Page 61 of Witch Please

Danica hiccupped, trying to staunch the flood of tears. “I know. S-sorry. It’s so dumb, being this upset over someone I haven’t been seeing that long, but Clem, he’s…perfect.”

With a muffled curse, her cousin offered a hug and let Danica cry it out. Clem mumbled something that Danica didn’t quite catch; it somehow sounded like “Tell me about it.” But when she asked for clarification, Clem shook her head.

“Never mind. We can talk about my problems another time.”

“Did you meet the witch hunter, by the way?”

For a moment, Clem looked startled, almost guilty, and her gaze cut away, over Danica’s left shoulder. “Uh, yeah. I definitely did.”

“He doesn’t suspect, right?”

“Please, who am I? Of course not. I made it look like the usual bar pickup.”

“How did you track him down?” Anxiously, she imagined the witch hunter finding them because Clem had searched for him magically.

“It was easy. I stopped by the fire station during coffee klatch and followed the senior gossip. Apparently he likes to drink at O’Reilly’s.”

She had to admit that was clever. O’Reilly’s was a dive on the way out of town, a white building with a deck and plenty of free parking. The owner, Tim O’Reilly, called it a pub, but it was a regular bar, decorated by someone who had never been to Ireland or a pub. The beer was decent, the music was terrible, but the pool tables were pretty fun.

Biting her lip, she studied her cousin’s closed expression. “I’m worried about you. How far will you go to distract him?”

“Does it make sense for you to focus on me right now? You’ve got Gram in town, wild magic, a mundane boyfriend to let down easy, and—”

“Okay, stop listing my problems, please. I get the point. And I’ll listen to you from now on, I promise.”

“About time,” Clem muttered. “I just hope it’s not too late.”

“Why isn’t the spellbook working?” That was on her mind a lot, and deep down, she feared it was because she was already losing her powers, the Waterhouse curse kicking in.

“Who knows?” Her cousin gave her a one-armed hug.

“What’s the hunter like anyway?”

“His name’s Gavin Rhys. He’s big, angry, got a great ass and strangely compelling eyes. Very into mouthy brunettes.” Clem winked as she stood up. “And I need to get ready because I’m meeting him later.”

“Be careful,” Danica said.

Her cousin waved a dismissive hand, jogging up the stairs presumably to turn herself into a walking wet dream. Normally, Danica would be up there, sitting on the bed, offering wardrobe suggestions, but this wasn’t a normal date, and she couldn’t treat the risk Clem was taking lightly. Imagine how furious Rhys would be if he figured out Clem had played him. Witch hunters were stern and allegedly incorruptible. He might well snatch her cousin and disappear her into the labyrinth of hunter justice.

“Maybe I should go with you?” she called.

“Hell no,” Clem yelled back. “He’s looking for you in particular, dumbass. There’s a chance you’ll ping his radar, no matter how well you’re shielded. I’d rather not risk it.”

“Fine.”

Eventually, her cousin came down in a sleek red dress that didn’t look like much until she turned; nearly her entire back was exposed, with little beaded ropes that swayed gracefully against her spine holding the garment together. She wore no jewelry, but her makeup was on point with focus on eyes and lips. She’d chosen retro-sexy shoes, red-and-white lace-up Mary Jane pumps with thin heels. All told, Clem looked like a witch who meant to slay.

“Wow,” she said.

Her cousin twirled. “Right? Honestly, he’ll be lucky to remember his own name when I’m done with him.”

Danica bit her tongue, restraining more cautionary words. Since she was the reason they were in this mess in the first place, it hardly made sense for her to rein in Clem. Soon after her cousin left, her phone buzzed with a two-word message from Gram.Call me.Ice surged in her bloodstream again, but delaying the confrontation would only make matters worse. Maybe she could calm her grandmother if she responded promptly.

Taking a deep breath, she put the call through, giving thanks that she no longer found her grandmother’s face peering out of her cereal bowl. The old witch answered on the second ring. “We need to talk.”

That never goes anywhere good.

Still, she tried to feign innocence. “About what?”

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