Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“You’re about to find out. See that church up ahead? Pull in the back. By the food pantry door.”
“Church?” He’s still sneering, but this time it comes with a chuckle laced with a healthy dose of ridicule. He looks at me, amused with himself. “What is it? Satanic or something?”
I offer him a patient smile. “Something like that.”
He pulls the truck into the parking lot of the First Methodist Church and slides up next to the pantry door, slamming on the brakes so we both jerk forward.
I take a deep breath and do a very good job of controlling myself while I side-eye him. “Wait right here.”
He snickers now—“Yes, sir”—and pops off a mock salute.
I get out of the truck, close the door, and enter the pantry, welcomed by the jingling of bells above the door. I look up at them just as a familiar voice says, “My lord! You’re here? You didn’t even call!”
My smile is immediate because Joshua Reed comes out from behind a curtain-covered doorway and he is a complete delight. He’s submissive, accommodating, and clever too. It’s a rare combination that I value. Especially his cleverness. And when you add in his deceptive clean-cut good looks, it makes him downright dangerous. Beauty and danger are both things I value. “I didn’t have time,” I say. “Things are moving quickly now, Joshua. We’re nearly done.”
“Already?” He makes a face of surprise, which looks very good on him. Though he looks good all the time by my standards. Blond hair, blue eyes, that square jaw that is mostly clean-shaven. He was a very pretty child and his beauty did not abandon him as he grew.
“Yes. Already. It’s gone better than I’d hoped, with one tiny exception.”
Joshua smiles at me. “You’re having second thoughts, aren’t you?”
“Second thoughts?” I ponder the idea. Briefly. “No. Not quite anyway.”
“It’s Ryet. You love him.”
Which I cannot deny, so I don’t. “I do.” And these words come out as a sigh, forcing Joshua and me to take a moment to appreciate my unlikely regrets. “But”—I rally, of course—“it needs to be done. And anyway, I have a plan and that plan is sitting in the truck outside.”
Joshua snickers. Which is an entirely different kind of snicker than the one Kael snorted at me mere seconds ago. Then he walks over to the window behind the front desk that acts like a checkout stand—though there is no checking out happening here, all the food is free—and pulls a light blue curtain aside. After a moment, he turns back to me. “He looks…”
“Dangerous?”
Joshua points to me. “That.”
“He is. That’s why I came to the pantry instead of the coven.”
“Oh!” Joshua gets it. “Emily’s not here, but let me give her a call. She’ll know what to do.” Then he turns back the way he came and disappears behind the door curtain.
“I’m sure she will,” I absently say, tracing my finger along the side of a large wooden crate holding watermelons. Which are way out of season, especially for Idaho, but, of course, they were grown in the greenhouse, so they are not out of place.
Then I wander down a narrow hallway until I reach a long set of shelves filled with jars of herbs. I study Emily’s stock for a moment. I’ve never been curious about kitchen magic since I have the Darkness inside me, but now, I find myself reading labels.
All of the jars contain a specific dried herb. These jars hold ingredients, not potions. Which is a quaint word that I quite like, but Emily calls what she cooks up with them ‘teas.’ It’s a human-friendly word, so she says.
Joshua comes back. “OK. She gave me a list of options. Not these,” he says, pointing to the jars. “Back here.” Then he leads me deeper into the innards of the church and we stop in front of a locked room. He keys in a code, opens the door, and invites me to go inside.
Which I do.
Now here… here is where Emily keeps all her incredible and innate talent tightly sealed up in little vials. The White River coven is the only one I have, but there are many other kitchen-witch covens in this part of the world and we do trades with them. The church pantry isn’t actually a food bank, it’s the storefront for my very lucrative apothecary.
Joshua follows me in, closes the door, and starts reading off the list he made, adding a question mark after each statement. “Dizzy? Sleepy? Exposed? Living Dead?”
“Hmmm.” I ponder these options. “What is ‘exposed’?”
Joshua’s eyes flick up to the ceiling like he’s thinking. Then he looks back at me. “It makes you kind of… impressionable? But with a healthy dose of ‘don’t give a fuck.’”
“What do you suggest?”
“Well.” He takes a moment to think again. “Are we going to kill him?”