Page 17 of Cursed By Fate

Catherine reached into the tote at her feet and produced a bag of Hershey’s kisses in bright foil wrappers. “Ask and ye shall receive.”

“Thank you.” I tore open the bag and spread a smattering of kisses on the table in front of me. “You’re looking very patriotic today, Louise.”

Louise was never seen without an eye patch, which gave her an air of mystery. I’d lost count as to how many she owned, but they tended to match her outfit. Today’s patch was red and white gingham that corresponded to her red, white, and blue attire.

“She watched Hamilton again last night,” Catherine said.

“What’s not to love about a man who wrote most of the Federalist Papers?” Louise fanned herself with a napkin. “Intelligence is sexy.”

“If men were angels, no government would be necessary,” Margie quoted.

Joan held the end of her candy cigarette between her teeth. “No need to cite the deep magic to me, witch. I was there when it was written.”

Meemaw snorted. “I’m old, but not Alexander Hamilton old.”

My phone buzzed on the table.

Catherine leaned over to read my screen. “Who’s Copperhead?”

I snatched my phone off the table. “Penny.”

“The new assistant,” Meemaw added.

“How is she?” Margie asked. “I haven’t met her yet.”

“Maybe we should invite her to our next card game,” Catherine said. “Or to Bookstabbers.”

“No,” Meemaw said with a firmness that brooked no argument.

Catherine’s nose wrinkled. “Wait. Have you met her?”

“Yes,” Meemaw replied. “She isn’t for us.”

“How can you tell that already?” Louise asked.

Margie sucked on a peppermint. “Have you met my mother? One glance and she’s invented an entire backstory for the person.”

“Invented being the key word,” Louise said. “Maybe we should give her the benefit of the doubt. Invite her to join us for a beach barbecue or something.”

Meemaw looked at me, mischief gleaming in her eyes. “Get her drunk and make her spill all her secrets. Now there’s an idea.”

I returned the look with a warning glance. “She’s still getting her feet wet. Don’t even think about dunking her whole body.”

Meemaw smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“As a witch, I would never,” Margie said. “Our kind knows all too well how that feels.”

Catherine dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I heard she can shoot lasers out of her eyes.”

“She’s a fury, not a terminator,” I said.

Joan shrugged. “Same thing.”

“I heard she has horns like Hannya,” Louise said.

I slapped my cards on the table in frustration. “Do you really know so little about furies?”

“To be fair,” Louise said, “they are one of the more mysterious supernaturals. Most of what I know about them is rumor and speculation.”