So, no, Daisy doesn’t think Sloan is the right person for this project. She has no experience that could even remotely be beneficial for creating a welcoming space to help those in need. How could Sloan ever know what it is like to hurt when she has lived a life full of privilege and opportunity? The coven rumor mill says she volunteers with the elderly, but everyone knows that’s a lie meant to fuel her perception as a benevolent princess. Goddess knows Sloan would only rescue abandoned kittens and three-legged dogs to make herself look good.
With that, Daisy decides to put this event together on her own, despite what the council says. She’ll show them what she’s capable of and will do it without Miss Princess.
As if summoned, Daisy’s phone vibrates on the table beside her. She picks it up and sees a text from an unknown number. Opening the message, she reads:
Unknown
Hi Daisy. It’s Sloan.
I hope you don’t mind—Petra passed along your number after the meeting the other night.
I’m wondering when you would be available to discuss initial plans.
While annoyed at Petra for giving out her number, she admits she likely wouldn’t have provided it if Sloan had asked Daisy herself. She adds her contact info but lets the message sit on read for a few hours, spending the time cleaning and watching more Toil & Trouble before replying. For a brief moment, she thinks about pretending Sloan has the wrong number, but she’s waited too long for that. Immature, maybe. But would it be entertaining? Yes.
Daisy
I do mind
Unfortunately, I am too busy for a meeting
Three bubbles instantly appear. Dammit.
Sloan
You work tomorrow night, right?
Yes
Lachlan, the traitor.
Wonderful. I will stop by, and we can have a quick chat.
Shit.
I will be too busy with customers.
I can wait.
See you tomorrow.
“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” Daisy says to the empty room.
The grimoire flops open on the coffee table, pages flipping rapidly as if caught by a strong wind. She steps forward and looks down at the opened page.
Vanquishing Spell
Daisy smiles briefly, considering it. Who knew grimoires could have a sense of humor?
The next night, as promised, Sloan waits with a book open before her. Daisy refuses to serve her, so another staff checks in on her periodically, gathering drinks and food as she requests. Seeing Sloan here is out of place. She doesn’t belong here, in a friendly establishment where customers are like family. She should be somewhere cold and preferably very distant. Perhaps in a dark dungeon to match the cavern where her heart should be.
As the night winds down and customers file out, Sloan rises from the table she has held all night. She picks up her book and saunters to the bar in her tight pencil skirt and sweater, effectively trying to corner Daisy.
“Are you ever planning to acknowledge me?” Sloan asks, hopping onto a stool with ease, resting her forearms on the bar top. Daisy is surprised Sloan doesn’t first wipe it down with a disinfectant wipe.
“I would prefer not to,” Daisy deadpans.
“Ah, she speaks.”
