhild, wielding the rat like pepper spray. “I’m Tehlor. This is Gunnhild.”
Amy jerked away and held her hand tightly to her chest. “Oh my God,gosh—well… Well, hello. Aren’t you…” She swallowed hard, grimacing. “…cute.”
“I have a curious soul,” Tehlor teased, lips splitting for a toothy grin. “And we could all use a little healing, right?”
“Some more than others,” the blonde said. She hadn’t introduced herself, but when she set her credit card on the counter the name stamped on the front said: Rose Whitman.
Tehlor ran the card and handed it back to her. Saccharine sarcasm filled her voice. “Oh, I couldn’t agree more.”
Chapter three
Lincolnbetterlikenoodles.
Tehlor carried a plastic bag stocked with udon, stir-fry, and tempura into the townhouse. She kicked the front door shut behind her and blew a piece of hair out of her face, tracking snow through the hallway into the living room. She halted in front of the kitchen counter. Lincoln Stone draped across her couch, wearing her ex-boyfriend’s old sweats and nothing else. He turned away from a Marvel movie playing on her cheap flatscreen and twitched his snout, sniffing the air.
Half of her hadn’t expected him to stay. The other half knew he had nowhere else to go. Her lips quirked.
“Japanese,” she said, shaking the bag. “Cheap but good.”
He nodded and adjusted on the couch, pulling his feet onto the cushion.
Tehlor fished Gunnhild out of her coat pocket and set her down, then placed the plastic bag on the counter. The labradorite fit snugly in her bra. She kept the stone tucked away as she popped the plastic top off their individual takeout bowls, and let the quiet stretch, waiting for Lincoln to rise from the couch, or ask her something, or make a demand. She’d been awake for too long. Adrenaline ran close to the surface, jostled loose under her chilly skin. She pulled a bottle of sriracha out of the fridge and watched Lincoln stretch his fingers toward Gunnhild, clucking softly at her. Honestly, she wasn’t sure if she had the fortitude to wrestle together the spell she’d promised.
I have to try, at least, she thought, warming for a brief, bright second.We could both use a little normalcy.
“Food.” She nudged a steaming bowl toward him. “You’re not, like, vegan, right? Or Keto or whatever?”
“I was dead this morning,” he said, matter-of-factly. He stood and crossed the room, snatching a pair of chopsticks from inside the bag.
She lifted a brow and dunked a tempura-fried carrot into her soup. “Fair. Favorite color.”
“We’re not doin’ that.” He set his elbows on the counter.
They stared at each other—Lincoln’s canine eyes, Tehlor’s sleepy gaze—until she tilted her head expectantly.
Finally, he relented. “Black.”
“Doesn’t count.”
“Red.”
“Mine’s turquoise. Armie Hammer, Ivanka Trump, a wild raccoon. Fuck, marry, kill.”
