Page 28 of The Cursed Chalice

I take a sip of my coffee and smile at her. “I’m Raya. What’s your name?”

“Hecate, but you can call me Cate.”

“Hecate, as in the goddess. That’s cool.”

Cate sits up straight against the faux leather booth. “You know Hecate?”

“I know she still has followers, and she happens to be a badass goddess who deals with magic.” I shrug.

Cate drags her finger around the rim of her coffee cup. “Badass goddess. I like that.”

I chuckle. “You should.”

Hecate looks down at the paper and pulls it toward her. “Looking for a job?”

“Um, yes.” I should pack up and leave.

“Really? Are you good with children?” she asks.

Am I good with children? I don’t know. There was never any reason for them to be present in my life.

“I have no idea.” That was the truth.

Hecate taps her chin. “You see, a poor child with no shoes on steals an apple from a shop owner. The shop owner doesn’t see it, but you do. What’s your next move?”

“I would,” I bite my lips, “tell her to pick up more food and tell her to follow me to the counter so I can pay for it.”

Hecate nods. “You’re perfect.”

“Perfect?”

Hecate sips her coffee and makes a face. “By the gods, it tastes like grill grease and mud.”

She pushes the coffee and reaches forward for my toast. She breaks it in half and eats it. “This is even worse than the coffee. You need this job.”

Common sense tells me that this is how human trafficking happens. A beautiful lady approaches and then tells you,“Hey Ihave a job for you.”All I’m waiting for is for her to say it’s six figures.

“It’s a six-figure payment,” Hecate says as she wipes her hand with a napkin.

Bingo. There it is.

“My friend has a new ward. He is a businessman, and since it’s the beginning of summer, he needs someone to care for her.”

Everything about this smells suspicious. I think I should wrap it up and let her go on her way.

“Well, thank you?—”

“It’s $12,000.00 a month, and you will have your own board and car,” she states. The goddess-turned-wannabe-human-trafficker is pulling no stops.

The bell over the door rings, and two local police officers walk in. Shit. One is tall and heavily tanned, with his pants hiding under his belly. The other is short, stocky, and brown. My stomach flutters. The last thing I need is to draw the attention of cops. I lower my head to the paper. They both sit on stools and begin to talk out loud.

“So, are you willing to accept the offer?” Hecate asks.

Just as I was about to reject the offer, the police officer shouts, “Charlene, turn the TV up.”

“BTC News. I am Rebecca O’Neil. Media billionaire Elias Thorne is offering four million for the return of his bride. Soraya Maude, Elias’s fiancée, disappeared just hours before the private ceremony at the Balmont estate. She was last seen in lower Balmont in her wedding dress. The distraught Elias is asking for any leads on his fiancée. No sign of foul play has been confirmed, but the speculations are mounting. Is it cold feet or more?”

The tanned police officer huffs. “Spoiled brat. I’m sure she ran for some stupid reason.”