Page 3 of Any Witch Wolf (The Smokethorn Paranormals #2)

Gladys sent me Cecil’s photo then left me alone in the garden room with my weak charms, my snoozing cat, and my dance-fever gnome.

I half-heartedly sang along with “Knock Three Times” by Tony Orlando and Dawn as I swept a pile of soil that had overflowed one of the dresser-drawer planters into a dustpan and dumped it onto the compost heap in the back of the room. I stabbed the pile with my pitchfork and set to work turning it.

The physical labor took my mind off … things.

I was already regretting offering to take Gladys’s place at Ronan’s Pub tomorrow morning. If the elder wolf wasn’t such a sweetheart, I’d already be calling her to cancel.

Ronan’s a good one, you know…

Was he a good one? Could I really trust him?

I recalled a conversation we’d had about the pack last month.

“You can tell me the truth, you know,” I said, “about anything you want.”

“I did.”

That had been a lie. It was also the crux of my problem with the wolf. Because he wouldn’t be open with me, I didn’t know what he was dealing with—especially regarding the pack. No matter how much you might like someone, if you weren’t sure what their motivations were, you couldn’t trust them. Not fully.

Yet … I really wanted to trust Ronan Pallás.

And that in itself was worrisome. That was the sort of mindset that led to mistakes in judgment.

My cell buzzed in my back pocket, bringing me back to myself. When I saw who was calling, I hung up the pitchfork. Otherwise, I’d be tempted to drive it through the phone.

“Hello, it’s Betty.”

“Hello, Betty.” Ugh . Sexton’s voice was the verbal equivalent of an ice cube on a broken tooth. Worse yet, it sounded like he was calling from the cellar of a haunted house. Lots of weird squeaks and whistling moans in the background.

No way was I asking where he was. I didn’t want to know.

I powered past the discomfort of his voice and took myself and the phone to the front of the garden room, breathing in the scent of clean, damp soil and fragrant herbs. Dirt crunched under my feet, making the clay-tile floor slippery. Time to sweep again.

“Is my artifact behaving?”

“Phrasing it like that isn’t making me feel better about letting you store it here. What is this damned thing, anyway?”

“A damned thing,” he said, with a low, wheezy chuckle. “Literally.”

Oh goody. The demon was a comedian today. “I’m going to be straight with you. I don’t like not knowing what I’m storing. It makes me feel like an accessory to a crime.”

“There is no crime. The item won’t harm you, your magic, or your soil. It is inert unless awakened.”

I thought about how the box had warmed against my chest this morning and pleaded with the gods that I hadn’t somehow activated the damned thing.

When I asked Sexton about it, he said, “The warmth is normal. It means the artifact is … safe. If it was awake, you would know it.”

A cold, sweaty feeling came over me. “What about my people? Are they safe?”

“The gnome, cat, and paranormals are safe. Any humans will be fine. As long as the necromancer stays away from it, it won’t harm her, either.”

What ? “It’s dangerous to Ida? Please come get this thing, Sexton. I can’t put my friend in danger.”

“Not dangerous, no. And you have my apologies, but I am unable to retrieve it at this time.” He brushed off my concern. “Have you buried it yet?”

“I planted it in a pot.”

“Not in the ground?”

“No.” I pulled the phone away from my ear and glared at it before putting it back. “Sexton, I’m not a fool. I’m not giving an artifact I don’t understand access to my soil.”

“How nice . You’re referring to the soil as yours and not your mother’s. It is your soil, Betty.”

“That’s what you’re taking away from what I said?” I shook my head. “Nope. I don’t like this. I’ll refund your money. Just please send someone for this thing. Or I can bring it to you. Tell me where and when. No charge.”

“I can see this situation presents a problem for you.”

I dragged a hand over my face. “Is this the part of the conversation where you bribe me to keep the artifact here?”

“No.” His voice went icy. “This is where I remind you to whom you are speaking.”

My body flash-froze. The graveyard demon was not a being to be trifled with. He could stop my heart with a blink of his baleful eyes. Over a distance. Probably over a phone call.

“I’m not trying to anger you,” I said, verbally tiptoeing around a land mine. “I’m trying to balance my debt to you with my need to keep the people around me safe.”

“I have assured you enough on that subject. You will do as I say. I will, of course, compensate you.” Sexton named a price that meant I could not only gravel the parking lot but probably put in a community hot tub, too.

I had no choice, but he was paying me well for my lack of options.

