“What am I not going to like, Gwynedd?” he asks, crossing his arms.
“I was with Seamus.” I pause for a moment. “At his house. I asked him to instruct me in his cat sith ways of intuition. He agreed. And—”
“Did you get hurt?” He checks my body from my head to my feet.
“No. Stop fussing over me. I’m fine. The magic made me a bit dizzy. I recovered in minutes. Not like my reaction to the crystal grid. The results were fucking amazing.”
He frowns. “What were you thinking, witch? He’s a cat sith. His magic could have damaged you.”
“Agnes wasn’t much help, and I found out Ronnie is experiencing a sense of dread daily—her mother’s intuition mixing with her witch energy. I wanted to test if his witchcraft art could strengthen mine enough to help catch the Baby Nabbers. And the rogue witch, if there is one.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I don’t understand. If you were successful, why are you so upset?”
“I lost my balance when the magic stopped abruptly, and he caught me before I hit my head on the fireplace hearth. When I looked up at him, he misinterpreted my expression of delight at my success and—”
Archie’s brow furrows. “And what, Gwynedd?”
“He kissed me.” I clench my teeth.
“Fawk, Gwyn. What did you do?”
“I pushed him away, of course. He realized he’d made a mistake and apologized profusely. I told him his affections were misguided and that he’d fallen in love with an image in a painting. We’re taking a break from research. I won’t be seeing him for a while.”
He runs a hand through his locks. “This will make working together very awkward. You’ve made a mess of things. I wish you had asked me first.”
“Because I need your permission? You don’t own me.” I stomp to the foyer in my socks and shove my feet into my shoes.
“Where are you going? Aren’t you eating and staying the night?”
I put on my jacket and zip it up. “No. I’m going home to sleep in my own bed.”
He strokes my arm. “I’m sorry. Please, don’t leave.”
“I need a break from the both of you.” I open the door. “Give me some space. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”
“Whatever you want, Gwyn.” He kisses me on the cheek before I leave, but the pained expression on his face as the door swings closed stands in stark contrast to his words.
On the way home to Leslie’s house, the stress of everything escapes in a scream, and I howl at the moon in the twilight sky. I can’t use the grid to expand my vision, and my intuition remains useless. The gray-skinned monster invades my thoughts like an uninvited voyeur. I don’t have time for you now, asshole.
Chapter seventeenUntimely Regrets
When I enter the kitchen the next morning, Leslie is drinking coffee at the tiny table. She’s dressed in a cotton nightgown and robe. Mr. Yeats sits on the floor by her feet, purring and wagging his tail. I’m glad he had a good night’s sleep. Agnes slept over because her sewer pipe needs replacing. The two of them made such a racket in bed, I barely got any shut-eye.
“Good morning, Leslie,” I say, yawning. “Where’s Agnes?”
“She’s still in bed. Never been a person to greet the sunrise, as you well know. Actually, I sensed your use of magic last evening when you returned from Archie’s. I wasn’t expecting you.”
After yesterday’s fiasco, I contemplate whether to tell them about my training session with Seamus. I prepare a cup of tea and sit across from her, inhaling the jasmine scent. I take a sip and wait for the caffeine rush to kick in. Agnes shuffles into the kitchen wearing a black nightgown and orange pumpkin slippers, the ones Shane put on clearance after Samhain. Her salt and pepper hair resembles a bird’s nest—one with less organization.
“Happy fucking morning,” she says, grabbing the kettle from the stove.
“Why don’t you warm up water in the microwave?” I ask. “Takes less time?”
She glares at me through slits. “You make your tea your way. I’ll make mine how I want.” She fills up the kettle and drops it on the burner. “What are you doing here, anyway? Weren’t you supposed to stay at Archie’s last night?”
Mr. Yeats’s yellow and blue eyes flip back and forth at us like a sideways pendulum. I take another sip of my tea and stare at the familiar, begging for a solution to my dilemma. He yawns at me. Thanks for nothing, busy body.
“You don’t have to answer, but did you have a lover’s quarrel?” Leslie asks.
I sigh and drop my cup on the saucer with a clink. “Yes, I should probably tell you both. Although Seamus would prefer I not share what happened.”
“This sounds serious,” she replies.
Agnes rubs her hands together. “Delicious gossip. Let me get my tea first.”
Leslie drops her mug on the table and sits back in her chair. I wait for my mentor to move next to Leslie with her tea and explain what happened at Seamus’s house—the amazing connection I had—and his kiss. When I’m finished, Leslie leans forward without a reply and finishes her coffee.
“Don’t you have an opinion? I thought you’d be pissed. Archie was.”
Agnes scowls at me. “I fucking do. What the fuck were you thinking, Gwyn? His magic is different. So, I’m not good enough for you now?”
“You took a risk practicing the craft with a cat sit witch,” Leslie says. “But it was your risk to take, not ours. You have taken many chances in the past but have always had good intentions in mind. Gwynedd, I understand your motives, and you will not get an admonishment from me. But I don’t sleep with you.”
“Right. Well, at least you’re not angry about it.” I stick my tongue out at my mentor.
Agnes guffaws. “But now we know who would like the job.”
“You’re enjoying my fuck up, aren’t you?” I ask.
