Page 5 of The Forty-Year-Old Virgin Witch

Two

The next day I tried to forget about both of them after having a long chat with Damon about who not to let through the property wards. For his part, Damon mostly ignored my tirade and slunk out to the back garden to catch himself a fat mouse.Men.

“This is why I’m better off without them, regardless of species.”

My hand felt better and only a lingering soreness remained, as if I had only sprained it instead of smashed it against a vampyre’s face.

I sighed.

I was still without beer, but knowing I had deliveries today, I took care with my attire. Usually I wore a tank top with a cardigan over top (the weather here was rather unpredictable) paired with a long skirt and flip flops. Knowing it was delivery day, I traded the skirt for yoga pants and my sandals for sensible sneakers (or trainers, as they called them here). I donned all of my necessary jewelry, including bracelets, rings, necklaces, and a cute headband to keep my unruly hair out of my face. Ready to work, I threw myself into getting my orders for the week ready to go.

“Two bundles of lavender and sage for Mrs. Halfpenny, and that tonic for Mr. Edinboro.”

The plants felt good against my skin, helping me relax. Most witches had some affinity for the earth, in addition to whatever coven or bloodline ability they were born with. As such, I was an excellent gardener and enjoyed the business of nearly everyone in the village when it came to oils, herbs, flowers, and even a few tinctures for headaches or the common cold.

I was accepted here. No one thought it was odd for a woman to live alone and toil in a garden. There were no nightclubs, no swarms of family members with their expectations, or others who tried to get close to you for political reasons.

I brushed off my hands and packed everything neatly in a small wagon. Delivering my bundles was usually the most social I was in the village, the incident at the pub notwithstanding. I flicked the rusted lock with force and opened the white gate.

CLINK.

I looked down, frowning when I saw a third jug of beer sitting on the stone path, just outside of the property line. Those scoundrels. Well, free beer was still free beer, regardless of who brought it. I managed to heft it into my small refrigerator with minimal fuss inside, then headed back out to my wagon. To my consternation, there was a small, brown wolf plushie with green eyes sitting neatly on top of my orders.

“Oh honestly.”

I looked around but knew I wouldn’t see anyone. Ruffled, I picked it up and examined it. It seemed ordinary enough, and it was rather cute. I tucked it into my wagon, oddly touched. No one had really ever given me a gift—or at least, not without some sort of string attached. Was it normal to give a woman gifts after she had shouted at you and chased you off the property?

I’m looking for a mate.

I refused to dwell on it as I meandered down the cobblestone path.

I loved the early morning time, when the sun was not yet high in the sky and everything was still covered in cool, dewy freshness. Birds chirped and insects buzzed, and I felt more of my magick slide into my hands. I really needed to spend more time meditating.

Mrs. Wanesworth was up first, and I delivered her normal bundle of wildflowers without fuss. The rest of my deliveries were smooth and easy, with hardly anyone home. Those were the best ones—I could set my package neatly on their front step and continue on my way without any fuss. It wasn’t as though I disliked anyone—I just usually had nothing to say back when they wanted a chat. Chatting led to questions about me and my family, and well … that was a non-starter.

Mr. Barner was more of a challenge though, as he waved to me from his front garden. Barner was a widower now, and didn’t see other people regularly besides me, with the rest of his family in the States. Because of this, I usually granted him more leeway with my time and patience. It made me feel guilty—after all, Mr. Barner would give anything to have his family around him, and I had run away from mine.

After an hour or so of awkward chitchat, the sweat was gathering on Mr. Barner’s brow, so I made my excuses. The sun hung high in the sky, and I sighed in resignation. Mrs. Halfpenny was the last delivery on purpose, since her cottage sat at the top of a large hill. It always helped to have the wagon as empty as possible when I began the trek, but the increasing heat and humidity was not going to be fun. Normally I could cast a small cooling charm, but I was trying to conserve what little magick I did have for my hand. I would have to do this the hard way.

A quarter of an hour later, her house appeared over the crest of the hill, and I arrived panting and covered in sweat. Mrs. Halfpenny saw me coming from her kitchen window and raced out to meet me.

“You poor dear! You really should let me do pickup like I’ve suggested. Getting up here by foot is such a trial!”

I waved her concerns away as usual. My weekly deliveries were good for me; forced socialization and physical exertion always were, right? Or at least, they were supposed to be. Everything in moderation, after all.

Mrs. Halfpenny scanned my sweat-soaked tank top and yoga pants, and tutted in that way only a bossy, lovable mother hen could. I crossed my arms self-consciously, my many rows of bracelets jingling against my wrists.

“BRING THE LEMONADE DEAR!”

I jumped, impressed at the deep yell that came from such a timid-looking elderly woman whom I had thought lived alone. She shot me an apologetic look.

“Sorry about that. My nephew’s been traveling abroad the past year, but he's visiting for a few weeks. He’ll be just a minute.”

I gave her a tight smile as I handed over the last bundle. “If that’s everything—”

My eyes froze on the figure who came bounding out of the house, cheerfully hefting a full pitcher of lemonade and carrying an empty glass with ice. He nearly stumbled when he saw me, his gaze going immediately to my wagon. He spotted the wolf plushie and a stupid, dopey grin lit up his face.

“Knew you couldn’t stay away!”

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