Page 70 of Boss Witch

Mentally Gavin cursed. If he’d had any doubts before, he had none now.

Even if I never speak to Clem again, I can’t let them take her.

Chapter 22

Even in a crisis, life had to go on.

Clem turned up to open the shop at her usual time, after burning the midnight oil with Danica to get their house warded again. Now it was for protection, not to avert discovery, because the worst had already come to pass.

I failed my mission. Not only fraternized with the enemy but started to care about him. Even knowing what he’s done, what he’s still doing. What the hell is wrong with me?

Self-­recrimination didn’t help at all, but Clem couldn’t control the grim thoughts that circled in her head. On automatic, she magicked a series of devices, and afterward, she had to double-­check the work to ensure she’d done it correctly. Around noon, she had some walk-­in business, quick repairs she finished while the customers waited.

Getting through her shift took all her energy, and she was so relieved when Danica showed up early. She got in at one thirty and hugged Clem, sporting a worried look. Clem stifled a sigh and let it go because she understood she’d brought this on herself.

“You okay?” Danica asked.

Clem nodded. “It’s not like we broke up. I just got caught.”

Her cousin gave her a look. “You’re more upset about this than you were when you dumped Spencer.”

The sex was better with Gavin, she almost said, but that wouldn’t do anything to win the argument. Not that she had the mental energy to care about that right now.

With a dismissive gesture, she changed the subject. “I’m heading home to review the journals. Maybe I’ll find something.”

Danica nodded. “Stay sharp. He may come after you now that he knows.”

Clem acknowledged that with a grim look as she grabbed her purse. “You too. He’s aware we’re cousins. I’ll call Mom later to make sure she’s okay. I’ll check in with the rest of the coven too. If we’re lucky, maybe he’ll take Gram off our hands.”

“Clementine Odette!” Danica gaped at her, eyes wide.

Apparently, there were some lines her cousin wouldn’t cross, even when she was pissed. But what the hell, there was a reason people agreed that Danica was the nice one. Clem didn’t backpedal. She only muttered, “What’d I say about calling me that?”

Danica didn’t let up on the intense glare. “She’s out of chances with me too, but don’t say stuff like that. No matter how awful she is, she’s still family.”

Clem paused at the door, frowning. “Why does that matter? Blood isn’t everything. Like, it’s kind of the problem, honestly. Gram’swaytoo into our lineage, and it’s twisted her up inside. So why does she get a pass, just because we’re related? At what point do we say, ‘You know what, I’m sick of this’? Personally, I think we’re better off refusing to interact with her until she agrees to respect our choices.”

The long pause told Clem that Danica didn’t have an answer. Being nice only went so far; as far as Clem was concerned, beyond a certain point, it became self-­harm.

I’m not a fucking martyr, even if I volunteered to take Gavin on.

Without waiting to hear whatever excuse her cousin would’ve come up with, she wheeled and stormed out, pissed on multiple levels. She didn’t let anger make her careless, however, and she kept her head on swivel scanning for potential witch hunter complications all the way home. She walked at a rapid clip, but Gavin didn’t show.

Don’t know how I feel about that. Is he reporting in? This is terrifying.

Clem didn’t feel safe until she got inside the house and the wards closed around her like a pair of loving arms. As she poured a glass of juice, her phone beeped, signaling a message. She was wound tight enough that she juggled the glass, sloshing one of Danica’s green concoctions all over the floor. Her heart pounded like a jackhammer when she checked it.

Gavin: Be careful.

That was all.

What’s that supposed to mean? Is he warning me or does that constitute a threat?

Dammit.

Even more confused and aggravated, Clem downed her juice like it was hard liquor and went to pore over the pile of journals she’d borrowed from Ethel. As before, the reading was slow and tedious, but in June of 1933, she struck gold.

The worst has come to pass,Etta Mae had written.I’ve no idea what will become of us. We got comfortable and careless, I think, stopped worrying that anyone would be hunting for us at all. The old panics seemed so long ago, nothing a modern witch must fear.

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