Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 125179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Someone had dragged the piano out of the town hall and set it near the doors. Beneath all the music, chatter, and laughter were the sounds of water boiling, meat sizzling, and the flapping of tablecloths courtesy of the artificial breeze.
So many scents laced the air—flowers, fruits, herbs, meats, soaps, lotions, and food cooking. Wynter drank them all in.
“Are you planning to move your ancestor altar to Cain’s Keep?” asked Delilah.
Wynter felt her nose wrinkle. “No, I don’t want to disturb it.”
“That’s probably the wisest decision,” said Hattie, fingering a scarf. “It’s important to be careful with such things.”
“Ooh, I want that,” proclaimed Anabel, pointing at . . . nothing.
“What?” asked Xavier, nibbling on one of the fresh doughy cookies he’d bought.
“That,” said Anabel, wiggling the finger she was still pointing. “The electronic clapping witch.”
He sighed at her. “You’re hallucinating again.”
Her shoulders slumped, and her arm dropped to her side. “Ugh.”
“You have no one to blame but yourself,” said Delilah primly.
Anabel bristled. “I never implied differently.”
Maybe there would in fact come a day when the blonde actually stopped experimenting on herself, but Wynter wasn’t all that hopeful. She’d chewed a chunk out of Anabel’s ass as usual, and the blonde had apologized just as she normally did. And though the apology had been genuine, it had to be remembered that her apologies were always genuine. She always regretted her mistake. She simply couldn’t help later repeating it.
Delilah coaxed them over to a table that sold handmade jewelry, her face lighting up at all the pretty, shiny things. Classic cat. Okay, so she only had the ability to shift into a cat, but she did nonetheless have some feline qualities.
Xavier was more interested in the woman behind the table. “Well, hello there, lass,” he greeted in a Scottish accent. “A pretty wee thing, so ye are. My name’s Angus.”
Oh, dear Lord.
The woman’s lips curved. “Milly. And I’m quite sure your real name is actually Xavier.”
Ha, good for her.
“Or it’s Angus,” he said, his accent still Scottish, “and I like telling others it’s Xavier.”
Wynter only shook her head. He was hopeless. Utterly. Yet the lying little shit also possessed enough charisma to lure women to him anyway.
Once Delilah had bought a few dangly bracelets, they walked off.
Xavier’s grin was all smugness. “Milly agreed to go on a date with me.”
Wynter patted his back. “Good for you, Angus.”
His grin widened. “Awesome name, right?”
“Absolutely. But it’s not yours.”
A line dented his brow. “So?”
“So when you introduce yourself as someone else to a woman you like, you’re starting a relationship that’s based on bullshit. That’s not a good thing.”
He sighed. “Why, why, why have you always gotta focus on logic?”
“Well, one of our coven has to, or we’ll eventually get thrown out of Devil’s Cradle.” Did they not get that?
Anabel bit her lower lip. “You do make a valid point.”
“But again with the logic,” Xavier complained.
Wynter rolled her eyes.
They went from table to table. Anabel topped up her collection of beeswax products while Hattie bought some jars of honey—all in various flavors.
Anabel smiled as the pianist began playing “Somebody’s Watching Me”. “I like this tune.”
Delilah tossed her a look. “I’m not surprised. The lyrics speak to the paranoid.”
The blonde’s brows drew together. “I’m not paranoid.”
Delilah snorted. “Hmm, sure.”
“I’m not.”
She totally was, but Wynter was not interested in getting into that. “No arguments, please, we’re supposed to be enjoying some quality coven time.”
“Ooh,” began Hattie, pointing to a particular booth. “I need more rolling paper for my morning joints.” She paused, humming. “And some deadly nightshade seeds.”
Wynter froze, as did the others. “Why?” she asked warily.
Hattie cackled. “I’m just messing with you.”
“That wasn’t funny, Empress of Poison,” said Xavier. “I worried you’d decided to kill poor George.”
“Never,” said Hattie as she grabbed some packets of bundled up herbs from a wicker basket. “The man is sweet as pie.”
“Wow, that dude over there by the pond is good,” said Anabel. “I can’t even juggle balls, let alone knives. I mean . . . wow.”
Sighing, Xavier scratched at his temple. “There is no juggler.”
Anabel stamped her foot. “Dammit.” She rubbed at her neck. “I have to get out of here. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s fantasy anymore. The lines are too blurred. Oh God, I can’t catch my breath.”
Delilah nudged her. “Tone it down, diva.”
Anabel’s hands fisted. “I am not a—”
“Hello, Wynter,” greeted none other than Eve, smiling brightly.
Well, gah. Hey, Wynter’s sort-of-mother-in-law was seemingly a nice woman, but they didn’t know each other well enough for Wynter to be comfortable with just bumping into her in public without Cain at her side. And, if Wynter was truly honest, a part of her struggled to warm to the woman, unable to help but resent Eve for how thoroughly she’d let him down even as Wynter understood how that had come to be. She didn’t judge Eve, she just hated how it had impacted Cain.