Witch Fire by Anya Bast

counter, but that wouldn’t do.
    She went to the refrigerator and found milk, orange juice, and lime Gatorade. When she’d been a kid she’d always used milk. A few times she’d even used grape Kool-Aid. Annie had always told her it was the intention that counted, not the offering itself.
    Not seeing much of a choice, she grabbed the milk and filled a glass with it, then headed upstairs to the roof and the greenhouse.
    The cold snatched her breath away when she opened the door. She inhaled the clean, fresh air, feeling a subtle warm pulse in her chest in response. Her magick. What stars she could see through the city’s light pollution sparkled in the sky, free of insulating cloud cover, which meant it would be frigid in the morning.
    Mira opened the smooth glass door of the small greenhouse, flicked on the lights, and stepped into the temperature-regulated building. Jack only had a few plants in here now. Some ferns, hostas, and other things she couldn’t identify. Bare planting beds circled the room. In the center was a grassy area with a fountain and a few stone benches. The sound of running water met her ears.
    She closed her eyes, enjoying the small taste of life in the dead of winter. It seemed out of character for Jack to have a place like this, but it seemed out of character for him to be taking artsy photographs, too. Basically, that only proved that she didn’t really know him.
    She flipped the light back off to let only the moonlight fill the small room. It was enough to see by, if not see well. She slipped off her gloves and coat, laid them on a stone bench, and took her glass of milk to an earth-filled planting bed near the door.
    To her right the full moon hung in the sky, silver and swollen, visible through the glass wall of the greenhouse. Normally, she did this outside, no matter the temperature, but she needed earth and that was hard to come by on the roof of a ritzy downtown apartment building.
    Mira set the glass down and mounded the earth with her hands, enjoying the feel of it against her palms. Then she closed her eyes and murmured a small prayer.
    In her chest, the warmth of her magick purred strongly, responding to the meditation, perhaps, or the prayer. Her breath caught in surprise. It was an alien sensation, and it made her uneasy. As she finished her prayer, her voice trembling, the magick warmed through her body. She wondered how to call it, how to control and use it.
    She opened her eyes and picked up the glass.
    â€œFrom my lips”—she took a deep drink of the milk—“to your bosom,” and poured the rest of the glass of milk into the mounded earth.
    The door to the greenhouse opened, startling her. She dropped the glass to the planting bed. The lights snapped on.
    â€œMira?” came Jack’s voice.
    She let out a slow, careful breath. “You scared me near to death.”
    â€œWhat are you doing out here?”
    She gripped the rim of the bed, the metal chilly against her fingers. “Making my monthly offering to the full moon.”
    â€œTo Artemis? Is that the goddess you follow?”
    She shook her head. “Not specifically. It’s just a ritual to show respect for powers greater than I am and for the earth.”
    He took a few steps toward her and she turned to face him. Oh, hello…he was barefoot, wearing only his dark blue pajama pants and no shirt.
    His lips twitched. “You have a milk mustache.”
    Horrified, she went to wipe it away, but he caught her hand. His eyes heavy-lidded, Jack reached out and slowly drew the pad of his thumb across her upper lip. The touch made her feel warm in places that had nothing to do with her mouth.
    She’d never had any idea milk mustaches could be so sexy.
    â€œHow did you know I was here?” she asked.
    â€œYou couldn’t be anywhere else. I have wards set on all the entrances, but the door to the roof is the only one regulated to allow you passage. I