get you some,” I said as I hustled to the cupboard. It smelled great as I poured out two cups and I handed him one, our fingers touching. He smiled, and something tightened in my chest. God, I am not falling for him. He’s dead. But he did have a nice, mischievous smile.
“I hope I’m not making a mistake drinking this,” he said. “How real am I?”
I shrugged, and he took a sip, eyeing me over the rim to make my breath catch. God, he had beautiful eyes.
His eyebrows shot up, and jerking, he started to violently cough.
“Oh, golly,” I said, remembering not to swear as I took the cup from him before it could spill. “I’m sorry. You can’t drink, huh?”
“Strong,” he gasped, his blue eyes vivid as they watered. “Really strong.”
I set his cup down and took a sip of mine. My mouth tried to pucker up, and I forced myself to swallow. Crap, my mom had filled the filter, and the coffee was strong enough to kill a cat. “Don’t drink that,” I said, taking his cup and mine to the sink. “It’s terrible.”
“No, it’s fine.”
I froze as he caught my hand. I turned, feeling his light but certain grip. A slow quiver rose through me, and I stifled it before it could show as a tremor. I was suddenly very aware that we were here alone. Anything could happen—and as the moment hung, his silence and almost-words ready to be whispered that he was having thoughts, too—I nearly wished it would. He was different. Strong but unsure. Capable but lost. He knew I had been ill, and he didn’t baby me. I liked him. A lot, maybe. And he needed my help. No one had ever needed my help before. No one. Especially someone as capable and strong as him.
“It’s undrinkable,” I said when I found my voice, and he took his cup from me.
“If you made it, it’s divine,” he said, smiling like the devil himself, and I felt my heart thump even as I knew he was bullshitting me.
His fingers left mine, and my presence of mind returned. I wasn’t a fainting debutante to fall for a line like that, but still, to have a man drink nasty coffee to impress me was way flattering. My eyebrows rose, and I wondered how far he would go. I had half a thought to let him drink the nasty stuff.
“Why thank you, Pierce,” I said, smiling. “You are a true gentleman.”
I turned to open the box, looking over my shoulder in time to see him staring into his mug with a melancholy sigh. Ten to one he was going to spill it, but there was an entire pot to refill his cup with.
The dust made my nose tickle as I unfolded the flaps. A slow smile spread over me as I looked at the stash and saw my dad everywhere. He’d made many of his own ley line charms for work, and being home sick most of the time, some of my earliest memories were of him and me at the table while the sun set and he prepped for a night on the street apprehending bad guys. I had my crayons, he had his chalk, and while I colored pixies and fairies, he’d sketch pentagrams, spill wax in ley line figures, and burn all sorts of concoctions to make Mom wave her hands and complain about the smell, secretly proud of him.
Smiling distantly, I ran a hand over my hair, remembering how it would snarl up from the forces that leaked from his magic as he explained a bit of lore while he worked, his eyes bright and eager for me to understand.
The soft scrape of Pierce setting his cup down by the box jerked me from my memories, and my focus sharpened. “Is there anything here you can use?” I asked, pushing it closer to him as we stood over it. “I’m more of an earth witch. Or I will be, when I get my license.”
“Miss Rachel,” he said lightly, his attention on the box’s contents as his calloused fingers poked around, “only a witch of some repute can summon those at unrest, and only those of unsurpassed skill I expect can furnish them a body.” A faint smile crossed his eyes. “Even one as transient as this one.”
Embarrassed, I shrugged one shoulder. “It
“I hope I’m not making a mistake drinking this,” he said. “How real am I?”
I shrugged, and he took a sip, eyeing me over the rim to make my breath catch. God, he had beautiful eyes.
His eyebrows shot up, and jerking, he started to violently cough.
“Oh, golly,” I said, remembering not to swear as I took the cup from him before it could spill. “I’m sorry. You can’t drink, huh?”
“Strong,” he gasped, his blue eyes vivid as they watered. “Really strong.”
I set his cup down and took a sip of mine. My mouth tried to pucker up, and I forced myself to swallow. Crap, my mom had filled the filter, and the coffee was strong enough to kill a cat. “Don’t drink that,” I said, taking his cup and mine to the sink. “It’s terrible.”
“No, it’s fine.”
I froze as he caught my hand. I turned, feeling his light but certain grip. A slow quiver rose through me, and I stifled it before it could show as a tremor. I was suddenly very aware that we were here alone. Anything could happen—and as the moment hung, his silence and almost-words ready to be whispered that he was having thoughts, too—I nearly wished it would. He was different. Strong but unsure. Capable but lost. He knew I had been ill, and he didn’t baby me. I liked him. A lot, maybe. And he needed my help. No one had ever needed my help before. No one. Especially someone as capable and strong as him.
“It’s undrinkable,” I said when I found my voice, and he took his cup from me.
“If you made it, it’s divine,” he said, smiling like the devil himself, and I felt my heart thump even as I knew he was bullshitting me.
His fingers left mine, and my presence of mind returned. I wasn’t a fainting debutante to fall for a line like that, but still, to have a man drink nasty coffee to impress me was way flattering. My eyebrows rose, and I wondered how far he would go. I had half a thought to let him drink the nasty stuff.
“Why thank you, Pierce,” I said, smiling. “You are a true gentleman.”
I turned to open the box, looking over my shoulder in time to see him staring into his mug with a melancholy sigh. Ten to one he was going to spill it, but there was an entire pot to refill his cup with.
The dust made my nose tickle as I unfolded the flaps. A slow smile spread over me as I looked at the stash and saw my dad everywhere. He’d made many of his own ley line charms for work, and being home sick most of the time, some of my earliest memories were of him and me at the table while the sun set and he prepped for a night on the street apprehending bad guys. I had my crayons, he had his chalk, and while I colored pixies and fairies, he’d sketch pentagrams, spill wax in ley line figures, and burn all sorts of concoctions to make Mom wave her hands and complain about the smell, secretly proud of him.
Smiling distantly, I ran a hand over my hair, remembering how it would snarl up from the forces that leaked from his magic as he explained a bit of lore while he worked, his eyes bright and eager for me to understand.
The soft scrape of Pierce setting his cup down by the box jerked me from my memories, and my focus sharpened. “Is there anything here you can use?” I asked, pushing it closer to him as we stood over it. “I’m more of an earth witch. Or I will be, when I get my license.”
“Miss Rachel,” he said lightly, his attention on the box’s contents as his calloused fingers poked around, “only a witch of some repute can summon those at unrest, and only those of unsurpassed skill I expect can furnish them a body.” A faint smile crossed his eyes. “Even one as transient as this one.”
Embarrassed, I shrugged one shoulder. “It
Similar Books
