Page 19 of Demon's Bane

“Why not?”

She comes out from behind the counter and leans against it. “Because that’s not why you’re here?”

I take her in again—the slight shadows under her eyes, the flour and tea stains on her apron, the soft tendrils of hair that have fallen loose around her face—and a pulse of shame settles itself in my gut.

My mate has been working hard all day, and what have I been doing? Sitting on my ass and waiting. We may not fully trust each other yet, and she may not even like me that much, but right is right and wrong is wrong, and it’s wrong of me to be idle when I could be helping her.

“Well, at the moment, I’m not really here for any reason at all, so the least I could do is make myself useful.”

She gives me another strange look and shakes her head. “It’s fine. I’ve pretty much wrapped up everything I need to do for the shop.”

As she speaks, a bell goes off in the kitchen. I raise an eyebrow at her obvious fib.

“That’s personal. I have some friends coming over later.”

“Friends?”

“Other witches,” she says cautiously.

“From the Crescent Coven?”

She pauses before she speaks. “I… suppose you could say that.”

It’s clear she’s done discussing the matter when she picks up a rag and starts wiping down the counter. Easy work. Busy work. Work that I could be doing.

“You can head upstairs if you want,” Joan says in a tone that betrays the fact she really wishes I would.

“Does Seren never stop by after close of business?” I ask, and Joan sighs.

“Fine.” She throws her hands up and heads back into the kitchen. “Suit yourself. But you’re going to need to make yourself scarce when my friends get here.”

With that, my mate dismisses me again, and I settle back in to wait.

An hour later, I’ve accomplished nothing more than making my ass even more numb than it was before from sitting here all damned day, and building up an even deeper sense of shame for all the work Joan is accomplishing while I do.

Evening is falling outside, Joan keeps hinting her friends are on the way, and I’m just about to concede the mysterious Seren will not grace us with her presence tonight, when a motion from the other side of the shop’s front windows catches my attention.

A figure approaches, head bent against the slight drizzle falling from heavy gray skies.

The woman is tall and lean, with a sharp angular face and hair the color of pale wheat. She’s wearing tightly fitted, dark blue pants and a black jacket, and looks surreptitiously left and right as she reaches the door.

As I watch, she crouches and moves her hand over the lock Joan secured a few hours ago. It opens at her touch, and she lets herself in.

The potent wave of her magick hits me—as shining and metallic as a blade—and though she looks calm, unhurried as she steps inside, all my instincts flare to life.

When the witch sees me, she stops dead in her tracks.

“Joan?” she calls out, not taking her eyes off me.

We stay locked in that staring match as Joan appears in the kitchen doorway and freezes, gaze widening when she spots the woman standing there.

The blond witch glances over at her before turning her keen stare back to me.

“What the hell are you doing with a demon in your tea shop?”

5

Joan