Page 2 of Boss Witch

Leanne confirmed the seal was solid, then Kerry and Priya procured the implements Ethel requested, white candles and purified water in a copper bowl, along with various ceremonial herbs. The old witch took the lead, intoning softly as she scattered the carnation and mugwort, finishing with sea salt for purity. Without prompting, they joined hands around the table, allowing Ethel to pull from their energies as she peered into the glimmering water.

At first, it was cloudy as she whispered, “Tell us, spirits, true or false, false or true. Him we seek and him we find. Let none hinder this quest of mind. Hunter, the water reveals the truth of you.”

The liquid roiled inside the bowl, gentle bubbles that slowly clarified into the image of a large man reclining in a vinyl chair. A leather jacket was slung over the back, and he was drinking a beer in a cheap motel room. He was big, but more, he radiated intensity and determination. At his feet lay a battered leather satchel. He wore battered boots and torn jeans. From head to toe, he promised danger, and if that wasn’t enough, he was ruggedly appealing too. Strong jaw, dusted with dark stubble, a shock of hair so black, it gleamed, and his eyes were an eerie silver gray. And though it was impossible, hestirredas they gazed on him, glancing around as if he felt the invisible weight of their attention.

Gazing at him, Clem felt…something straightaway. Not fear. Not exactly. It made no sense, but it resembled…inevitability.Clearly, I need to sleep more. I’m hallucinating.

Carefully, Ethel drew back, and Danica rubbed her hands together nervously. “Well?”

The old witch stared into the now-­quiescent tureen. “We’re in it now, my darlings. He’s the real deal.”

Her coven sisters sat quiet for a bit, each likely wrestling with their own fears. Diverting him might require something of Clem she didn’t want to give, but so be it.I have no plan, but I’m the fixer, right? I’ll figure something out.

Clem squared her shoulders. “No worries. I’ll handle him.”

***

A few days later, after doing some legwork, Clem came to O’Reilly’s dressed to slay with the witch hunter in her sights.

In a slinky black dress, she was too much for a wannabe Irish pub in a tiny Midwestern town that mostly succeeded at being a dive, but she still walked the room like a runway, making the most of her entrance. Multiple heads swiveled in her direction, likely because of the fuck-­me shoes and the length of leg she was showing.

She took in the room without seeming to do an obvious inspection—­wide-­open bar with a standard layout, square counter in the middle with multiple bartenders, tables and booths surrounding it, pool tables on one side. There was a stage near the back for local talent on the weekends, which was not currently in use, and the lighting was industrial. They didn’t have the budget to get burnished wood to make the place authentic, so the decor was more like a TGI Fridays threw up a bunch of Irish memorabilia, with signs like KISS ME, I’M IRISH and a framed poster of a leprechaun about to bare his ass.

Clem clocked her target in a booth near the restrooms, where he had a good view of the whole place. The witch hunter held a bottle of beer, glistening with condensation, but from the look of it, he hadn’t enjoyed more than a sip or two. His posture seemed to be relaxed, but even in her peripheral vision, she could tell that he was watchful. He was smart to start the recon here. People got loose in bars, with liquor greasing their wheels, and the hunter might learn something valuable while listening to gossip.

However, she didn’t make the rookie mistake of appearing to notice him. Instead, she sauntered to the bar and ordered an old-­fashioned. The bartender asked, “Do you have a preference on the whiskey?”

“Got Jameson?” It was a solid choice, good for mixing, not too expensive.

“What kind of an Irish pub would we be if we didn’t? Coming right up.”

In short order, she took her drink and sipped at it. Better than she might’ve expected, considering the source. It took real talent to arrange herself on the barstool and cross her legs without flashing her panties. Clem glanced toward the door like she was waiting for someone who was late then checked her phone, ostensibly looking for a text that wouldn’t ever arrive. She crossed and recrossed her legs twice before the first hopeful sidled up.

A tall, thin man in his forties with the sad eyes of a basset hound settled next to her. “Looks like you’ve been stood up.”

“I won’t give up yet,” she said in a dismissive tone.

A little flicker on her nerves, like the spark of fireflies on a summer night, told her she’d attracted the hunter’s attention. He was watching her sporadically but not with the sort of fascination she needed. Under no circumstances could she go to him, even if this meet-­cute took all night. He had to think everything was his idea, or her half-­baked gambit would fall apart. She hadn’t even risked using a charm to make herself more alluring because that might’ve pinged his radar. No, her natural appeal had to do the job. Hopefully, he wouldn’t register the fact that her necklace was quietly enchanted to dampen her aura as a witch.

“Buy you a drink?” Basset Eyes offered.

She lifted her old-­fashioned. “Thanks, I have one.”

The lack of eye contact and her flat tone discouraged him, and he eventually went to ask for the next game with some random guys shooting pool. Clem tapped furiously on her phone; to the casual onlooker, it probably seemed like she was angrily texting, when, in fact, she was bingeing the next big thing, more addictive than Candy Crush. It was a game where she played as a pop singer, and currently she was juggling three love interests, and she hadn’t yet decided who would get the happy ending, so to speak.

Another wannabe interrupted her gaming, this one far less subtle than Bassett Eyes. The guy wore a plaid shirt, a CAT cap, and had a fine farmer’s tan. “Waiting for someone?” At Clem’s reluctant nod, he added, “Well, stop. I’m here, baby. Let’s have us some fun!”

“I’m good, thanks,” she said.

He leaned in, offering her a whiff of his imitation Axe body spray. “Don’t be like that. Finish that drink and loosen up a little bit.”

The opportunity couldn’t have been more perfect if she’d hired this asshole to hassle her. He put his hands on her, and just as fast, his arm was twisted behind him, and the witch hunter was suddenly there, though she hadn’t seen him move. Towering over both of them, he was hard-­faced and silent, smelling slightly of leather and asphalt. Inky-­black hair fell in disheveled waves on either side of a strong, bony face. The hunter wrenched the other man’s wrist a little more then let go. His face didn’t reveal his emotions, but gray eyes glittered with a febrile light, like there was an ocean of darkness beneath the surface just waiting for the chance at release.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said smoothly. “You won’t bother my friend again, will you? I thought not.” His accent was crisp but not posh, a bit rough at the edges.

Clem was American enough to get a bit goofy over any English accent, even those that weren’t considered attractive across the pond. Sternly, she locked down that response. It didn’t matter if he was tall or chivalrous or had biceps as big as her head. He wasn’t handsome, but there was something deeply compelling about the directness of his gaze. At some point, his nose had been broken, maybe more than once. The witch hunter looked like he was comfortable with violence.

Nerves tried to get the best of Clem.What am I doing? This is bananas. He’llknow. With great effort, she steadied her resolve.