Chapter 9 #2
“He’s not—I mean, yes, maybe he smells nice, but—”
“Uh-huh,” Floria said through a grin. “And how did your airflow evaluation go?”
I sank into my chair, because at least this was safe territory. “Terribly. He caught me within ten seconds,” I admitted, dejected.
Tabitha cackled. “At least he didn’t call the guards on you.”
Zara leaned forward, eyes sharp but amused. “You know, for a witch who claims not to care, you spend a suspicious amount of time breaking into that male’s personal space.”
I groaned, dropping my head onto the table. “Why does everyone in this building know my business?”
“Because you slam doors when you’re flustered,” Floria said helpfully.
“Because the protection wards we put on the building beep when you climb the stairs,” Tasia added, giving me a slow pat on my back as I blinked at her in disbelief.
Well, shit.
“And,” Zara said, sipping her tea, “because you glow every time you talk about him.”
“I do not glow!” I gasped, heat filling my face.
“Yes, you do,” Gabbi chirped, swinging her legs. “Like a candle!”
Everyone around the table laughed. Even Ribbon gave a little croak that sounded suspiciously like agreement.
I sat up, cheeks burning, trying to glare them all into silence.
“You’re all ridiculous. There is no romance here.
None,” I argue, struggling to keep the ‘because it’s purely one-sided’ out of my sentence.
It was bad enough that I was obsessed with the most handsome orc in the world, who was incredibly talented.
I didn’t need to add unrequited to the party or it would move into the pity variety too soon for my liking.
Zara’s grin was pure witchly menace. “Then you won’t mind if I invite him to dinner next week,” she mused, strumming her fingers together. “For our coven dinner.”
My blood turned cold with dread. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would,” she purred, sounding out the last word.
Floria clasped her hands dramatically. “This is going to be so much fun,” she cried, “I’ve been dying to do some matchmaking!”
Tasia snorted, lifting Gabbi onto her lap. “At least let her bake the bread again first,” she laughed.
“Stop encouraging them!” I protested.
But they were already cackling, plotting, and arguing about which dress I should wear to ‘pretend not to care.’ I slumped against the back of my chair, muttering under my breath.
“I should’ve joined a quieter coven.”
Zara smiled sweetly. “There’s no such thing.
And even if there was, you’re stuck with us.
” She sent a wink my way, and I shook my head, pretending to be annoyed when love for them filled me up inside.
Even when they were annoying to no end, they were still the best thing that had ever happened to me.
If there was one thing my coven excelled at—aside from hexing our way out of parking fines—it was coordinated mischief.
By sunset, I knew something was wrong. Zara had been humming. Humming. She only did that before full moons, coven ceremonies, and sacrificing me to social events she refused to tell me about.
Floria had been seen chopping a copious amount of vegetables—more than anyone in our coven could eat anyway—while wearing lipstick. Tasia had put on earrings shaped like tiny cauldrons. And Tabitha—sweet ‘I’m just making stew’ Tabitha—had pulled out her treasured enchanted serving ladle.
“Why does the ladle matter?” I asked suspiciously, hovering in the doorway.
“It stirs emotions,” she said. “And occasionally soup.”
I narrowed my eyes at her, wondering where she was going with this. “What emotions?” I figured I had a right to be suspicious, but she waved me off.
“Depends who’s at the table,” she demurred.
And that was when someone knocked at the door. Three slow, deliberate knocks that were heavy enough to make the doorframe shiver in its hinges.
Zara smiled like a cat who’d swallowed a canary and framed it in gold. “Ah. As usual, he’s punctual,” she said, grinning at me.
My heart dropped into my shoes. “You didn’t,” I gasped, stepping in the direction of her bedroom, prepared to dive inside and lock the door.
“I did,” She grinned, just as Floria appeared, standing between me and the bedroom hallway like she’d played contact sports her entire life and was more than prepared to take me on.
Damn these witches and their mind-reading abilities that I didn’t know they had!
“I hate you,” I hissed at them all.
“You’ll thank me at your wedding,” Zara said without even a flinch, the smile still on her lips.
I didn’t have any more time to protest before she opened the door—and revealed the male I’d refused to visit for the past week.
Savla.
He was freshly showered with faintly damp hair tied back and his shirt sleeves were rolled up those cursed arms that I couldn’t help drooling over. He looked huge in the doorway, his eyes scanning the chaos of the large apartment like he’d stepped into enemy territory.
He was holding a box in his big hands. A handmade wooden one that was carved perfectly with patterns running along the sides. His eyes met mine and he frowned as if he was surprised to see me before glancing away.
“Uh,” he said slowly, “Zara said there was dinner?”
He looked just as confused as I was. But Zara—damn her and her machinations—clapped her hands together happily.
