Cathy shoots a nasty look over her shoulder, and Cherie’s gaze drops to the floor. “But what really bothers me,” Cathy continues, “is that you might pull something like this on Storm Grayson.”
Wait.What? “Storm Grayson?”
She fans herself as if it’s hot. It’s freezing outside, being winter and all, and it’s warm in the shop but nowhere near baking.
She tsks. “Haven’t you heard? Storm’s attending the witch ball. The whole town’s talking about it. I guess if you had friends, you’d know.”
She starts to turn away, but I grab her wrist. She twists around and glares at my hand, but I don’t drop it. “You’re sure?”
She scoffs. “Do you think that I’d lie about something like this? A famous magical inventor and billionaire comes to our town to meet the women in it, and I’d lie about that?”
“You might,” Sadie says, thinking it over. Cathy’s jaw drops and Sadie quickly backpedals. “Never mind. You wouldn’t lie about it at all.”
“No, I wouldn’t. I mean, not only is Storm Grayson a crazy rich supernatural, but he’s handsome, and no one, from what I hear, knows whatsortof magical he is.”
All of this is true. The man is one of the most famous magical inventors of our time, a celebrity, well-known for being outspoken and extraordinarily handsome. The most intriguing part of all is what Cathy said about his magical status—no one knows what sort of supernatural he is. It’s kept under wraps, with Storm himself claiming that he is what he is and that’s the most important thing.
Which of course has made the rumor mill run wild with theories. Is he a half vampire/werewolf hybrid? Is he a wizard/werewolf? Is he part human?
No one knows.
And Storm Grayson’s coming here.
Cathy blows me a kiss. “Good luck,freak. Oh, and don’t get in my way.”
“Excuse me?”
She tips her head, looking at me as if I’m a sad little puppy who doesn’t understand. “Storm Grayson might be coming to the ball to meet you, but he’s going to be mine.”
Our gazes lock for a long moment. “Get out, Cathy.”
She tosses her head back and laughs. “I didn’t want to jump into a nasty old book anyway. No telling how many times they’ve been used and what diseases they carry. I like my toys brand-new and shiny.”
Her minions cackle as they turn on their heels and walk out the door, releasing a blast of cold winter into the store.
I shiver against it, and when the door is shut firmly behind them, I exhale the breath that I’ve been holding.
Holy cow. Storm Grayson. Coming to the ball. Does my aunt know? She’s the one who always puts the balls together, so of course she knows. Why didn’t she tell me?
I’m irked, but my head’s still spinning. It’s said that Storm Grayson once magicked an entire team of doctors to a SouthAmerican village because the children were getting sick. I could faint at all that goodness.
If there’s one magical who could make me even remotely excited about the ball, it’s him. Not only is he filthy rich, handsome, totally brilliant and completely eligible, but he’s also the magical rival of one?—
“Devlin Ross,” Addison says.
I blink. “What?”
My older sister, who’s somehow managed to pull herself away from the tentacles of needy customers, places a hand gently on my arm. Auburn hair tumbles over her shoulders, and brown eyes peek out from under a glossy curtain of bangs. When did she escape from her fan club?
Before I get a chance to ask, she says, “Devlin Ross ordered some books. Since you need to get ready for tonight, I thought you could leave early and drop them off on your way home.”
I choke on a gob of saliva and pound my chest until the coughing stops. “Devlin ordered books?”
“Yes. I’d ask Chelsea to take them, but she’s staying until closing.”
My gaze dashes to Chelsea, who’s still talking to the customer who was tossed early from a book.
“Addison, I don’t… I mean, Devlin should come and get them himself.” She knows that just seeing that man makes me want to grab the nearest fork and jab it into his hand. “He’s got two legs and his own flying skillet. He probably owns an army of them. Besides, it takes forever to do my hair?—”
