Page 53 of Strike It Witch


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I sent power into the charm and put it on. The back of my head itched like crazy, and I smelled blood.

“Your pupils are the same size again, thank goddess.” Bronwyn helped me to my feet. “I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”

“I assume you reported what I told you to the coven, and they made you follow me.”

She sighed. “My intention wasn’t to betray you. I was worried, and I called the coven mother to ask for advice.”

“It was an accident. We wouldn’t have hit her so hard if we’d known she wasn’t a shifter. We didn’t intend to— Noo, not my face,” the second man yelled.

“Bronwyn,” I said, “I’m not a fool. I knew you’d call for guidance. Covens always come first.” I touched the back of my head. The wound was healed, but my hand came away covered with blood. “Got to admit, though, didn’t foresee you following me. Tracking spell on the package?”

“You told me after I’d already handed you the seeds.” She gave me a pained smile. “So, I put it on Fennel’s collar.”

The first man shrieked, “Please, lady, get your damn … cat.”

Neither of us paid him any attention.

“You cast a spell on his collar, and Fennel didn’t pick up on it?” I’d never let him live this down. “I didn’t see your eyes glow.”

“A quick look down was all I needed. The spell won’t last long. Maybe a couple weeks.”

Damn. Bronwyn was more powerful than I’d given her credit for. She was a learned witch, not an elemental, and people tended to underestimate the learned. I wasn’t one of those people, but even I hadn’t expected her to be this good.

“Well, thank you for betraying me to the coven, since it worked out well this time.”

She sighed. “Really wish you wouldn’t put it like that.”

“One thing you should know about me, Bronwyn, I calls it like I sees it.” My head felt a bit floaty while the charm did its work. “Okay, you can let these dumbasses go, Fennel.”

The men, one shirtless and in jeans and the other dressed in a sleeveless T-shirt and shorts—unfortunate choices for a run-in with a pissed-off cat—were sprawled on the ground, their blood making mud with the dirt beneath them. If I were a dark magic earth elemental, I’d have scooped that mud up into my bag and taken it home.

Since I wasn’t, I’d have to burn the blood out of the soil after the fools got up.

The men groaned, rolled onto their bellies, and pushed to their feet. Shirtless Man scraped mud off his sliced-up chest. “Damn, that cat’s mean as hell. Do you have any of his kittens for sale?”

Fennel hissed, and the man’s eyes widened. “It was a compliment, dude.”

“No, and if I did, you two are the last people I’d allow to adopt them.” Actually, if Fennel did father kittens, I’d keep every single freaking one. But I was pretty sure he was fixed—or at least able to control his baser urges.

“Aww, c’mon, don’t be mean,” he said.

“Tell me who you are,” I said. “Now.”

“I’m Kale,” the shirtless one replied.

Kale was tall and good-looking in a burn-out sort of way. He appeared to be Mexican-American, though his name certainly wasn’t.

“I’m Denzel. No relation,” Denzel said, with a bloody smile. He was whip-thin, and had the pallid white skin of a man who required sunscreen in a well-lit room.

“If you’re referring to Denzel Washington, god of masculine beauty and divine acting, no shit Sherlock,” I drawled.

Bronwyn snickered.

“Tell me about the front door knocker,” I said.

No-relation Denzel smirked at Kale. “What’s to tell? Doorbell’s broken.”

“Go, Fennel,” I said.