Page 40 of Woods of the Raven

He put up his hands. “Why would I touch a bottle?”

“I’m watching you,” she said pointedly.

Rolling his eyes, he said, “Okay, then,” in an exaggerated voice I loved.

They were charming, and both shook my hand, then Toby’s, and we were off, back to my stall. On the way, I couldn’t help stopping at Witch and Wild, the stall run by Cordelia Wormwood, who owned a magic emporium in town. Toby and I looked around, and I noted the overpriced and mislabeled stones, the vials of moon water in bedazzled bottles, and the heavily scented mojo bags that had instruction cards attached to them. The soaps bothered me the most, crafted with subpar ingredients, which I could tell just from the scents of the essential oils. I was going to get a headache if we stayed much longer.

“Come to see how real root work is done?” Cordelia asked me haughtily. Like her name was actually Cordelia. When we went to school together, it was Kathy Hayes.

“I see you’re still trying to pass off howlite for turquoise,” I shot back, smirking.

She crossed her arms, and Toby and I left.

“You shouldn’t talk to people if you’re not going to say nice things,” he cautioned me. “Mom says it’s not good for your spirit.”

“That’s because your mother is perfect,” I replied snidely.

“Was that nice?”

“Fine,” I agreed. “Let’s get sugar.”

“What kind?” he asked excitedly.

We got cotton candy, which he’d never had. I made sure to get him a pile of it that was bigger than his head. We got his sibling one as well, because I thought both kids should be sugared up equally.

“That’s just mean,” Eddie scolded me, then glanced at his wife. “He’s your friend.”

“Not anymore,” she assured him, shaking her head at me. “Naughty.”

Just then, two women and a man walked up to the stall.

“Oh, I love stuff like this,” one of the women said, picking up and touching the bottles and stones on my table. Whatever came back home with me would need to be cleansed within an inch of its life before I could take it back into my house. Other people’s energy all over everything was not something I could have.

“You must be Xander,” the man said, leaning forward, hand out to me. “I’m Declan, Declan Grant.”

Amanda was right. He was stunning. He looked like he should be a model or a movie star, that perfect, and I took a step toward him to shake hands.

A wave of warning hit me like I was on the beach and had stupidly turned my back on the ocean. It was visceral, rolling over me for a moment before it receded, back to the sea, leaving wet sand in its wake.

I exhaled sharply.

“Are you all right?” He sounded concerned.

The feeling of alarm, fear, caution had settled in my belly, coiled there like a snake.

What the hell?

Lots of people had moments where something in them said don’t walk that way, don’t cross that street, don’t get in that car, don’t leave with that person. Sometimes, to our detriment, we ignored our inner voice. As a witch, I’d been taught to never ever ignore my intuition. It was at the heart of our survival, the instinct to be guided by our genetic, generational knowledge and simply, our gut.

I opened my mouth to say something, to make an excuse.

“Hey.”

Turning, I saw Chief MacBain standing near the end of the table, glowering at me. “Chief,” I said, then glanced back at the beautiful, jaw-dropping Declan. “Please excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

Moving quickly, the moment I was close enough to the chief, he took hold of my shoulder and walked me a few feet away from my stall.

I should have been annoyed with the manhandling, but his presence filled me with a calming normal and grounding I desperately needed in that moment. Warning bells had been going off all around me, but now, that quickly, I was safe.