When I glance at Clementine, her eyes are sweeping over my torso, her cheeks turning pink.
I think she likes the view.
But before I can press her, another voice distracts me.
“When did we decide to turn this place into a strip joint? I must’ve missed that investors meeting.”
I drop my shirt, face on fire, as a familiar woman settles on a barstool next to Clementine.
Violetta Radeva doesn’t leave her home often, preferring to stay in her secluded bungalow, deep in the woods of Folk Haven. As fond as I am of the sea witch, probably safer for everyone that way.
“Don’t you feel lucky?” Violetta faces my temporary roommate, the movement causing her long brown braid to slip over her shoulder. The witch is dressed in a loose peasant top, paired with overalls, the outfit and her big blue eyes making her appear younger than the grandmother she is ever since her son, Levi, had his baby. “Drinks and a show. Did you tip him extra for that bit of flash?”
Clementine grins in delight. “Nope. He’s giving up the goods for free.”
“Bah. Bad business.” Violetta reaches over the bar and steals the container of olives. “I’m Violetta, by the way. Co-owner of this fine establishment.”
Clementine blinks in astonishment at the reveal, and I’m kind of surprised as well. Of courseIknow Violetta owns the place with me. But she tends to keep her involvement in the business out of the public eye. Something about scaring off potential customers. Violetta is a powerful witch with a garden of poisonous plants in her backyard and a reputation around town of cursing people when she’s in a bad mood.
Not the investor I want to piss off.
“This is Clementine Divos.” I stand straight, attempting to regain some sense of professionalism. “Carl’s sister. She’s staying with me for a while.”
“Ah. Attempting to woo your friend’s younger sister.” Violetta pops an olive into her mouth and chews delicately. “I never knew you were so messy, Fangworn. How delightful.”
“Not wooing. We’re just …”Shit, what are we?
“I require wine,” Violetta says before I can come up with a descriptor. “Clementine. You must be the poisoned one. Tell me”—the witch leans closer, gaze searching—“what does it feel like?”
Clementine frowns. “Who told you I was poisoned?”
“The librarian. Morgana Shelly. She came to consult with me.” Another olive disappears into her mouth. “Asked an expert.”
“You poison a lot of people?”
“Definea lot.”
I tap the bar to capture Violetta’s attention. “Are you here because you were able to help Mor? Do you all have an answer?” I manage to keep my voice steady, knowing that if she understands how badly I want an answer, she’ll draw her response out even longer. Maybe not answer at all.
Not for the first time, I wonder if accepting Violetta’s money in order to afford this place was a bad idea. I was shocked when she offered. When I asked why, she said that Kev—the former owner—was a mangy lap dog and she wanted to take something he loved and twist it. That wasn’t the best pitch, but then she clarified that her investment meant the name needed to change, and there would be no restriction on who could enter, and there would be a food menu. With soup.
So, I agreed, and we’ve had a tense yet successful partnership ever since.
But that doesn’t mean she can play with me or the people I care about.
“Let me see the wound.” Violetta snaps her fingers regally—and she’s the type of person no one says no to.
What’s most surprising is that Clementine, normally the one to rail against authority, blinks once, then lifts up her shirt, almost in a mimicry of my earlier move.
Without further invite, Violetta presses her palm flat over the witch Band-Aid, and I watch Clem bite back a wince. I knew it was still paining her despite what she claimed.
“Vi—” I start.
“Shut it.” The witch keeps one hand on Clementine and chucks an olive at my forehead with the other.
The air around us appears to shudder, and Clementine can’t completely stifle a gasp of pain.
“Stop it, Violetta.” I growl the demand.
