“Then maybe we should stop being strangers.” He offered his hand. “Simon.”
Her eyes widened for a second, then she extended her warm, soft hand to his. “Shanna.”
She went with her name. He wanted to smile in a surge of relief but held himself back. “And what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”
“Oh, I’m with the biker gang.” She pointed to the black-leathered, tattooed, bearded guys hugging the fireplace. “Yeah, they’re all my brothers. So you’d better choose your next actions wisely.”
Simon opened and closed his mouth.
She lightly punched him in the upper arm. “I’m kidding.” She leaned forward as she laughed, pushing her hair back once she straightened up. “No idea who they are. And I’m just passing through. You?”
“Same. I’m on a trip.”
“Business or pleasure?”
He tapped his fingers on his glass. “Business for now, but perhaps that can change.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m in the tech industry. My company makes phones and similar stuff.”
“Oh. Anything I know? Have I heard of you?”
“You wouldn’t have. I’m just the man behind the curtain.” He swallowed, changing his gaze from her to the counter, focusing on a lightning-shaped crack. “The presenting, the speeches, the boasting around in public … I let the others do that. Me, I like to tinker. Design new things. Improve existing ones.”
“I like to tinker, too. I make jewelry. See?” She showed him her charm bracelet.
“Those aren’t ordinary charms, are they?”
“No.” Her smile turned secretive, and she leaned in, close enough her breath tickled his ear as she whispered, “I’m a witch.”
“I’ve never met a witch before.”
“You know one now.” She drew back, giving him a side glance. “A very capable one, too, mind you. So be careful.”
“Oh, really?” He leaned on the counter with his elbow, turning toward her. “Will you curse me? Hex me?”
“I don’t know.” She took a sip of her drink. “Have you done anything that would deserve punishment?”
“Other than one instance of incorrect parking in the past few days, I don’t think so.”
Halfway through her drink, she chuckled, her smooth cover slipping.
“So, what do the good guys get?” he asked.
She regained her composure. “A little helping spell, maybe.”
“And what do those do?”
“Anything you want. Do you seek clarity in life? Success in work? Material riches?”
He twisted around on the barstool, facing the room while he leaned on the bar with his elbow, drawing ever so slightly closer to her. “Play a game with me?”
Her mouth twitched, intrigue covered by the smooth facade she tried to present. “What game?”
“I pick a patron. You tell me what kind of spell they need. Witches can tell that, can’t they?”
“Absolutely.” With a low screech, she moved her barstool closer to his. “Go on.”
