“Yes.”
Her gaze slides slowly from the cake to me. She arches a brow. It’s so pointy, it almost looks dangerous.
Something about it irks me, like a thorn piercing through my glove and right into my finger. “What?” I grumble.
“I don’t believe you.” She sniffs the air. “It smells...good.”
“And you think I’m incapable of such a thing?”
This time when she tips her head, a stray red curl tumblesacross her cheek. “Yup.”
“Fine.” I reach for her plate, meaning to take it and put it away. Seems she won’t be needing it. But she snatches it up at the last moment, her thin pale fingers brushing mine.
And they’rewarm. Almost hot. Like she has a fever. Or like a fire burns just beneath her skin.
“You don’t want it, give it back.” I hold my hand out, trying to ignore the funny feeling the brief brush of our fingers caused in me. I tell myself it’s just because I haven’t touched anyone—or been touched—in so long.
“I didn’t say I don’t want it. Just that I don’t think you made this.”
“Right. The kitchen sprites did.”
Her eyes widen. “I knew it.”
A heavy sigh whooshes out of me. I’m too hungry for her nonsense.
Taking up the knife, I carefully slice myself a piece of carrot cake and move it onto my plate. And only when I’ve taken a bite and closed my eyes at how perfect I got the buttercream frosting does the witch finally cut her own slice and give it a try.
“Goddesses spare me,” she says around a mouthful of cake and frosting. Her whole body slumps, like her bones went soft at one taste of my perfect recipe. She shovels another forkful into her mouth. “Juniper, you’ve got to try this.”
I arch a brow as the rat climbs cheerfully out of the witch’s sweater pocket and takes a seat at the edge of the plate, scooping little pawfuls of cake up, whiskers twitching.
Must be the witch’s spirit companion, surely. There’re all sorts of exotic animals around here. I’d know, since I’m theone who often has to clean up after them. That’s one of my least favorite jobs—by far.
I’m only halfway through my slice when the witch sits back in her chair with a groan, the plate empty in front of her, save for the rat—Juniper?—licking up the crumbs. “That was way too good. I think I’m in a food coma already.”
I smile just a bit—it’s been a while since anyone tried my cooking. Always feels good to feed someone something they appreciate. Even if she is just a delinquent student.
She stretches her arms overhead, yawns, and then levels her crimson gaze on me.
And something in it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end—though whether in a good way or a bad way, I’m not yet sure.
“So . . . I don’t see you around much.”
I take another bite and shrug my shoulders. I’m around plenty; I just prefer to do my work out of sight. Means I have to talk to fewer people that way.
The witch leans forward, arms crossed on my bistro table. It makes me lean away from her, though I’m not quite sure why.
“You a recluse or something?”
The laugh that slips out of me is surprising. I don’t laugh much, especially around the students. They’re usually just a weed in the garden that is my day. But this fire witch has disturbed the soil, and she’s making everything feel a bit... different.
“Something like that,” I say. After taking my last bite of carrot cake and savoring the sweetness, I wipe my mouth with a linen napkin and level a stare at her. If she wants totalk so badly, maybe she can talk about herself. “What’d you do to land in community service?”
Her forehead crinkles, a sharpness appearing in her eyes.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
