I jerk at the surname, then try to cover up how much the mention affected me by taking a sip.
Tart and oh-so delicious. Is there even any alcohol in it?
Doesn’t matter. I take another eager swallow.
“That’s good,” I hum happily. “You might not be terrible at your job, Griffy.”
“Thanks,” he says dryly, smirking at my enjoyment.
“Why do you assume a Shelly witch?”
“They’ve freed two others. Both cursed by a sorcerer. They seem to have a specialty in breaking curses. Hell, they probably specialize in everything with that library Mor has.”
The witch’s name drags a shiver down my spine.
“What do you know about Mor Shelly?”
Every moment I’m not actively thinking about something else, my mind goes back to the memory of her licking cream cheese off her middle finger.
“Not a whole lot.”
Griffith nods at a guy farther down the bar, who gestures toward an empty glass. While he gets busy pouring, I swallow more of my tasty drink and brainstorm how I can ask more questions about Mor without sounding obsessed. But as if sensing my fascination, Griffith keeps on the same topic when he returns to the chat with me.
“She seems nice enough, but doesn’t leave that library of hers too often.”
“Hmm.” The habit sounds familiar. I rarely ventured far from the woods surrounding our trailer or Dad’s mechanic shop.
I wonder why she keeps to herself.
For me, I was just doing my best to avoid others. Better chance that way that I wouldn’t encounter someone who hated me.
Georgiana and I met by accident the first time. I mean, I had known who she was. The Stormwinds had nice cars, and they’d bring them by Folan Auto Shop for regular tuning.
I had been aware of her, but I’d never met her. Never spoken to her.
Then, one evening, as the sun was setting, I made my way out to the forest for a moment to myself. But then I heard laughter. That was an odd noise to hear around my home. I didn’t laugh much, and my father never did.
Besides, it was a woman laughing.
I followed the noise and came upon a small cliff at the edge of our property. And there was Georgiana, wings spread wide, jumping off the edge. I stumbled forward in time to watch the breeze catch her wings. She glided around, laughing in delight, then returned to the cliff, only to do the maneuver again. As if she enjoyed the falling as much as the flying.
On her third round, she noticed me watching.
“What are you doing?Are you spying on me?”
She sounded angry, and I ducked my head and held my hands out in surrender, like I was used to doing, though I kept my fingers together to hide the webbing.
“Sorry. No. It’s only that I live just near here.”
“Oh.” Some of the wariness left her voice. “You’re that guy who works at the mechanic shop, right?”
She had brought her Mercedes in a couple of weeks ago for an oil change.
“I do. I work there.”
“And you live here?” She waved at the forest behind me.
“Yeah. My dad and me.”
