Page 34 of The Forty-Year-Old Virgin Witch

I kept my magick locked up tight, a skill I'd mastered from an early age.

I picked up her canvas tote, and she tossed me my kit. With a scowl, she wrung coffee out of the bottom of her suit jacket, and I couldn’t help but glance at her heels and perfectly tailored pants.

“I insist on procuring a replacement beverage.”

Resisting the urge to use magick was like telling your body to stop breathing, but I continued to tamp it down. If she knew I was a warlock, the whole jig would be up.

“Idiot. Leave me alone.”

I put my hands helplessly in the air and let her push past me. I whistled, knowing Ayah would hear and follow the woman. I managed to stay in my spot another twenty minutes, then made my way to the first empty alley I could find. After another excruciating fifteen minutes, Ayah flew down.

“Well?”

She clipped my ear with a wing for my impertinence, but sent me a mental image of the woman heading into a dive bar a few blocks down. Ayah’s sharp eyes tracked her heading to the back of the bar and disappearing behind another door.

“Ah, a witchy speak-easy. Spooky. Good job girl.”

I tossed her some jerky, which she caught and ate quickly.

“Meet you on the other side.”

I launched Ayah back into the air, then made my way toward the bar. It was easy to play the douchey guy following a pretty girl, so I had no fear about being obvious in my attempts to follow her.

Maybe you’ve gotten too good at it. Aggie wanted nothing to do with you.

Telling my inner brain to shut it, I entered the dive bar.

Man, it was gross in here. There was barely enough room to squeeze the bar in. A thin, reedy man stood behind it, and he welcomed me with a glare. A few chairs were throttled up against the counter, and the back door was on the back wall. That was it.

I felt claustrophobic immediately.

“What do you want?” the bartender snapped.

I offered a disarming smile and shoved my hands into my pockets casually.

“Saw a redhead come in here … know where she went?”

The bartender’s eyes narrowed, and a nasty grin stretched across his face. I had a feeling that the eyepatch he wore wasn’t for decorative purposes.

“She’s outta your league boy.”

Oh how nice, he was trying to help me. I only gave him another stupid grin.

“Ah well, you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take and all that.”

The man’s black mustache twitched, and I held my breath.

“I’ll enjoy watching you get kicked out. Knock on the back door and say ‘Cailleach.’” He turned away, even my ears desperately tried to make sense of the obviously Gaelic word, which sounded a lot like ‘Kaliyah’ but with the first syllable emphasized. I straightened my shoulders and headed toward the back. The bartender chuckled darkly, but I tried to ignore it.

“Ádh mór ort,” he muttered, and I just hoped it wasn’t the Gaelic version of ‘suck dick and die.’ I paused before the black door, which had iron slats over a small window.

How welcoming.

I rapped on the hard wood before I lost my courage.

“Password.”

The voice was old and properly spooky. I cleared my throat and gave it my best shot.

“Cailleach.”

There was a snort, then the door creaked open.

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