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But my mouth watered nonetheless.

“Any of these take your fancy?” the waitress asked.

My eyes scanned over the ornate tins, reading the blends embossed on the metal. My body practically hummed, and when my eyes landed onChamomile, an involuntary sound left my lips. It might have been a whimper. Or a moan. Either way, it was embarrassing.

The waitress grinned. “Chamomile it is.”

I rummaged in my bag, pulling out my ancient tea flask. A quick sniff test revealed that—thank the Gods—someone had actually washed it before tossing it into storage.

The waitress took the flask, bustling behind the counter as I dug through my wallet. Nine years in prison, and all I had to my name was seventy bucks and unresolved trauma. I should save it... but a witch without tea was a very sorry sight indeed.

I squared my shoulders, ready to hand over my cash, when the waitress returned. She looked me up and down. “You just out from Chumana WDC, hon?”

I froze.

Apparently, that was answer enough.

The waitress pushed the flask toward me, along with the entire tin of chamomile tea.

“We get a lot of you in here, what with being close to the bus depot. We believe in second chances in these parts,” she said with a shrug. “It’s on the house.”

My throat tightened.

You don’t deserve this, a cruel little voice whispered.

“I—Thank you,” I managed.

The waitress waved me off. “Don’t worry about it, hon. Just pass it along.”

Teary eyed and no longer tremoring like a dryer on its last legs, I made my way back to the bus depot. I sent a silent prayer of thanks to Hecate, for the bus had arrived earlyandhad heating. I made my way to the back, placing my backpack on the seat beside me, and hoped that the Goddess’s grace extended to not pairing me up with a bus buddy for the overnight journey too.

As I sipped my tea, a glowing red clock at the front of the bus read 11:55 p.m.

Five minutes until this year’s Samhain summoning.

Don’t spend another year without your mate, a small voice called from the abyss of my mind, which I silenced with another sip of tea.

I settled into my seat, clicking the tea flask closed and popping it into my bag, intending to save the second half of my tea for whenever I woke up.

And immediately thought better of it.

If the flask were to leak, which was highly possible given the fact it had been in storage for almost a decade, the last thing I needed was for my tea—consisting of my favorite blend of herbs—to leak into my bag, which was also where I’d thrown my useless rose quartz crystal, on the one night a year a Briar Coven witch could summon her fated mate.

I snorted a laugh at the idea. That’d be just my luck, accidentally summoning an incubus on a bus full of mortals.

I wondered if Lobato’s influence extended to Goddess-blessed unions as well.

Better not chance it.

I scooped the flask into my arms, snuggled deep into my seat, and carefully watched the clock until it ticked past midnight.

Safe.

No accidental summoning tonight.

And with that, I let sleep take me.

Chapter 2. Devlin