Mathilda, SuperWitch (Mathilda's Book of Shadows #1)(61)

Then I taunted, “Yeah? What? Are you gonna spank me?”

Bad idea.

He pushed away from the Jag and came toward me.

“Don’t tempt me,” he warned.

I started toward him again.

“I’m a thirty-four year old woman, Ash, with responsibilities.”

We stopped, barely a foot apart, Ash’s face thunderous.

“And you took one of those responsibilities into danger today, Mathilda. You nearly got your Spellbound killed and your sister and your friend and yourself. Have you lost your mind?”

“Of course not!”

“You could have fooled me.”

“Listen, Ash –”

“Don’t do it again.”

“Try and stop me.”

We were head-to-head by then, him standing angrily over me and me standing belligerently under him.

Another staring contest.

“You’re so damn bossy,” I said because I couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m quite serious, Mathilda, you do that again and I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

Then he walked away.

Ack!

* * * * *

And then:

A couple of strong cups of coffee later, I stood in the Plush Parlor talking to Althea with Ash standing (very close) behind me, wearing his broody face.

“Why am I here?” Althea asked.

“We came to your cottage to talk to you then men started shooting at you. We had to get you to a safe place,” I said.

“They weren’t shooting at me, fool, they were shooting at you.” (Althea)

Fool?

Nice.

“Well, even if they were shooting at me, they didn’t seem to care who in the house they hit, including you.” (Me)

She grumbled but she did it uttering no distinct words.

“And, until we know what’s happening, you’re safer here.” (Me)

Ash’s hand settled on the small of my back, his fingers curling into the waistband of my jeans.

“He thinks it’s not such a good idea, having a member of the Edwards Coven staying at The Gables.” (Althea)

“You’re right, I don’t.” (Ash)

She cackled. Honestly, I swear to the goddess, she cackled.

“The Wilding Men. Always been spare of word, abundant of honesty. Bodes well for you, lass.” (Althea)

“Not when you’re asking if your butt looks big in a pair of jeans, it doesn’t.” (Me)

She cackled, again.

The cackles were loopy and I guessed it definitely was a cottage where she cooked kids in pies, not the other sort.

“Do you know where Agatha Darling is?” (Ash)

Humph. Butting in on my interrogation.

“No.” (Althea)

“Do you know who made that wand for her?” (Me)

“She got her wand in a ceremony, just as you did.” (Althea)

“Not the magical one, the one that plugs into the wall and shoots out electricity.” (Me)

Her eyes widened for a brief moment before she smacked her lips together and said, “I need a drink.”

“I do too.”

I was shocked to hear Ash agree with her but not so shocked when he guided me out of the room by using his hand, my belt and my jeans.

Very seriously horning in on my interrogation.

“I don’t like it, her staying here.” (Ash)

“I didn’t ask you.” (Me)

Staring.

Then a deep sigh. (Ash)

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said in a way that stated he thought I didn’t.

Then he walked away.

The next time I saw him, he was back in the Plush Parlor sipping whisky with Althea and she was three sheets gone.

I put Paulina and Octavia on to protecting The Gables against Althea and went to the Tower Room.

The day hadn’t been tremendously successful (by a long shot) so there was work to be done.

* * * * *

The Dinner Party:

Some ungodly hour the next morning, Viv was shaking my shoulder telling me to get up, phelf, phlaf, phloof.

(I didn’t hear what she said because I turned over and put a pillow over my head.)

Then, later, Mom was shaking my shoulder.

“Get up! Aidan’s been waiting in the sitting room for twenty minutes!”

Aidan?

I looked at the clock.

It was six fifty-two in the bloody morning.

Six.

Fifty.

Two.

In the a.m.

Who came for a visit at that hour?

I got up, ignored my robe, ignored my slippers, ignored my comb and brush and stomped down the stone stairs and charged into the sitting room.

Aidan was standing by the fireplace looking like a Kenneth Cole advertisement (without the g*yness).

“What?” I snapped.

He turned to me and smiled.

I was wearing the aforementioned defensive end’s jersey that he left behind when he dumped me (well, perhaps he didn’t exactly leave it behind, more like it found itself stuffed behind my chest of drawers until I knew he was well and truly gone and then I meant to burn it but ended up using it as a nightshirt). It was oversized, over-washed and absolutely comfy.

I ignored the smile and asked, “Do you know what bloody time it is? It’s before bloody seven in the bloody morning! I was up until bloody goddess knows when, bloody-well working on saving the world…”