Old Demon and the Sea Witch (Welcome to Hell #9) - Eve Langlais Page 0,14

her to pause.

“I looked at your nephew as requested.”

“But you haven’t had dinner.” The plate of prime roast landed in front of us, steaming, rare red, and delicious-looking.

“I guess, I could eat.” She joined me and proceeded to pack away her meal, then dessert, not saying much. But then again, neither did I.

I instead took in the changes in her, from the plumpness of her cheeks showing an enjoyment of food that she displayed with every savored bite. The curly hair, barely brushed, the streaked gray similar to that of a cloudy day. The lines on her face showed she’d lived a full life with happiness yet sorrow. Smiles and a few scowls.

“You’re staring,” she grumbled.

“Is that a problem?”

“Yes.” She stabbed at a cherry that rolled on her plate.

“You led a full life,” I stated.

“Is that a nice way of saying I look ridden hard and put away worn-out?”

“What? No.” I chuckled. “More that you had a life. A good one?”

“Yes.”

“Until your husband died.”

Her lips twitched. “More so after he did. Don’t get me wrong. Gerard was a good husband. But a human one. He couldn’t understand me.”

“I didn’t either at the time.”

“And you think you do now?” Dottie asked, quirking a brow.

The move was so familiar, I laughed. “No. I would never dare to presume. I’d say you’re even more complicated now.”

“At least you recognize it.”

I sobered. “I always did. You—” I would have said something probably super revealing and sappy, but suddenly, our table wobbled. I glanced at it. Then around me, where nothing else shook.

“Was that you?” she asked.

“No.”

The tablecloth began to slide, the cutlery and dishes crashing to the floor. Dottie frowned and used magic to yank it back into place. “We must have tilted.”

No, we hadn’t. “Give me a second.”

I leaned down and shoved my head under the cloth for a peek. A green face peeked out from under the table. Grinned. Turned to look over his shoulder at Dottie’s feet. Sensible white runners on them. The creature held up a marker.

“Don’t you dare.” I dove under the table, hearing Dottie exclaim, “What are you doing?”

I wrestled with the goblin, thumping it between the legs, managing to wrench the marker away from it. The goblin harrumphed and managed to wiggle free but not before jostling the hand with the marker.

The tablecloth lifted, and Dottie glared at me. “Excuse me.”

“I know this looks bad,” I said from between her legs, the marker in my hand, the tip still pressed against her feminine parts. “There was a goblin.”

“On a cruise line of this caliber? On a maiden voyage?” She sniffed.

“I swear. There was a goblin.”

“And you’re telling me you know how to handle goblins now on top of being head librarian? What’s next? Arachnid wrangler? If you’re going to pretend, Shax, at least make it believable.”

Dottie left, and I spent a moment on the floor gaping. She really didn’t have the slightest clue about me. Which made me determined to show her what I was about.

First, I checked on Ian. He was gambling, with a woman on his lap. Good for him! He deserved every ounce of pleasure he could wring with the time he had left.

Then I went looking for a drink and ended up finding Dottie in the lounge. I deliberately sat beside her.

She delivered a side-eye. “You again. Don’t see a fellow in centuries, and suddenly he’s crowding me.”

“Just rekindling a friendship.”

“Were we ever friends, Shax?” She gave me a challenging stare. “Because I recall you telling me to get out of your face after a tiny little booboo.”

“You destroyed several hundred irreplaceable works.”

“By accident. Technically, you started that fire when you knocked over the candle.”

“Because you snuck up on me.” Intent on my work, I hadn’t expected her voice to distract me. And I most certainly hadn’t been prepared for her kiss.

“The candle was your fault,” she insisted.

“Agreed. But the water you drenched that section of the library in to put it out?” I reminded.

Her lips quirked. “Overkill.”

“Just by about ten thousand tons.”

“I’ll admit I miscalculated the magic. You didn’t have to throw me out of your life.”

I gaped at her. Perhaps a little dumbly. “When did I tell you to get out of my life?”

“You told me to leave.”

I remembered the incident as if it had happened yesterday.

I was working on a particularly interesting book written in an ancient language no one remained to teach. I’d been muddling along, trying to figure it out, when Dottie marched into the section of the