“It’s so amazing of you to come in person to tell me about your books,” Cat said.
“My books?”
She shoved the two brochures against his chest, and he turned them around to look at them as both eyebrows slowly rose.
“I suppose we can hear a sales pitch,” Niamh said. “The pot—soup will not be ready for another hour.”
“Sales pitch?” Mateo echoed.
“The twins own theCauldron and the Broom, the store you’ve been pitching. I buy books for the store.”
“Like these books,” Mateo said, holding up the brochures with two fingers as if they could burn him.
“Come in,” Cat said and took a huge breath as he stepped across the threshold.
12
Mateo exhaled as he stepped into the house. It hadn’t occurred to him when he headed for the witch’s house that there would be some kind of magical alarm to keep him out. If there was, it seemed to be off.
Nor did he anticipate running into the entire coven, which was another bizarre oversight on his part. If someone came knocking on the door of the pack, how often would they find him alone? The answer wasn’t never, but it was pretty damn close.
“I thought you were zooming,” the shorter woman said as he was ushered inside.
“That’s not a word, Niamh,” Cat said. “And no, he came in person.”
He stopped short when he got beyond the door. There seemed to be an entire arsenal of ancient weapons lined up beside the stairs.
“Are you guys big-game hunters?” he asked, feeling the bottom drop out of his stomach at the evidence of their aggression.
“That’s exactly it,” the taller one said. “But you’re safe. We only go after the big predators.”
He had to sit on his wolf at the insult and implication that he wasn’t a big predator and followed meekly into the sitting room to the left of the foyer.
Fortunately, the purple theme didn’t continue inside, but neither did any sense of interior decorating at all. One stuffed paisley armchair was half buried in plaid cushions. A scratched upright piano was covered by an array of plants that could not be good for it. A coffee table was piled high with at least a dozen books of every size on bizarre topics like British pubs, the Enlightenment, and birds of the rainforest.
He noticed the scent the most, even in his human form. Something boiling smelled like tomatoes and diesel oil. Underlying that were a dozen plants and a thousand more spices, herbs, and who knew what else drifting in the air. He sneezed and tried to breathe through his mouth.
He was pointed to the armchair, which meant he didn’t have to look at it, but regretted it when he sat down and just kept sinking until he could rest his elbows easily on his knees without bending his spine. He crossed his legs and squinted at the brochure he had to pitch to a bunch of witches. How had the last five minutes taken such a turn? How had the last week of his life taken such a turn?
“I do appreciate the paper quality,” Cat said as she sank gracefully onto a leather couch and tucked her legs under her. She wore a flowy skirt that did something to his brain.
He cleared his throat. “We are known for our…paper.”
“Why don’t I get you some tea?” Niamh said, a statement that seemed to alarm Cat, but she didn’t stop the old woman as she bustled out of the room.
Cat cleared her throat. “Siobhan, could you possibly grab my notebook? I forgot it on the counter.”
The taller woman with hair like the bride of Frankenstein nodded once and stomped out.
Claws clicked on wood, and he braced as an old, gigantic wolfhound came pelting around the corner.
“Ducky, don’t!” Cat shouted.
The dog ignored her completely and went right for him. At this height, the dog was taller than he was, a situation completely unacceptable to his wolf, who tried to shift before Mateo got control. Ducky may have gotten a glimpse of that battle because he ran howling out of the room.
“What is going on out there?” a woman called from the hallway.
“Ducky saw a, um, bee,” Cat shouted and then leaned toward him quickly. “We have less than a minute. What are you doing here? You’re so lucky the wards are down.”