“There is! Come in, Sav.”
He hesitated, then stepped inside. The air shifted immediately. My coven went from rowdy to predatory matchmaking silence in half a second. It was unheard of.
I glared at Zara, hissing low enough that Savla couldn’t hear me. “You told him it was a repair request, didn’t you?”
She winked. “Semantics.”
Floria leaned over to Tasia and whispered—not quietly—“He’s even taller up close.”
Savla cleared his throat. “I can hear you.”
Floria beamed. “Good!” She leaned over to Tabitha. “Excellent hearing. Check it off the list.”
Tabitha nodded, doing so before she floated a bowl of roasted roots across the table with a flick of her wrist. “Eat. You look like you’ve worked through three meals.”
He frowned at her, those adorable little lines on his forehead creasing as he admitted, “I... did.”
“Good. Then you’re more than welcome,” she told him, shooing him into a seat right next to mine. She usually sat there, but she pulled out a chair from nowhere then pushed it in next to him.
I was mortified. Absolutely, cosmically mortified. “This wasn’t my idea,” I hissed at him as I moved closer.
He glanced at me, his lips twitching. “I didn’t think it was.”
Zara gestured grandly. “Sit. Eat. Ignore the enchanted ladle. It’s feeling flirty tonight,” she told him.
“The what?” he asked, tilting his head curiously.
“Don’t ask,” I muttered, even as it floated between us.
And then, dinner was… chaos.
Every time I tried to eat something, someone asked a question. Zara started it off with, “So, Sav, how do you feel about commitment?”
Then Floria continued the momentum with the ever-so-subtle, “Are you more of a morning cuddler or night owl?”
Tasia was up next with, “Do you like younglings? Hypothetically speaking, of course. Or small witches?”
Gabbi, whose mouth was full of bread decided to join in. “Do you like Aunty Hanna?”
I nearly inhaled my stew. “Gabbi!” I admonished.
Savla’s jaw was almost to the floor. He set down his spoon and his voice was even as he said, “She’s tolerable.”
“Tolerable?!” I sputtered.
He glanced over at me in disbelief. “Well, you’re loud, messy, and you break into my workshop. But you bake well.”
Floria gasped. “I think he’s confessing his undying love.”
“It’s not,” he said quickly, his frown back.
Zara smirked. “Denial. Classic fated-mate symptom.”
He scowled hard. “Fate’s overrated and doesn’t have a place in this conversation.”
I muttered, “So’s your attitude,” feeling heat flush into my face. Fate was not overrated.
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” he countered, turning that magnificent scowl my way.
That shut me up for a few seconds because.
.. yes. He was. Which was odd. Savla didn’t stay places he didn’t want to be.
Did that mean he was staying because of.
.. me? But that couldn’t be right. He was probably feeling obligated to be there because he’d been invited by his best friend. That was way more likely.
Tasia giggled, whispering something to Zara, and suddenly the enchanted ladle stirred the stew by itself, sending up a puff of glittering pink steam. It smelled like rosewater and honey—love spell residue.
Savla’s nose twitched. “What the hell is that?”
“Atmosphere,” Zara said serenely.
“It smells poisoned,” he muttered.
When the laughter finally died down and the plates were cleared, he reached for the box he’d brought.
“This was supposed to be a repair job,” he said, ignoring Zara’s triumphant grin. He handed it to me. “But the one that Zara gave to me was unfixable. It’s...” he trailed off for a moment, scratching the back of his neck as he looked away. “A new herb sorter. Safer than the one you melted.”
I blinked. “You made this… for me?”
He shrugged, looking at the floor. “I assume you’ll blow things up less when you’re organized.”
Tabitha sighed dreamily. “He’s so romantic.”
“I’m practical,” Savla said firmly.
“Same thing,” Zara argued, tucking her chin neatly on her hands as she watched us hawkishly.
He gave me one last look—steady, unreadable, but softer around the edges—and muttered, “Goodnight, witch,” before heading for the door.
Zara waited until it clicked shut before turning to me, smug as ever. “Well?”
I glared. “You’re all evil.”
Floria giggled. “And you’re glowing again.”
I wanted to clutch at my face and deny it, but I was almost certain the menaces were right.
Tasia lifted Gabbi’s hand. “Say it with me, sweetheart.”
Gabbi beamed. “Aunty Hanna has an orcfriend!”
“I do not!” I protested, burying my face in my hands, wondering if they could possibly be right, and how I felt about it.
The hard thump of my heart screamed that I was completely okay with the revelation.
Tabitha patted my back. “Give it time, dear. You’ll hex him into admitting it eventually,” she comforted.
I groaned into the table. “I’m never baking bread again.”
“Good,” Zara said, pouring herself more tea. “Next time, he can bring the dessert.”