Bewitched (Betwixt & Between #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,22

kill?” I asked, feeling suspicion furrow my face. I wished I were less suspicious in general. Furrowing caused wrinkles. And I was already forty-four. Forty-five. I forced my face to relax.

“What?” she asked, hedging again. “Oh, because I—I made a reservation.”

We hurried past shops and cafes and an incredible statue of Elizabeth Montgomery in Bewitched. I’d wanted a picture, but apparently we couldn’t kill that much time. “I thought they didn’t take reservations. That was why you wanted to get there early.” Tired of being dragged, I moved so we were walking side-by-side.

“They do now.”

“They’ve changed their policy since ten this morning?”

“’Parently. Hey, your hair is longer.” She picked up a heavy black lock, trying to change the subject.

“I couldn’t really get out to get it cut during my hiatus, now could ?” I said through gritted teeth. “Why do we have time to kill?”

She drew in a deep breath. “I kind of told the coven they could join us for lunch, but a couple can’t be there until eleven-thirty.”

“You what?” I yanked her to a stop.

“Hey, you told Ruthie you’d meet them before you bolted.”

“I’m not bolting,” I said, even though that was exactly what I was doing. “I’m taking a vacation.”

“You’re absolutely bolting.”

I hadn’t told Nette about Roane or the light or the candles. What if it had all been me? What if my powers were not only still here—which, they were—but they were taking over? I hadn’t drawn a symbol on the air. I hadn’t used my magics. What if there was something else inside me? Something with a will of its own? I didn’t want her to know any of that, though I did want to tell her about Roane’s nibbling. I got goosebumps just thinking about it. I tugged at my earlobe absently.

“Bolting, not bolting, either way,” she said, “we need to check out the competition. You know, in case you unbolt and come back to us.” She took my hand again and dragged me toward a psychic’s lair—the exterior black with gold lettering that read The Witchery.

“The competition?” I asked. “Nette, there’s no competition. I’m not a psychic.”

“Her name is Liliana Lovett, but she goes by Love. She’s a little . . . off-center, but she’s super nice even though I’m certain she’s hiding something.” She speared me with an all-knowing glower and tapped a finger against her temple. “I see a darkness in her past.”

“Like last night? It was pitch black.”

“She’s running away from something. I can feel it.”

“Are you sure you’re not checking her out because she’s your competition? You’re the fake psychic, after all.”

“That hurt.” She feigned being put out. “But you could be right. A little. I just want your impression because she’s really good. Damn it. Better than I am. She’s also a witch, but she’s not part of your grandmother’s coven.” Turning to me with the most damning evidence of all, she added, “And she’s new in town.”

“She isn’t,” I said, disgusted.

“She is.”

“Where’s a pillory when you need one? Am-I-rite?”

Nodding, she tugged me all the way inside the gorgeous little shop of horrors, decorated with witch-themed paraphernalia new and old, and I kind of fell in love.

We’d walked in during a session. A girl was having her palm read in a small, raised area with a three-foot iron rail and a swing gate. She leaned forward toward someone I assumed was Love, her attention rapt, eager to hear everything the psychic had to say. Two other girls looked up at us from the waiting area, where they were browsing through a plethora of trinkets and bobbles that were for sale. All three were in their early twenties and dressed in costumes, even though Halloween wasn’t for weeks.

Love looked only a little younger than me with an elegant jaw and nose and long blond hair that she’d low-lighted with black and purple streaks. Her profile painted her as a young Lauren Bacall.

I kind of fell in love again. The last time I’d felt such an instant kinship with someone was when I’d first laid eyes on Annette in ninth grade. This was very similar. There was a pull. A gravitational force.

“Oh,” Annette whispered, leaning close. “I forgot to mention that Love doesn’t like me.”

I snapped out of it. “I’m sure that’s not true.” Who wouldn’t like the adorable creature standing next to me?

“Oh, no, trust me on this one.”

I pursed my lips. “How do you know?”

“She told me.”

“Oh.” I glanced over my shoulder at the beauty. “Did she give