Chapter Eight
Bridget Winslow
A Witch Walks Into a Bar…
The pub’s warmth envelops me as we step inside.
The Frosty Pine, despite its name, is anything but cold.
The noise of raucous laughter and the clinking of steins assaults my ears.
The scent of beer and hearty stew mingles with the earthy aroma of hay strewn across the floor. Interesting décor choice.
My hand is wrapped around his arm as he guides me through the crowd. Even through the sleeve of his shirt, touching him sends whispers of excitement through me. Excitement that has no place in my thoughts. I clench my jaw, fighting to maintain composure.
I’m here on a mission, I remind myself sternly. This man, no matter how intriguing, no matter how he makes my insides feel, is just a means to an end.
“Over here,” Bast says, nodding toward a secluded booth in the corner. “It’s a bit quieter.”
I slide into the booth, the worn leather seat creaking beneath me. Bast settles across from me, his dark eyes never leaving my face. The intensity of his gaze unnerves me. It’s as if he can see right through me, past the carefully constructed facade I’ve built.
“So.” A hint of a smile plays at his lips. “Are you going to keep those on while we have a drink?” He gestures to my sunglasses.
My heart rate quickens. Crap on a cracker. Please be normal again. Please be normal again. I’m wishing for the green glow to be gone, but I still feel the magick. I know it’s still there and I have no idea how to explain it. And I can’t tell him I’m a witch.
With a deep breath, I reach up and slowly remove the sunglasses. I keep my eyes lowered for a moment, steeling myself, before finally meeting Bast’s gaze.
His sharp intake of breath tells me what I already know—my eyes are still glowing that unnatural green. I brace myself for his reaction, ready with a flimsy excuse about costume contacts.
But Bast surprises me. He leans in, his expression one of wonder rather than fear or disgust. “I’ve never seen eyes like yours before,” he says softly. “They’re beautiful.”
I feel heat rise to my cheeks, and I curse inwardly at my body’s betrayal. “They’re…not usually like this,” I manage, my voice tense. “It’s complicated.”
Bast’s hand moves as if to reach for mine, but he stops himself.
A mix of relief and disappointment washes over me. I’m grateful for the distance, yet a part of me also desires the connection he offers.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, his tone reassuring. “I’m used to unusual things.”
My mind races. Does he know about witches? Is it safe to ask? The pub is too public, too noisy. I can’t risk exposure, not when I’m so close to finding Meredith Banfield. He has to know something. He’s friends with the witch from Ash Hollow. At least I’m ninety-five percent sure she’s a witch…
“Well,” I say, forcing a light laugh, “I suppose that’s a relief. I was worried you might think I was some kind of monster.”
Bast’s eyes darken for a moment, and something flashes across his face—an emotion I can’t quite place. “Trust me,” he says, “you’re no monster.”
A server approaches, breaking the tension that has built between us. “What can I get for you folks?” she asks, her cheery tone at odds with the medieval costume she wears.
“I’ll have a pint of the house ale,” Bast says, not taking his eyes off me. “And for the lady…?”
I consider for a moment. I need to keep my wits about me, but I also need to blend in. “The same,” I say, keeping my eyes downcast toward the menu.
As the server leaves, I seize the opportunity to steer the conversation where I need it to go. “So, Bast,” I begin, “you must know all about the local history, working at the Faire. Any interesting…folklore in these parts?”
I glance up at Bast through my lashes, a small smile playing on my lips. His eyes are fixed on me and I feel a flutter in my stomach that I quickly suppress. Focus, Bridget.
“Not really. This is ranch country. I mean, there’s some Bigfoot stories. But every small town has ghost stories, you know.”
I nod, a flicker of frustration igniting in my chest. His evasiveness only confirms my suspicions—there’s something here, buried beneath casual deflections and charming smiles.
“Oh, of course,” I say, keeping my tone purposefully light and cheerful. Clearly, Bast isn’t going to volunteer information easily, but that only makes me more determined to uncover the truth.
Shifting tactics, I lean in slightly, my eyes never leaving his face. “What about the Faire itself?” I ask. “It seems like such a big event for a small town.” I watch him closely, searching for any hint of unease or hesitation that might betray the secrets I’m quite sure he’s guarding.
Bast lights up at this, his earlier reticence fading. “The Faire’s been a tradition here for about two decades now. It started small, just a handful of locals putting on a show, but it’s grown into something pretty special.”
“It must take a lot of work to put together something like this. Are you involved in the planning?”
“I help out where I can,” Bast says with a modest shrug. “Mostly with the sword-fighting demonstrations and the dueling arena. It’s a community effort, really. Everyone chips in.”
“That’s impressive,” I say, my voice warm with admiration that’s not entirely feigned. “It must bring the whole town together.”
Bast nods, a fond smile playing on his lips. “It does. For a few days each year, we all get to step out of our normal lives and into this magickal world we’ve created.”
Magickal. That’s what I need to hear more about. “It certainly feels magickal here. Like anything could happen.”
Bast’s eyes meet mine. In the warm light of the pub, I can see flecks of gold in his deep brown irises. “Anything just might,” he says, his voice a low rumble that sends very real shivers down my spine.
For a moment, we just stare at each other, the air between us charged with an energy I can’t quite explain. I’m acutely aware of how close we are, of the warmth radiating from him. His presence is magnetic, drawing me in despite my best efforts to maintain distance.
My gaze travels over his features, taking in the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. He’s undeniably handsome. A lock of dark hair falls across his forehead, and I have to resist the urge to reach out and brush it back.
