Page 44 of Boss Witch

Who knows, maybe there are a few hiding out here with me.

The mental image of a stern father in a cassock squatting in the corn nearly made Gavin laugh out loud. He had no idea what he’d say if Dale caught him. At best, this was trespassing.

To avoid potential problems in town, he’d taken the baker out for a beer to make amends, and everything seemed fine. St. Claire was overall very welcoming. Gavin doubted that would hold if he got caught doing something as sketchy as lurking in a cornfield to spy on the town oddball. And hell, Gavin didn’t want Clem thinking he was gonzo. That wasn’t a normal concern either. Usually he planned to leave as soon as he accomplished his assignment, nothing to hold him back.

On impulse, he crept closer until he managed to record a fragment of Dale’s shouting. In fact the man was starkers now and shaking a fist at the heavens, the most jaw-­dropping display Gavin had ever witnessed. Dale returned to running laps, which went on for over an hour. He was sweaty as hell when he finally stopped yelling and stumbled back into his house.

With a muttered curse, Gavin retreated through the cornfield, hoping the Ducati was still where he’d left it. Otherwise, it would be a long hike home. Even riding the Duc, it was still past 2:00 a.m. by the time he got in. He’d turned his phone off before he went on the recon run, and when he turned it on and plugged it in to charge, he had no new messages.

Surprising on one hand, normally his father would be berating him by now. Disappointing on another, because he feared Clem was already tying up the loose ends on their fling, like a package with a bow on it, ready to be presented to someone else. Dammit, he didn’t want anyone else getting their hands on Clem. She was his gift to savor.

The truth irritated him fiercely.No. She’s not. She’s not your anything.

In a foul mood, he stalked into the bathroom and scrubbed a night’s sweat off his skin, along with the dirt that clung to it. His sheets still smelled faintly like Clem, and he couldn’t gather the fortitude to wash them when he might finish his mission and get orders to move out at any time.

Maybe it’s for the best.

Settling on the bed, he closed his eyes and extended what he thought of as hunting senses. But the night was quiet; he sensed none of the magical spikes that had gotten St. Claire on the order’s radar in the first place. From what he could tell, nobody was casting spells tonight, whatever the hell Dale had been doing. Which reminded him…

He played the sound bite for his phone assistant, and when it identified the language, Gavin couldn’t hold his laughter. He laughed until his sides hurt.

“Klingon? He was shouting in Klingon.”

Since it was a poor-­quality recording, he couldn’t produce an actual translation, so for all he knew, Dale was demanding that the Trek universe come to collect him immediately.

Probably not a witch.

Sadly, to rule it out entirely, he would have to observe Dale multiple times to make sure his more eccentric behavior wasn’t a cunning ruse to throw off someone like Gavin, sandwiching actual magic between wild fits and starts. He sighed, not looking forward to more nights in the cornfield. That was special punishment, even for a bastard like him. It was like a scene from a horror film, and if he’d been attacked by a maniac with a hunting knife, he wouldn’t have been shocked.

It was nearly three by this time, far too late to think about texting Clem, who had to be up to open the shop. He forced himself to listen to a book instead, playing it until dawn crept across the floor on little mouse feet. Eventually he drifted off and dreamt of her, curled softly into his side, leaving blissful traces all over his bed.

Gavin woke with a start, someone rapping on his door. Since he rarely got visitors, he stumbled out warily, dressing in haste in a T-­shirt and a pair of athletic shorts.

To his surprise, it was Mina, the landlady who had given him advice about the area. She wore a bright smile, offering a piping-­hot plate of cinnamon rolls. “I picked some up at the bakery, and they’re too delicious not to share. If you don’t eat sugar or—­”

“I’d never turn those down,” he cut in. The pastries looked incredible, large and golden, dark with cinnamon, and drizzled liberally with a glass sugar glaze.

Mina grinned. “I feel the same way. We don’t indulge often, but sometimes I’m shopping downtown and can’t resist the smell.”

“These came from Sugar Daddy’s?” he guessed.

Despite making peace with Titus after his 5-­hour Energy fueled outburst, he doubted the baker would be glad if he popped in even as a patron. He’d stormed in because the traces of magic were strong there, but he didn’t sense anything from Titus or his sister. Ranting about witches—­ugh, he cringed just thinking about the loose hinge on his mouth that day.

“You’ve already heard of it?” She seemed delighted, like a proud auntie boasting of her relative’s achievements. “Mrs. Carminian says there are people who drive an hour to try these.”

“And all I had to do was get out of bed. You’re truly an angel to think of me.”

She glanced at his presumably rumpled hair with a teasing expression. “Sorry to wake you. Since it’s past ten, I thought you’d be up. You must’ve been burning the midnight oil.”

That was clearly an invitation to gossip, but he wasn’t about to admit what he’d been doing. “Working on my paper,” he offered.

“Understood. I won’t keep you. Enjoy the rolls. I’ll stop by tomorrow to get the plate.”

She went back down the stairs with a wave, and as Gavin settled in to enjoy the unexpected baked bounty, his phone rang.Da never fails to find the perfect moment to step on my joy, he reflected.I didn’t even get a take a bite, dammit.The moment was spoiled because he had no doubt his father would ruin his mood and his ability to savor the treat. He answered the call and waited in silence for the complaint.

“You haven’t found anything yet? Are you even looking?” came the snappish words. “I’m warning you, don’t faff about. You won’t like the results.”

I never fucking do.

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