Witch For Hire (Witch For Hire 1)

“Good, because this time I’m aiming for eternal love.”

I quicken my steps, feeling his gaze on my back long after I emerge from the park and arrive at my car. He shot holes in things I believed to be fact and held up a mirror. The reflection was ugly. The bottom just fell out, and nowhere near the way I expected it to. As I grip the steering wheel tight, tears slip from my eyes and roll down my face. Where does this all leave me? He ’fessed up to holding back information to get me. I would never have stayed if I knew what it meant. Would I?

Either way, the choice was taken from me. Holding on to my indignation, I wipe away my tears with the back of my hand. I prefer anger to sorrow, so I’ll ride it out as long as I can until I’m forced to face it. I have enough dealing with reintegration into my family ... oh, and mastering the new flaming green fire that shoots from my fingertips. No biggie.

***

I rush through the house, shoving boxes into a room and closing the doors on the mess. I’ve been in my home a week, and I’m still settling in. It’s a mini-miracle Sacha agreed to come by for lunch. She’s been out of town tending to family business since I moved back. I wouldn’t blame her if she told me to take a short walk off a long pier. I didn’t have blood siblings growing up; I had Sacha. One of the Morels, she knows all too well what life is like growing up in one of the ruling witch families.

Setting the po’ boys on the table, I grab two baskets full of homemade potato chips fresh out the fryer, and a glass of Sun Tea I brewed fresh the day before, and put it all together for her. I still know all her favorites. It’s obvious I’m trying to butter her up, but I deserve to do a little groveling. Family doesn’t bail the way I did without so much as an explanation. I straighten the Magnolias in the vase and pause as I sense her coming toward me. Time blurs.

Blood rushes in my ear as I walk to the door, and open it with shaky hands. The aquamarine Avanti Studebaker makes me smile. The old car is still trucking. Handed down in her family, it’s b

een driven by all three of her brothers before her. I see she couldn’t stand to part with the old girl.

As she pulls into my driveway, I step out on the porch and shove my hands into the pockets of my heather-gray cable knit cardigan to keep from fidgeting. She steps out of the car, the same girl I once knew, but older now. Her round face is surrounded by a riot of ash blonde curls mixed with light brown that contrasts with her tawny skin.

Hazel-colored deep-set eyes are fringed with thick lashes and eyebrows. She’s curvier. It looks good on her five-foot-eleven frame. My stomach twists and turns. This must be what a dish towel feels like when it’s wrung out.

A thin sheen of sweat covers my forehead, and my palms grow sweaty.

“I’m sorry.” The words rocket out of my mouth like vomit. It’s not enough, but it’s the only way to start things off on the right foot.

She arches a thick softly-arched brow. “You should be.”

And the first hit is made.

I nod, accepting the harsh truth. “Come on in. I made lunch … po’ boys, homemade chips, and Sun Tea.”

She whistles. “Pulling out all the stops?”

I wave her off. “It’s the least I can do. Thanks for agreeing to see me.”

She shakes her head. “Cypress isn’t a big town. Avoiding one another and making things more awkward than they need to be is ridiculous. We’ve never been enemies. This is about seeing if we can actually be real friends again.”

I shove my hands in the pockets of my blue jeans. “Fair enough. Please ignore the mess spilling over in places. I’m still attempting to move in.”

“Not a problem.”

We move to the espresso-colored wood bar top table and take our seats. Seated across from the closest thing I have to a sister next to Fel, I’m at a loss for words. I force myself to chew and drink as my mind spins. The ball is in my court.

“I don’t even know where to start,” I admit.

“An explanation would be nice.” Sarcasm drips from her words like poison from a candy apple.

“I’ll try. But I don’t know if you’ll understand it. I’m still trying to process it. I always knew what Cristobal was. I thought I understood what that meant for us. Until the moment I realized I didn’t at all. I won’t go into details because those belong between the two us.” My voice warbles. This is the first time I’ve spoken about it to anyone in detail. “Suffice to say, by the time the light bulb went off, I was past being over my head and drowning in the deep waters. I wondered if I ever truly knew him. I was young and stupid, so I ran scared. I didn’t think beyond escape and space. The first few weeks on the road were hell. I looked for him in every face, dark corner, and though he wasn’t there physically he remained in my thoughts. It was a lonely, painful process.”

“If he hurt you …” Fire flickers in her gaze.

“I hurt myself. I went into a magical withdrawal. Being cut off from the very source that created me ate me up.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” she whispers, her expression looking pained. “Disconnecting that way would be like a death of sorts.”

“Yes.” I nod my head in agreement, remembering the incredible silence that came from tuning out nature and the vibrations with a powerful spell, the last one I did for years. “You’ll understand why I had to keep my distance for an undetermined amount of time. Like an addict, being around it would make me want to use again.”

“Why?”

“Have you ever doubted all of this?”