“How long?” I asked.

“A few days.”

Great. A vague answer. My favorite. “Can I at least keep the artifact in my trailer?” If it was in the Airstream, Ida wouldn’t stumble over it on her own. The only one who could enter my trailer when I was away was Fennel, and Sexton had said the cat was safe around it.

“As long as it’s covered with soil, it will be fine no matter where you keep it.”

“Why won’t you tell me what it is?”

“Good day to you, Witch Betty,” he replied and ended the call.

“ Good day to you ,” I mimicked to the empty room. “Who even talks like that?”

I called out to Cecil, and he showed up ten minutes later. The gnome operated on “Cecil Time,” which was to say he arrived whenever he damn well pleased. I was lucky it had only taken him ten minutes.

We went to work deconstructing the faulty charms, but neither of us could figure out a problem with the construction, the ingredients, or the spell. At least, not an obvious one. Except…

“It really is me, isn’t it? I’d hoped…” I felt like crying. “My magic isn’t strong enough to keep a charm going— I’m not strong enough.”

I sank down on the chaise beside the lavender and dropped my head into my hands. “We’ve Only Just Begun” by The Carpenters played on the radio. I’d half-forgotten it was still on. Karen Carpenter’s voice was relaxing, but I was too upset to be soothed.

Fennel rose and stretched. He and Cecil climbed onto the chaise and sat on either side of me, making purring and chittering noises. They knew what I was saying was true. They sympathized. But they didn’t know how to solve the problem.

“The soil acted like it didn’t want me to leave when I was talking to Joon, but the moment the mage said he understood why I was changing my mind about leaving, it got weird again,” I said. “Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Most of the time it works for a little while then dies out.”

For a few seconds, I let myself feel the tiniest edge of disappointment before pushing it down again. I needed to find a solution , not lose myself in my feelings.

“ Meow .”

I patted Fennel’s head. “This is one of the few times I wished KLXX played more eighties songs. It’s the perfect moment for the Clash’s ‘Should I Stay Or Should I Go.’”

“ MEOW .”

“Hey, it’s not as if I want to leave, but I have to do something. Because the only thing more dangerous than a strong witch with limitless power is a desperate witch with weak power.”

Cecil chittered.

“You keep an eye on me, Fennel. You too, Cecil. Stop me if I go too far.” My stomach clenched. I’d seen witches do despicable things when the craving for power overtook reason. Dark things. Evil things drenched in blood and pain.

I’d die before I let myself become like them. Worse yet, I’d join the La Paloma coven before I allowed that to happen.

Fennel head-bumped my hand.

Cecil crept down the chaise and up the leg of the lavender planter. He dove into the roots, producing a small pile of the lush, loamy soil, crawled back out, and set it at my feet.

I looked at Fennel, who purred a sigh.

Once he’d pinched my foot— way too hard, by the way —to make sure I didn’t kick the pile over, the gnome raced out to the yard and brought back another pile of soil, this one from in front of Mom’s cottage. The lavender soil was a little darker and wetter, and the outside soil was loamier, but otherwise they were similar enough. I’d spent last week and this one working compost into the yard, breaking up clumps and feeding it magic.

“Are you conducting some sort of test?” I asked him.

He squeaked, and his hat dusted pollen onto the piles.

“Okay, we have two piles. What do you want me to do?” I asked, but I was pretty sure I knew.

Cecil set his sleeved hands on his hips and screeched at me.

“Fine. I’ll stop asking dumb questions. Quit yelling.”

I bent over, plunged the index fingers of each hand into a pile, and sent magic into them. Both piles glittered like sunlight on rhinestones.

“ Me-ow ,” Fennel said.

“I know. This is new. It started last week, after the demon summoning.”

Cecil chittered.

“The problem is, the second I do this,” I drew back my hands and clasped them between my knees, “ this happens.”

The soil from the yard glimmered for another few seconds then went dark. The soil from inside the garden room continued to shine for several minutes before fading naturally.

Fennel and Cecil looked at each other.

“It matches up with my experience. I’m more powerful off my own soil than I am on it.” I let out a sigh that started in my belly and worked its way up. “On top of everything else, I’m depleted. I’m an earth elemental witch, you guys. What I just did should’ve powered me the same way it did the soil. But only the lavender soil gave me a burst of magic. The one from outside made me feel like garbage.”

I stood, stepped over the piles, and stared down at the charm ingredients on my workstation. “I can’t seem to fix this. And I need to, because living on this soil is draining me.”

