Page 67 of The Bone Witch
“I’m going to check the wards around the property and then get cleaned up. We’ll leave in an hour,” Rogan tells me, moving for the door.
“Leaving?” I ask, confused.
“We have that meeting with the coven today, you know, to figure out this whole tethering thing,” he reminds me, and it’s all I can do not to facepalm.
“Right,” I declare, trying not to look like an idiot.
How the hell did that slip my mind? He just told me about it.
“Can we stop by that diner on our way so I can drop off the tea?” I ask. “You know, if it’s on the way,” I add, realizing I have no idea where it is in relation to where we are now or where we’re going.
“Yeah, that works, let’s leave in thirty then, cool?”
Rogan disappears out the door before I can so much as offer mycoolin agreement, and despair settles around me in his wake. I can’t really blame him; I’d probably need a moment to myself too if I thought my parents were plotting against me.
I look over at my bag of bones and send out a plea to them for help. I feel at a complete loss for what to do. Clearly, the Order thinks the solution is obvious, but the one interaction I’ve had with them could have killed me. They play too fast and loose to be trusted with something I value above all things, my life.
I sense the hot breath of some unknown danger as it breathes threateningly down my back. I worry I won’t be smart enough, fast enough, or powerful enough to keep from getting swallowed up by it. I have so many questions and so few answers. It’s beyond frustrating and disheartening.
I fluff my curls and make my way upstairs to get my shoes. Hopefully, after meeting with this coven, I can checkworries about tetheringoff my list. If Rogan and I can fix our magic without any long-term damage, then I’ll count that as the win. And one thing I know for sure is that right now, we could desperately use one.
* * *
Sleigh bells jingle as I pull the door to the diner open, a box of homemade pain-relieving tea bags tucked under my arm. I realized as we parked outside that I didn’t get the waitress’s name, and I’m not sure if she’ll be working today.
I scan the mostly empty diner. There’s a younger raven-haired waitress refilling the drinks of a middle-aged couple sitting side by side in a booth. And at the counter, a woman with curly dark brown hair sits on a stool, casually sipping a cup of coffee. Disappointment drops like a marble in my gut when I don’t see the waitress with the kind blue eyes roaming around.
I approach the counter and set the box on top of the clean surface, waiting for the raven-haired waitress to finish up with the couple. Hopefully, she’ll either be willing to pass along the tea or tell me when I can stop back by to drop it off myself. The lady with the curly dark hair looks over at me, and I offer her a warm smile.
She gives me an uncertain half-grin and then drops her gaze back down to her cup of coffee. The door to the back swings open, and to my relief, the waitress with the salt-and-pepper hair and warm blue eyes walks out.
“Hello, honey,” she greets me warmly. “What can I get started for you?” she adds as she settles in front of me.
“I’m so glad you’re here. I brought that tea that I mentioned when I was here before,” I tell her, and then I see a flash of confusion streak through her gaze. She takes me in, I’m sure searching her memory banks, and I know she’s found our exchange when her eyes light up. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to drop it off yesterday, but as promised, there’s nothing bad or illegal, and it won’t make you sick,” I reassure her.
“Oh don’t be sorry, honey. Truth be told, I completely forgot, so this is a welcome surprise.”
I chuckle and hand the box over. I hope it helps—my grandmother swore by it—and I put my card in the box in case you ever want more.”
“That’s kind of you, dear, are you sure I don’t owe you anything?” she asks, taking the box. I can feel her genuine curiosity and excitement.
“Not a thing, it’s my pleasure to help,” I tell her, pushing away from the counter.
She graces me with a beautiful smile. “Well, I think I’ll brew a cup right now. I’m just starting my shift, so this will be a good test,” she declares cheerily.
I wave a goodbye, and she darts back through the door to the back. I turn to leave, and that’s when it hits me. That uncomfortable feeling scratching just under my skin. Theneedto help someone in whatever way I can. I turn around, taking in the restaurant with new purpose. I put a hand behind my back and discreetly conjure my bag of bones.
I told Rogan I would just be a minute. Hopefully, he won’t be too pissed if this takes a bit. Memories of my last reading float to the surface of my mind, and a distinct buzz of excitement-laced curiosity moves through me like a current.
Who will it be, and what will the bones have to say to them?
I look over at the couple, but this feeling isn’t for them. I search for the waitress, finding her behind the counter, refilling the other patron’s coffee cup. The urgency spikes in me, and I move back toward the counter, to where the bones are calling me. As I close the distance, I realize that the feeling isn’t for the waitress either, but for the woman with the curly dark hair and uncertain smile.
“I’ll be with you in a second if that’s okay; I just need to get another pot going,” the waitress tells me in greeting.
I wave her off. “You’re fine, I don’t need anything right now, but thank you,” I declare, and she shoots me a grateful smile and then disappears to the back with the coffee pot.
I take a deep breath and pull out the stool directly next to the woman who I can feel is summoning me for help. I wait for her to look over at me in either a friendlyyou’re sitting too closekind of way or to shoot me a look of discomfort, but she seems intent on staring at the counter while taking occasional sips from her bowl-sized mug.
