Witch Fire by Anya Bast Page A

figured you might enjoy the greenhouse. I forgot to show it to you, but I see you found it on your own.”
    â€œYou could’ve stayed in bed. I would’ve been right back.”
    He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. “The door locks automatically when it shuts.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œDo you want me to leave you alone for a while?”
    She shook her head. “Aren’t you cold?”
    â€œFire witch, remember?”
    â€œWhy do you have this place?”
    â€œYou ask a lot of questions.” He reached out in an easy, unhurried gesture and took her hand. With his index finger he lazily brushed the dirt from her palm. “There’s a conservatory at the Coven. It’s my favorite place there. I guess I wanted to recreate a little part of it in my home.” He looked up at her. Small laugh lines crinkled around his so-blue eyes as he grinned. “All witches have a thing for the earth, don’t they?”
    She cleared her throat and fought the urge to pull her hand away from his before she did something she’d regret. “I don’t know. I’ve known very few honest-to-Goddess witches, just lots of people who labeled themselves witches but didn’t really have any true magick to call.”
    He dropped her hand. “All the ones I know have a thing for the earth, you included.”
    It felt so strange to be called a witch. She fidgeted and glanced away. All she wanted was a little normality in her life, a little stability. Was that so much to ask? Instead she got bizarre magickal powers and a hunky witch abductor named Jack.
    Her life had really taken an overwhelming and strange turn. As if cheating husbands and messy divorces weren’t enough.
    â€œSo you do this every month?” he asked.
    A distracted smile flitted over her mouth. “Every month since I was a child. I’ve only ever missed giving an offering twice.”
    â€œI’m impressed. Why did you miss those times?”
    â€œI had the chicken pox when I was eight. The other time was…” She flushed.
    â€œWas?” he prompted.
    â€œWhen I was out on my first date with Bryon Richards. It was the night I lost my virginity.” She laughed.
    He smiled. “Come on, let’s go in.”
    She put his coat on, picked up the gloves, and followed him back into his apartment and down the stairs. He eased the coat off her shoulders when they reached the living room.
    She paced to the kitchen and back, feeling out of sorts because her routine had been disrupted.
    â€œIs there something wrong?” Jack asked, hanging up his coat in the closet.
    â€œSorry. I’ve been doing the same thing for so long. Normally, I drink rose verbena tea after I make my offering. I don’t suppose you have any green tea leaves, dried rose petals, and a dash of lemon verbena?”
    He smirked. “Gee, I’m fresh out. I think I have a package of chamomile tea someone left here.”
    She shrugged. “Sure.”
    He moved to the kitchen to make the tea, and she sat down on the couch. She curled up in the corner of the couch and rested her head against the cushion and listened to him making noises in the kitchen, feeling safe and comfortable. Despite the edge of awkwardness that remained between them, being in his apartment felt good. She nodded off, but she woke when he came back with two mugs of steaming beverage.
    He took a drink and leaned back against the couch. “Your magick, it smells faintly like fresh linen and lemon.”
    She looked up in surprise. “My magick…smells?”
    He nodded. “Not all magick has a distinctive scent or taste, but yours does. I just thought you’d want to know that.”
    â€œFresh linen and lemon. Interesting.”
    â€œAbout Crane: you have a right to know everything you can about him. I’m sorry I ditched out on an answer earlier today.”
    â€œIt’s no big