Thursday morning, I showed up at Ronan’s pub a little before nine a.m. Gladys’s hours were nine to one, what she’d called a “pity shift.”

“I receive deliveries and packages, wipe down any tables the staff might’ve missed the night before, check the bathrooms,” she’d explained. “Mostly I drink coffee and read the paper. Chat with the early birds, folks coming in off the night shift. Play some music, nothing too crazy until around noon, since they’re trying to come down after working all night.”

I unlocked the steel security door with Gladys’s keys, the spell that repelled uninvited humans giving a little tug as I crossed the small entryway to the glass inner door. I unlocked that one and hit the light switch to my right.

Everything looked tidy. Someone had swept and mopped, and the chairs were on the floor instead of on the table. Something told me Ronan made sure they were set up so Gladys wouldn’t have to mess with them. As wary as I was of the guy, I was deeply attracted to the respect and compassion he showed the elder wolves in the pack.

I was also deeply attracted to the man for other reasons, which was ten kinds of worrisome. Especially considering how happy it would make his pack leader father if I were to take a long walk off a short pier.

Following Gladys’s directions, I made a pot of coffee, ushered in a beer delivery, and set the radio to my favorite oldies station. “Want You to Want Me” by Cheap Trick played over staticky speakers, and I rocked along with the song as I dragged a damp cloth over a couple of tables the nightshift staff had missed.

“If I’m still dreaming, please don’t wake me up. Coffee is brewing, the distributor was on time, and Betty Lennox is playing air guitar in my bar. The gods must love me today.”

I spun around. “Hello, Ronan.” I hadn’t heard him come into the room, but that wasn’t a surprise. The man was an incredibly strong alpha wolf shifter. If he couldn’t sneak up on a witch, he had problems.

“And you’re wearing the red camellia in your hair.” He clasped his hand to his chest. “It’s almost too much for one man to take.”

I smoothed my hands over the front of the Ronan’s Pub T-shirt I’d borrowed from Gladys and tugged on the hem of my black shorts. Like the top, they were a little snug, though from the way Ronan’s gaze traveled down my body, not unattractively so.

“You look tired,” I said. “Why are you up?”

“Kind of a mean response, but I’m going take it in a positive way and assume you’re concerned for me.” He went behind the bar and grabbed a cup of coffee. He was also wearing a Ronan’s pub T-shirt. And a pair of gray sweatpants. Damn it, the man looked good in sweatpants, and I had a weakness for that particular pair. The way the soft cotton hugged the hard muscles in his thighs and ass had the back of my neck sweating.

“I meant it in a positive way,” I said.

He took a long drink from his mug and winked at me. “I knew you liked me.”

A little too much. No way would I admit it to him, though.

“You work until at least two a.m. Gladys said you don’t come downstairs until almost noon most days. What’s up?”

“Normally, I don’t. But I’d told Gladys to take the morning off because she had a doctor’s appointment, so I came down to see why she hadn’t listened to me. Imagine my surprise when I walked in and saw the woman who’d recently stood on my bar and proclaimed my magnificence dancing to one of my all-time favorite songs.”

“That was to pay off a bet,” I drawled.

“Sure, but we both know you meant it. Deep down.”

“Did I?”

“Let me dream, Witch Betty. Let me dream.”

The thought of featuring in Ronan’s dreams had my mind going places it was best to stay away from.

“Now that you can see the bar’s in good hands, go back to bed. I’ve seen raccoons with lighter circles around their eyes.” I finished wiping down the tables and washed my hands before grabbing a mug of coffee for myself.

“All right, but only because I know you’re worried about me.” He topped off his mug and strolled down the hallway that led to his office, the storeroom, and a set of stairs leading up to an apartment above the bar. “I’ll be back down in a couple of hours. Try not to miss me too much.”

“Smart ass.”

“I heard that.” His head popped around the corner. “Don’t let Charlie Hannigan talk you into starting him a tab. The old wolf pays before he drinks. Gladys warned me about him a couple years ago.”

The morning went well. I earned twenty-three dollars in tips that I dropped into Gladys’s jar, told Charlie Hannigan we didn’t accept checks or excuses, and made small talk with the regulars. They were a good bunch, friendly and undemanding, and before I knew it, my shift was over.

Contrary to his earlier pronouncement, Ronan didn’t make it downstairs until I was ready to leave. The circles under his eyes were more pronounced, and he seemed preoccupied. “You heading out?”

