She blew out a frustrated breath and stomped over to one of the dirty tables, wiping it down. Georgie might have been convinced I was trying to torture her, but it was the opposite. I was hoping that pitching in, doing a few chores, might give her a sense of purpose. She seemed so lost in this world, and I didn’t know how to help her find her place. She attended Thistlegrove Academy but didn’t have any friends. It wasn’t like I was the best role model. I didn’t have many friends myself, and I most definitely didn’t know how to bond with a sixteen-year-old girl.
The door to the tavern creaked open, Elm’s massive form filling the doorway, the corkscrew curls that framed his face damp with water. It must’ve already started raining, but the chatter in here drowned out the sounds of the storm.
My friend was in town visiting, and I was eager to talk with himabout these newcomers he’d been seen helping. To warn him to be careful. One look at Elm with his perfectly tailored pants, shirt, and vest was enough to know he had money. It didn’t hurt that, according to Georgie, he was “gorgeous” with his chiseled jaw and deep brown eyes. And that was enough to attract the worst of witchkind.
Behind Elm appeared two more witches. One was blonde and beautiful with long legs, a slim figure, and pale, delicate features. My gaze moved to the witch behind her, shorter but equally slim with bangs and dull brown hair that hung past her shoulders. She was plain, someone I wouldn’t look twice at if I passed her on the road, unlike the blonde witch who was turning heads as she approached. They both wore simple dresses covered in mud, their boots worn, and, of course, they were tracking muddy prints across the floor I’d just mopped.
I sighed. Just as I suspected. They weren’t wealthy, which gave them motivation to latch onto my friend, and it instantly rang alarm bells in my head.
Elm smiled and waved. He looked behind him, gesturing for the two witches to follow. What was he up to? They made their way toward the bar, and I readied myself to find out what these witches wanted with my friend.
“Is your sister supposed to be doing that?” Edgar pointed a talon in her direction.
My gaze swiveled toward my sister, who was currently sitting at a table and drinking a tankard of ale. I didn’t even know where she’d gotten the mug or how. Maybe she’d snuck behind the bar while I was distracted with the newcomers. Either way, she definitely was not supposed to be doing that.
Elm and the two witches sat on barstools. “Draven, I wanted to introduce you to?—”
“Excuse me,” I said, voice gruff as I made my way around the bar, eyes locked on Georgie. I strode toward my sister and grabbed her arm, hoisting her to her feet.
“Hey!” she said. “Let go of me.”
A few patrons took notice, glancing at us out of the corners of their eyes. Great. This was just what I needed. A spectacle in my own tavern.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I hissed.
Georgie gestured around. “Um, what everyone who comes to a tavern is doing?”
“Except you’re sixteen,” I said. “Have you drank ale before?”
“If you actually took notice of me every once in a while, maybe you’d know the answer to that question.”
What in the hellfire was that supposed to mean? Fuck, I was so bad at this. I had no idea what to do with her. If only there was someone who could get through to my sister, connect with her in a way that I couldn’t.
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” I said. “I don’t care if you’ve drank ale before. You’re not to do it again until you’re of age. Now finish cleaning the tables, then get upstairs, and we’ll talk more about this later.”
Thunder boomed outside.
Georgie stuck out her chin. “No. I want to stay down here. With you.”
She said those last two words so quietly I almost didn’t hear them.
I sighed. “I don’t have time to look after you. I’ve got an entire tavern to run, not to mention a spell that needs finessing. Like I said, we’ll talk about this later.”
I still gripped her arm, and she tried to squirm out of my grasp. “Let me go.”
“Not until you promise to do as you’re told.”
Her gaze hardened, and I knew I’d lost this battle. “No.”
“Georgie,” I warned.
“Let her go,” a voice said behind us.
I whirled around, coming face-to-face with one of the witches Elm had brought into my bar.
She raised her chin, a fire in her mahogany eyes. “Do you often pick on young girls in your establishment?”
I scoffed, unable to believe the gall of this woman. “Mind your own damn business.”