“Quit apologizing. I’ve already forgiven you for giving me the worst case of blue balls since the last time we slept together,” he said, mocking me with an exaggerated look of pain.
“Oh, stop playing the martyr. You aren’t the only one who suffered that night, Pallás.” I gave him a look that wiped the fake pain right off his face. “And every night since.”
I set Cecil on my shoulder and went down the steps to the street.
“You are the whole damn package, Betty Lennox,” he called after me. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but it always hit me the same way. “And I can’t wait to unwrap you.”
“Stop playing so hard to get then,” I replied without looking back.
I strolled past the pub door on my way to the car. There was a hand-written sign taped to it that listed Cinco de Mayo specials. Like the door, it was spelled to only be visible to paranormals. I knew that because I’d spelled the sign for Gladys, who still worked for Ronan when she felt like it.
My cell rang when I was halfway to the car. “Friday night, Betty Lennox. You, me, a bottle of wine. Maybe somecookies. Definitely dinner.”
Every nerve ending in my body crackled to life. The man was good.
“It’s a date,” I said.
“Oh, it’s more than that. Pack a bag.” He ended the call.
“Holy smokes,” I whispered, fanning myself.
Now, I wasn’t a fool.
Ronan hadn’t yet told me exactly why he’d been freezing me out. There was a chance he wouldn’t make it Friday night, for reasons that would no doubt piss me off, but I wasn’t going to waste time being preemptively angry about it.
Frankly, I needed all the joy and positivity I could muster right now. My next stop was the home of a person I despised even more than corporate farming practices and armpit sweat. Unfortunately, talking to her was necessary.
Because there was no way I was going to be able to take down Desmond Mace without drawing the attention of the head witch of the La Paloma coven.
Margaux Ramirez,the coven mother of the La Paloma witches, was an uptight, insufferable ass and a bad friend.
I’d said that last part to her face when she’d showed up at my place with Alpha Floyd, and I still meant it. The coven worked with the wolf shifter pack, was on retainer last I’d heard, and that alone was reason enough to dislike her. But there were other reasons, too. More than even her betrayal of my mother.
Because the fact that Bronwyn hadn’t felt comfortable going to her own coven mother with her suspicions about Desmond was very telling.
“Disgusting. I can’t believe he did this.”
Bronwyn’s voice was hushed. There were probably customers nearby.
I rolled up my window and raised the volume on my hands-freesystem so I could hear her better. “Honestly, it shocked me, too. Cecil found the bags in every room and throughout the yard. That’s a lot of work, and Desmond is the laziest witch in your coven. My mom had nothing but disdain for his work ethic.”
“Guess he found a reason to get off his ass.” It was uncanny to hear her grouse. Misplaced and odd, like hearing a librarian scream or a funeral director laugh.
“Maybe, maybe not. He could’ve had someone else do it for him.”
Bronwyn went quiet. “You’re thinking someone in the coven, aren’t you?”
Indeed I was. Something was wrong in that group of witches. Worse yet, if Margaux wasn’t complicit, that meant she was unable to control her witches. Not good.
“I won’t know for sure until I talk to the wickedest of witches in town—and I don’t mean that in a good way.”
“Margaux? Do you really think that’s necessary?”
I blinked at the phone. “You don’t?”
“If Desmond’s responsible, and if, as you say, someone in the coven helped him do it, I just don’t understand how we can trust her.” She sighed. “I feel filthy even saying that about my coven mother, but I’m worried.”
“Hey, hey, now,” I said, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. No one said anything about trusting Margaux.”
