Page 23 of Bewitching the Wolf

TIPPY

I’m woken by the sound of the phone ringing.

Bleary-eyed, I get out of bed and grope my way down the corridor to pick it up.

“Tippy, it’s Aunt Felicia!” announces a brisk voice.

I wince as my head throbs, reminding me I drank alcohol last night, which is not a good look for a wixen.

I blew it. In more ways than one.

“Hello Auntie,” I mumble thickly.

“You’re late, Tippy-Anna.”

Shit. It’s Wednesday, which means I have wixen training. “Sorry, I must have slept through my alarm.”

“Are you alright, darling?”

“Yes, why?”

“You sound groggy. Not getting a cold I hope?”

I force a bright tone. “No, no, I’m absolutely fine.”

“Good, because I have someone I need you to meet.”

The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Who?”

“You’ll find out when you get here. And hurry, darling. You don’t want to keep them waiting.”

“Keep who waiting?”

“Questions, questions. You’ll find out soon enough.” Aunt Felicia is using her sing-song voice, which usually means she’s planning to spring something big on me. Like new runes to try and decipher, or a complex recipe to work on.

I’m so not in the mood for anything more complex than a cup of strong coffee right now.

My bad, I guess.

I take a lightning-fast shower then survey my face in the mirror. My ears are wilting, my hair looks limp. I spray my homemade spray into it to give it bounce, then stroke lavender oil onto my ears to perk them up, and put concealer under my eyes and outline them with liner.

I throw on a casual pair of jeans and an old t-shirt. It’s what I usually wear when we’re experimenting with new potions, and I know I’ll get covered in splashes. I’m not going to dress smart just because Aunt Felicia has asked someone over.

There’s no time for that much-needed coffee. I slide on my sneakers, grab my purse and head for the door. My little red scooter sits waiting outside, and soon I’m wending my way through the tunnels toward Aunt Felicia’s apothecary on the other side of level one.

The markets are opening up, and my nostrils twitch at the delicious smell of the pastries. But there’s no time to stop.

As I ride past Bait and Tackle, my stomach clenches.

I never want to go back to that place.

I hope Larry doesn’t come into Digger’s in the near future. I don’t want to face him.

But worse, I don’t want to face Jax.

He was just trying to help, a placatory little voice inside me says.

No, No, NO! That was not a guy helping a damsel in distress.