Page 2 of Hooked on a Witch
Her gaze drifted back to the stranger. Was he druid, warlock, or something else? No menacing aura colors came off him. One more second of gawking wasn’t going to hurt.
His head swiveled in her direction. Caught.
Good Lord.She knew him.
Jason Merck. She’d thought about him a time or two—okay maybe more than a few dozen times—since she’d come down from New York City to her family’s coastal estate two days ago in preparation for this meeting. Ten years since she and Jason had…
You don’t need this distraction.He must’ve concurred since he disappeared into the pool hall in the back without acknowledging her. His dismissal hurt, even though it shouldn’t matter.
“Shannon?” asked a heavily accented male voice.
She jumped. With a turn she faced the Asian standing less than a foot away. On reflex she accepted his outstretched hand for a shake.
She’d expected someone older, someone with graying hair, not a guy barely out of adolescence with short-cut dark hair and small glasses.
He slid onto the open barstool next to her.
“How does this work?” she asked.
“Buy me a drink. I like rum.” He smiled a wide expanse of white teeth but his eyes remained sharp. The smile wasn’t for her. It was for those nearby. In the South everyone watched, keen to witness others’ business. An Asian in the bar would be the talk of the hair salon tomorrow.
As they waited for their drinks, she drummed her fingers. Small talk with him seemed absurd. Besides, he ignored her to scroll through screens on his cell phone. His body tensed and lips thinned as he read a message. Anger and fear aura hues swirled around him, but then went to gray, which was a color she couldn’t interpret. It represented the intersection of many emotions. Only when she knew a person well could she put context and personality together to understand a gray aura’s meaning.
What if this didn’t work and the item was a fake? She dreaded the disappointment of another dead end in a series of failures. Her family depended on her. They may consist of druids and witches who could protect themselves against humans or magical beings of equal ability, but not against her would-be executioner.
Her reflection in the mirror behind the bar startled her. The wide-eyed woman wasn’t her. It couldn’t possibly be Shannon Randolph, the adventure camerawoman who filmed documentaries and journalistic pieces in unstable countries. The Shannon she was familiar with had happy blue eyes and an easy smile. That woman liked making people laugh and encouraging others to try new things.
Everything had changed when her mother was murdered and she’d been framed for theft.
Harnish stopped typing when the bartender slid their drinks in front of them. He took a single sip of the rum. “I emailed you the account. Transfer the bitcoin. Once I have the money, I’ll give it to you.”
A few clicks on her phone and the bitcoin she’d spent an hour last night learning how to purchase had been sent.
His phone dinged.
“Got it. The scrying glass is yours.” He removed a small cloth-wrapped item from his cargo pants and put it in her hand. His face scrunched up as he gave her a cursory once-over. “You don’t look the type to use this sort of thing. You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Any hints?” The item in the soft cloth emitted a foul energy that alarmed her. Instinct urged she give it back to Harnish and find another way.This is the end of the line.
“Not my area of expertise. I sell. You use.”
She shoved the small, wrapped item into her jeans and stood. Dizzy, she grabbed the wooden bar counter. Fatigue played a factor in her stress of the past few weeks, but she hadn’t experienced vertigo before. Maybe this was reaction to the item?
“You sure you’re feeling alright?” He flashed a weird smile before it disappeared.
Crap. She’d been played.
