When he finally spoke, all he said was, “I need time to think. We’ll talk after the jobs.”
Then he left.
Since then, I’d spent the week oscillating between rotting on the couch, too numb to move, and sharp bursts of anger.
Anger at my best friend—the one who was supposed to have his shit together, who for the first time ever seemed just as emotionally constipated as I was. And anger at the witch who kept postponing the damn job that was meant to distract me from all of it.
But at least one problem had finally solved itself. Caitlyn, the candy witch, was ready to start. Under normal circumstances, being paid to loiter in my own apartment while a client got their shit together would’ve felt like a gift. But with Ambrose gone after my less-than-graceful outburst, the apartment had become unbearable—his scent clinging to every room, every surface, refusing to fade.
Letting out a long breath, I forced myself to stop inhaling memories and tapped the pin Caitlyn had dropped into my map app.
***
I stared at my map, then across the barren field, and back at my map again.
I was exactly where I was supposed to be, but there was no sign of a witch, candy, or life of any kind.
The hairs on my neck prickled as a phantom pain flashed through the scar at my throat, my instincts roaringTrap, trap, trap.
I scanned the clearing, eyes narrowing as my shadows spilled from me, spreading low across the field, probing the brush for movement, for anything hiding just out of sight.
Nothing. The land was as dead as it looked.
Jaw tight, I glanced back at my phone and wasn’t surprised to find Ambrose’s contact info was pulled up, my thumbhovering over the call button like muscle memory had taken over.
Yeah, that’d go over well.
“Hey, Ambrose. I know we’re not exactly on speaking terms, and the last thing I did was unload all my feelings on you before you walked out—but the witch who hired me isn’t here, and now I’m standing in an empty field and I’m panicking, so naturally I called you...”
Even if there wasn’t this weird energy between us, Ambrose would not be remotely impressed if I rang him over something like this.
So, with a sigh, I pulled up Caitlyn’s number instead.
It took a full seven rings before she answered. “Oh, hey, Blaise!” she said, her voice barely audible over the near-deafening roar of an engine that sounded one bad turn away from giving up. “You okay? I’m just a few minutes out.”
“You’ve made a mistake with the directions,” I said, trying and failing to keep the edge out of my voice. “I’m currently standing in the middle of an abandoned field.”
Caitlyn groaned down the line, followed by a string of muffled curses. The only word I caught was “creep.”
She let out a long breath. “No. You’re in the right place. I’ll sort it when I get there.”
“K,” I said, leaning back against the hood of the van.
To my surprise, Caitlyn barked out a laugh. “Sorry,” she said, the line crackling. “It’s just... you say ‘K’ a lot.”
“Do I?” I asked, a faint prickle of guilt settling in my chest. Ambrose usually handled client correspondence, mostly because I was prone to short, unhelpful replies. Thinking back over the past week, I couldn’t remember sending Caitlyn a single full sentence. Possibly not even a full word.
“Uh-huh,” she said. “I was starting to worry you could only communicate in letters and thumbs up emojis.”
The corner of my mouth twitched. “I do know longer words,” I said. “I can even manage three syllables if I concentrate hard enough.”
Caitlyn snorted a laugh, which was oddly endearing. “Good to know. The strong, silent type isn’t really my jam—” She cut herself off abruptly, as if the words had escaped without permission. When she spoke again, her voice was flustered. “Not that I was implying I hired you for anything other than security. I mean—theremightbe something extra, but totally professional, I swear! I’m not some weirdo who gets her kicks from luring supernatural beings to her lair under the pretense of work and then...”
A prickle of unease slid over my skin. She had no idea how close she was to accidentally stumbling onto the story of that night.
Still... her rambling softened it a little. It was kind of cute, actually.
“... Sorry,” she trailed off.
