There were, actually, but the goddesses got very pissed at the types of witches who sold them. They didn’t often intervene in the lives of magicals, but when they did and found those sorts of things? They got fiery angry.Immolationangry.
That didn’t mean it didn’t happen, though.
“This isn’t an aphrodisiac hex bag. It’s a zombie-wife hex bag.”
“Did it make you think you were my wife?”
No, but it was easier to say, “Kind of,” than explain that something in me felt deeply connected to him.
“Whoa. Is that how you’d act if you were?” He grinned and picked up a pad of paper on the bar. “Adding wedding rings to the shopping list, if so.”
“Wise ass,” I muttered then said in a louder voice, “I’m investigating someone we believe spelled his estranged wife into subservience.” I looked at Cecil, who’d picked up his cookie and was happily chomping it again. “Well, lessbelieve, and morearevery fucking certainnow.”
“Who is this guy? I’ll happily punch his teeth into the wall if you need me to.” Ronan dropped the notepad and the smile. His eyes flashed gold. “Men like that give the rest of us a bad name.”
I smiled, warmed that he’d had the same reaction I had. “I think it’s more that men like you are few and far between.”
He adjusted the front of his jeans and awkwardly cleared histhroat. “Maybe don’t talk to me in that throaty voice. I’m trying to get a hold of myself over here.”
The timing was absolute garbage, but I’d never wanted to back him through the doorway to his room, throw him on the bed, and climb him like a jungle gym as much as I did right now. Even the sexual effects of the hex bag paled in comparison to how I felt now. I was kicking myself for letting life—moving into Mom’s house, Ronan’s weird hours—get between us.
“No need for you to punch his teeth in,” I said. “I’m going to do it myself.”
“You’re going to beat this guy up?”
“Yes. With magic.” I dug my cell phone out of my purse and flipped through my contacts until I landed on the one I was looking for. “And shame.”
Chapter
Five
Ronan and I ate warmed-up tacos and cookies at his breakfast bar while he grilled me on who I’d been stalking, and I steadfastly refused to tell him.
“I don’t see why it needs to be a secret.”
“It’s a job, Ronan. I can’t disclose anything at this time. Later, I’ll tell you as much as I can.”
“All right. I get it. I’ll change the subject.” He glanced over at Cecil, who was lounging on the coffee table. “Betty said you’d take a look at the property outside my pub and advise me on how to make it more welcoming to pollinators.”
The sugar must’ve finally kicked in, because Cecil leapt off the table, ran across the floor, and climbed up to the kitchen window. He surveyed the property with what I could only assume was a critical eye, since I couldn’t actually see his eyes, then demanded pencil and paper.
He sketched out a garden design while Ronan and I ate.
By the time we were finished, so was Cecil.
“This is amazing,” Ronan said, as he studied the drawing. “So detailed. You’re an artist, Cecil.”
“He’s a master gardener, too. We’ll pull together the seedlings you’ll need to put this plan into action. It’ll be fun.” I dusted my sugary fingers on a napkin.
“And lucrative,” Ronan said. “Because I’ll be paying for any work you two do here.”
“It’s not that big a deal. With a little magic, we can knock it out in an afternoon.”
“Regardless, I’m paying.” He held up a hand when I started to object again. “I’ll write it off as a bar expense. After all, it’s a beautification project, right?”
We oohed and aahed over Cecil’s design for a little while longer before I headed to the door and faced Ronan on the doorstep.
“Again, I’m sorry for what happened here. Embarrassed, too, but mostly sorry.”
