Page 32 of Spell Ya Later

I smile. “Sorry about that. We’re a bit new to the magical world. I have your delivery from The Cat’s Cradle.”

“Lucky me.” He walks around the table toward us, gaze bouncing between me and Laura. “I can’t say I don’t prefer you both, but you’re not Elizabeth. New employees?”

“We’re her granddaughters,” Laura snaps.

I raise my eyebrows. Laura usually loves hot guys with the dangerous lumberjack vibe. Her instant distaste is surprising.

He grins, teeth glinting in the sunlight. “Now I see. You’re the elusive hermit grandkids. Anyone else would know the Cedar family.”

Laura snorts. “Someone’s far up their own ass.”

“I know I’m good at what I do, Goldilocks. It’s just a fact.” He turns to me with one last wink in Laura’s direction. “Thank you for bringing my package.”

I shake off the tension and hand him the carefully wrapped bag. “Of course.”

My gaze is caught by the wood carvings on the table before me. They’re all different shapes and sizes—animals, buildings, everything.

“My family and I carve wood. Everything from talismans to altars,” he says with pride.

“Wait.” Laura snorts. “Your last name is Cedar and you work with wood? Really?”

A flicker of annoyance mars his face for a moment, but he quickly relaxes. “And what is it you do, Goldilocks? Prance around judging others?”

There’s no way I’m sticking around for whatever this is. I squeeze Laura’s arm and walk toward a woman spinning wool on an old-school spinning wheel.

“What are you making?” I ask, mesmerized by the soothing rhythm of her actions.

“It will be a cloak. I make clothes for the colder months ahead.”

My eyes trail along her wares—some scarves, hats, and gloves—as the sound of the wheel spinning continues along.

She sighs, a sound full of emotional fatigue. “Mostly I’m distracting myself.”

It’s not until now that I notice the pain in her face. The creases in her forehead, the partially dried lines of tears on her cheeks.

Without invitation, I sit on the ground next to her. “Are you all right?”

“My son was injured in a daemon attack last night.” Her fingers never waver in her work. “He should be okay—eventually. But, it was close.”

Adaemon?Those are real? Why haven’t I read about them? Why hasn’t Grandma mentioned them?

“I see the confusion on your face. As with all things, there is good and bad. It’s what balances the universe, despite the pain the bad causes,” she says.

“Are altercations with daemons common?”

She shrugs. “It depends. Some of us like to hunt them, like my son. Some of us may live our whole lives without facing one.”

“Why does your son hunt them?”

“They do a lot of harm. Tear families apart, and my son is one of those people who can’t let that stand. He’s a good boy, if not a bit reckless.”

My blood burns. Could it have been a daemon that killed my father? Killed my family’s chance at a life together? “How do you find one? How do you hunt them? Who was it that your son fought?”

Her face hardens. “You are best not to ask such things, girl. Go home to your family and leave daemons like Botis to those who know how to handle them.”

I won’t learn anything more from her. But a name is all I needed.

Botis.