I pointed at the clock above the bar. “Gladys said she usually leaves at one. Do you need me to stay longer?”

“Nah.” He waved hello to a couple patrons before grabbing a file folder from beneath the bar. “Need you to fill out a form so I can pay you.”

“Just pay Gladys. She’ll reward me in wine snacks.”

He set the file back, turned, and nodded toward the hall. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure.”

We went around the corner. Ronan froze, leaned his head back, and said, “Charlie, if you touch that tap again, I’ll break every bone in your hand.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“That wolf is a menace to society,” I said.

Ronan leaned against the wall. “I need to ask a favor.” His phone vibrated, and he cursed when he saw the caller. “Hell. I need to take this. Can I talk to you later? Please? Maybe over dinner tonight? Not a date or anything, not that I wouldn’t like to—oh, damn it all.” He tapped the phone screen. “Ronan, here. Hold for a second.” He kept the cell next to his ear but pulled it away from his mouth. “Sorry.”

“Is this a business favor or a personal one?” I asked.

“Business. Also kind of personal.” He tilted the phone up to his mouth. “I said, hold for a second .”

“Dinner tonight is fine,” I said. “After your call, text me the time.”

His eyes sparked, and he gave me a beautiful smile that reminded me of his wolf. “Thank you.”

I stuck around until Ronan was able to take over then waved at everyone and walked out the door. The pub had been a little chilly, and the afternoon warmth was a welcome change. I stretched my arms over my head and bent at the waist, my spine crackling. Apparently, my body wasn’t used to bussing tables and serving booze. How the heck had Gladys done this for years?

I glanced back into the pub. The security door prevented me from seeing much, but I could make out Ronan’s silhouette. Although I couldn’t see his eyes, I sensed he was watching me.

Had I made a mistake agreeing to dinner? At the time, it had felt like an expedient way to solve a problem. He needed to talk to me and couldn’t just then. That was all.

But my mind kept circling back to a night last month, when I’d been nearly stomped to death by a demon in the Siete Saguaros parking lot. Ronan had been there. When he’d seen I was in danger, he’d shifted to wolf. The man had bloodied his paws trying to dig me out of the salt circle.

The memory of what Ronan had done afterward played through my mind, the way it had so many times in the nearly three weeks since.

“Thank the gods.” He’d cradled the side of my face, fingers threading into my hair. “You’re all right? Really all right?”

As much as I believed it was a terrible idea to get emotionally involved with him, every time the memory arose, my body warmed from the inside out. Ronan had said all this in front of my friends, the coven, and the pack’s second alpha. He’d said it in front of his alpha leader father. That and his shifting to try to help me had earned him a vitriolic dressing down, which Ronan had taken with silent strength.

He’d shown his father that I was someone he cared about, and that he didn’t give a damn what the alpha thought of him for it.

This attitude wouldn’t serve him well with the Pallás pack, and probably not the local coven, either, since they were contracted by the pack. The unresolved conflict between Alpha Floyd and me was going to come to a head, probably soon, and if the pack wolves didn’t think they could trust Ronan to stand up to me, there was no telling what they’d do to him.

I shook the thought aside and dug into my purse for my sunglasses. As I was sliding them on, I noticed a sedan parked about six SUV lengths back. It was the ivory beige of drug-store foundation makeup. In fact, if Ronan stretched naked over the hood, I’m not sure I’d be able to see him.

“Great. Why did I put that image in my head?” I murmured.

There was something odd about the car, something so nondescript it had flipped around and became noticeable again. A white or light-skinned brown man in sunglasses sat inside, fingers clenched around the steering wheel. That was pretty much all I could see of him.

I climbed into my Mini and started it up. Checked my rearview mirror. He was still sitting there. I pulled away from the curb. Still there.

He didn’t follow. Of course, it wasn’t as if he’d have to be overt about it, even if he were following. I was driving my mom’s bright orange Mini Cooper. Airline passengers could probably spot me from ten thousand feet. Maybe I’d drive my old Jeep Laredo next time. It blended in more.

I glanced in the rearview one last time before I turned the corner. The sedan was still at the curb, but the driver’s gaze was on me. I felt it the same way I’d felt Ronan’s on me earlier. Instinctually.

Maybe he was checking me out. I did have a nice pair of gams. I wasn’t too shy to admit it.

Maybe it was perfectly innocent.

Maybe.

But somehow, I didn’t think so.