The scent of him too—a heady mix of pine, leather, and something wild and untamed—fills my senses. It’s intoxicating. Heat creeps up my neck. My skin tingles with awareness.
My heart pounds in my chest, so loud I can’t hear anything else. This attraction, this pull toward him, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s dangerous, distracting. Everything I’ve been taught to avoid.
Being with a man steals a witch’s magick.
And yet I can’t look away from him. Can’t pull back. The rational part of my brain screams at me to focus on the mission, to remember why I’m here. But for this moment, suspended in time, all I can think about is the way Bast’s eyes seem to see right past all my carefully constructed walls.
I wet my lips nervously, watching as Bast’s gaze flicks down to follow the movement. And then I clear my throat, pulling back slightly. Stay on task, Bridget. “So, um, what else can you tell me about the town? Any favorite spots or hidden gems a tourist like me should know about?”
The server returns with our drinks, and I use the interruption to gather my screaming hormones back into the box where they belong. As she sets down the mugs, I catch Bast watching me, his gaze intense. I wrap my fingers around the cool glass, using it as an anchor.
Bast takes a sip of his ale, considering my question. “Well, if you’re looking for hidden gems, you can’t miss Mystic Brew. It’s this little tea/coffee shop just off Main Street. Marion, the owner, makes the best drinks you’ve ever had. Some folks even swear they’re magick.”
Marion. Another tea shop. Maybe another witch?
“And does she really believe in magick? Or is it just good marketing?”
Bast chuckles, but there’s a guarded look in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “You’d have to ask her that. I just know people always find what they’re looking for when they visit.”
Cryptic. Excellent way to avoid answering my question directly.
I nod, trying to hide my frustration. Every time I get close to useful information, Bast skillfully redirects the conversation. It’s time to change tactics.
“You know,” I say, tracing the rim of my mug with one finger, “I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of magick.
The possibility that there’s more to this world than what we see on the surface.
” I meet Bast’s gaze, letting a hint of vulnerability show in my eyes.
“Have you ever experienced anything…unexplainable?”
Bast’s expression softens, and for a moment, I think I’ve finally broken through his defenses. But then he leans back, a playful smirk on his lips. “Like the way your eyes glow this soft green color, almost like they’re bioluminescent.”
I feel the heat rush to my face, my heart rate spiking. Dammit. I completely forgot about my eyes.
“Oh, I…” I stammer, looking down at my hands wrapped around my mug. I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself. When I look back up at Bast, I force a sheepish smile. “I can’t really explain it. It’s never happened before I came here.”
Bast leans in, his eyes filled with curiosity and something else I can’t quite name. “It’s beautiful,” he says softly. “Like you’ve got the aurora borealis trapped in your eyes.”
Those words. Such pretty words. It almost makes me wonder what it would be like to stick around a while and explore…possibilities.
No. I can’t let myself be truly affected by his charm. Or by my attraction. Dangerous.
“You’re very kind. Most people would find it…unsettling. Or think I was crazy.”
“I’m not most people,” he replies with a wink, and I feel my stomach do another little flip.
I laugh softly, partly to cover my nervousness and partly because his easy confidence is genuinely charming. “No, I suppose you’re not. You’re a pirate. I haven’t met many pirates.”
He laughs then. A deep, rolling belly laugh that starts low in his chest and builds, filling the space between us. It’s rich and warm, resonating through me, and wrapping around me like a cozy blanket on a cold night, unexpected and comforting.
Back in Salem, the presence of men always put me on edge, a constant reminder of the danger they posed to my magick and my autonomy and also they were forbidden by the Mathairs.
But here, with Bast, I feel…safe. It’s a foreign sensation, this warmth spreading through my chest, the way my own lips curl up in response.
As the afternoon wears into the evening, our conversation flows easily, but I’m no closer to learning anything useful about Meredith or the local witch community.
Bast is charming, funny, and frustratingly good at deflecting my subtle probes for information.
There’s too many people packed into this place for me to get away with using magick on him. And he never looks away.
What’s worse, I find myself genuinely enjoying his company.
I don’t want to end this…date? I enjoy the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the passion in his voice when he talks about the community, the gentle teasing that makes me feel like we’ve known each other for years instead of hours.
The way he stares at me like I’m the only girl in the entire world.
A single drink has turned into multiple. Plus a basket of chicken and french fries. The pub has grown quieter, the crowd thinning as the day wears on.
“You know, my cabin’s not far from here. It’s a lot quieter than the inn, if you’d like to continue our conversation somewhere more…private.”
My breath catches in my throat. This is it—the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. A chance to get Bast alone, to maybe finally get some real information. But the look in his eyes, and the heat in his voice, suggests he has more than conversation on his mind.
Am I really willing to risk my magick for a night with him? Will it be worth it? Will I find what I’m looking for…or is it just me selfishly wanting to enjoy his company?
I know I should say no. Keeping my distance is safer, smarter. But the pull I feel toward Bast is undeniable, and I finally convince myself the promise of potential information is too tempting to resist.
“That sounds nice.”
Bast’s smile is slow and devastating. “Great. Let me just settle up our tab.”
As he goes to pay, I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what’s to come. This is just part of the mission, I tell myself. A necessary risk to get the information I need.
But as Bast returns, offering his hand to help me out of the booth, I can’t ignore the thrill that runs through me at his touch. Or the small voice in the back of my mind whispering that maybe, just maybe, this is about more than just the mission.
We step out into the cool night air, the streets of White Fork quiet and bathed in moonlight. As we walk toward Bast’s truck, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m crossing a line I won’t be able to uncross.
But that’s just a lie my nervous system is telling me.
Sleeping with this man isn’t going to change my life.