Page 14 of Moth to a Flame

“How long do we have?” I asked for her.

“The ancients knew well the barrier between our world and the spirit world. The one that is thinnest on All Hallows’ Eve. That’s the only time two souls can be pried loose from one another without permanent damage.” Gertrude folded her hands. “And it’s coming up in two weeks.”

Two weeks stuck within twenty feet of a witch I didn’t know. Two weeks of no deliveries, no route, no bike. For the last decade, I hadn’t stayed anywhere longer than a few nights, and now I couldn’t walk more than shouting distance away from a beautiful stranger.

I was panicking, to say the least, and so was Lucia. But beneath that was something warm and…stable. It felt like that inviting light I wouldn’t—hadn’t—been able to resist.

Lucia looked at me, and I looked at the table.

“You’ll need the full counter-ritual,” Gertrude went on, “which is somewhere in this.” She flicked the Yucatec pages. “I can help you with the grammar and some of the obscure symbols, but I’m seventy, and I do not do all-nighters anymore. You two will finish it. Together.”

A knowing pause.

“You’ll be doing everything together for a while, I’d imagine.”

Warm light spread its wings in Lucia’s chest, and through this bond that was only growing stronger by the moment, I knew my company meant more to her than she would say.

“But those are tomorrow’s problems. Tonight”—she pointed at me—“you get that glass out of your hand before it festers, and you”—she pointed at Lucia—“put him somewhere he can sleep without irritating the bond. Closer, if you are brave.”

The old woman winked, and Lucia’s ears went scarlet. Mine went with them.

“That’s the spirit,” Gertrude said fondly. “Hawk, help me to the door.”

I stood, picking up her carpetbag and following her. It didn’t really seem like she needed help, but when she pulled open the front door, she turned to me.

“Something to remember,” she whispered. “Sometimes the cruelty of a curse isn’t in the spellwork, but in who cast it.”

She stared at me pointedly, like I should know what that meant.

“Do witches always speak in riddles?”

“Yes.” She clicked her tongue.

Mugen howled from atop the banister as four white legs trailed after her, and she closed the door.

Dust motes floated down from the ornate chandelier above, and I turned to see Lucia lingering in the parlor doorway. It was very quiet, just the two of us now.

“So,” I said, trying to ease the tension. “Where am I sleeping?”

“I have a guest room, but let’s get you patched up first.”

CHAPTER SIX

Cash, Glass or Ass

She led me back to the kitchen and pointed to an antique wooden chair she’d pulled out of the formal dining room at some point. “Sit.”

I sat. It was becoming a habit.

“Take off your jacket.”

“You’re bossy, you know that?”

“It’s almost three a.m., I’m exhausted, and I’m efficient,” she said. No apology there. No deflection to try to make herself smaller. I noted that, along with how it had my heart pounding.

I shrugged out of my jacket, revealing the loose long-sleeve shirt I wore beneath it and over my curled-up wings. Luckily, the jacket had done its job, and everything beneath it was safe. The sleeve was only stained with blood near my palm. She hissed a soft, sympathetic sound when I flipped my hand over.

“Can you feel that?” I asked.