“If you take a bath, I’ve been working on a new bomb.”
Alarm flared before Cat remembered the existence of bath bombs.
Niamh went to her potion cabinet, which was next to the stove. There was a food pantry next to it, and every witch who lived here learned early which was which and never to mistake the two.
Niamh spun, holding out a Christmas ornament filled with a glittering pink liquid.
“Why is it in that?” Cat asked.
“I ran out of bottles.”
“Aren’t all of your killer werewolf spells also in Christmas ornaments?”
“Well, yeah, they break if you look at them wrong. It’s the perfect material.”
“I do not need a bath at all.” She backed away.
“Well, hurry down, because we’re going to start on all the wards when you get back.”
Oh yeah. That was what she was doing with her day, helping the twins fortify the house against wolves.
She took the world’s fastest shower, changed into a skirt and thick leggings for a day of spellcasting, and headed back downstairs when the doorbell rang. The particular chime meant a stranger.
“Maybe it’s a delivery!” Niamh said.
“In this weather?” Siobhan retorted. “Your eye of newt is still in a warehouse in Denver.”
Cat shook her head and chuckled as she made her way toward the front door, opened it, and froze.
Mateo Amato, alpha werewolf, was standing on the porch of the purple house.
The only thing she could think of was how grateful she was that he hadn’t waited a couple of hours until they had alarms in place that would shriek the moment he stepped on the property.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“We didn’t get to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” she said automatically and swung the door toward his face.
He stopped it easily. “Can we talk?”
“Who is it?” the twins asked.
Cat could think of absolutely nothing to say.A werewolf called to say goodbye. I slept with him last night.
She had a vivid flash of his skin against hers and felt an unwelcome roll of heat.
“Cat, are you okay?” Siobhan asked with a particular note in her voice.
She looked down at the brochure she still held in her hands and said, “It’s Dennis.”
“Who’s Dennis?” Niamh asked as she came down the hall.
Dumbly, Cat held up the brochures and pointed to the business card. “Dennis Hitchens, books.”
She swung back to him. “This is my family.”
“Very nice to meet you,” Mateo said after a second processing delay.
