Page 6 of Corrupt Shadows

I playfully nudge her arm, then hush her as he heads behind the counter, then toward us. “Rosa, you look great as always.”

She beams, and he leans over. Half the time, I’m sure he doesn’t even realize he’s flirting. Still, his tips are always double mine.

“You look good too,” she says back, tilting her head. “I can hardly tell you’ve just had sex in an asylum.”

He looks from her to me, creasing his light brows. “Suppose you girls talk about everything.” He playfully pokes my waist, then kisses my forehead. I wince, but he doesn’t notice and follows Brittany, who doesn’t so much as glance at me, to the back.

Rosa slowly sips her cappuccino, the froth accumulating on her lip. I ignore the incredulous look, but she tsk-tsks.

“What?”

“I saw you cringe when he kissed you.”

I roll my eyes. “Look…”

“We should talk sometime about why you won’t let people close to you.”

I tap my finger against my mug. “Don’t psychoanalyze me. I am not one of your patients.”

“Exactly,” she says with a bright smile. “That’s why I’ll tell you exactly what I think. No sugarcoating needed.”

I down the rest of my coffee, then look around the diner. Despite having the interior of being stuck in the sixties—with red-leather booths, an excessive amount of chrome, and large mirrors—the windows and light fixtures have been modernized. The register is new too, with hundreds of options on the screen. I’m just waiting for an upgraded coffee machine.

At least there are no customers right now to contend with. I should start clearing the tables from the day shift before Brittany leaves in thirty minutes. “Anyway,” I say, moving on from the Jay discussion. “How is work?”

“A client canceled last minute, so I had a long lunch. Nothing new.”

“I still can’t believe you have your own practice,” I say again, my chest swelling with pride.

She grins. “There are no other sex therapists in this town, and you know they need it.”

I nod, smirking, and place my cup down. Time to work.

“You might want to cover that up,” she says before I can walk out from behind the counter. “You know Brittany will say something.” She points at my neck.

I slap my hand over the skin. “Oh, God.” I grab my purse from under the register and rush to the employee restroom. I slide myself between the sink and wall to look in the mirror. I’m a mess. The dark circles under my eyes are, well, darker. I peer closer and notice a small bruise on my neck.

He’s given me a fucking hickey. Great.

I pull the concealer from my bag and cover the bruise. By the time I finish, only a small, discolored patch is visible.

I flick the light switch, and just before the room goes dark, I glimpse my reflection. Blackness leaks into my irises. I fumble for the handle. Light spills in when I finally open the door, and I look back. My eyes are back to normal, the hazel-brown of my irises devoid of darkness.

My chest heaves. “I’m fine,” I say again. My magic is suppressed. It’s not coming out. Pull yourself together, I command myself. My mind is playing tricks. The last time my eyes were black like that, I’d just killed my last victim.

I blink twice, then push the obvious hallucination from my brain. As I close my eyes, I take in a deep breath and feel for my powers. A low hum emanates from my core; my death and shadow magic are completely numbed.

I open my eyes and breathe a sigh of relief. The worst thing that could happen in my is my magic shooting out of me again. Witches aren’t supposed to exist. Only the church knows about us, and they have eyes everywhere. I can’t risk being discovered.

Even Rosa doesn’t know she’s one. There are many folk witches, unaware of the magic in their veins. I don’t tell them. What’s the point? Folk magic only grows with practice, and they’re safer without it.

If only it was as easy to bury mine.

Jay appears in the doorway, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Brittany’s looking for you.” He makes a face, and I groan. “She wants to talk about the schedule before she leaves for the night. We have a customer. I can take care of them.”

I shake my head, as if to scatter the thoughts of the shadow in the restroom.

“Thanks.”

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