The Homecoming (Thunder Point #6)(49)

He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with himself. Waylan’s door was standing open and the tinny sounds of oldies from an antique jukebox drifted out. Waylan’s wasn’t a bad place but there was no conversation there. There were a few old boys who drifted in after work because the drinks were cheap, but night usually brought out a solitary and tight-lipped crowd who just wanted to drink in peace. He decided to see if the mini-mart was still open, grab a six pack and—

And then he saw the witch sweeping her sidewalk and pulling in her harvest decorations. “Hey,” he called out.

She turned toward him and cackled a little wildly, grinning broadly to show her blacked-out teeth.

He laughed at her. “I thought you were going to dress up this year?” he said.

“Funny. I put a hex on you. When you get up to pee in the morning you will be very surprised at how little your thing is.”

“You are evil.”

“You shouldn’t beat up on witches. We’re sensitive.”

“But are you thirsty, that’s the question.”

She leaned on her broom. “I don’t know. I’m pretty worn-out—I’ve been putting curses on people all night....”

“Is there a whole town full of little wangs?” he asked.

She grinned again. “Some people got big ones.”

“Wow! What do you have to do to get a big one?”

“Sometimes just be a bitchy girl. That’ll do it.”

“You are a bad, bad witch. You could get thrown out of the witch’s union. Come on, let’s get your stuff off the sidewalk and stop in at Waylan’s for a cold beer. No one will notice the costume in there.”

“I guess that’s supposed to be a plus,” she said. “Can you pull this stuff in while I brush my teeth? I need to be free of this black stuff. I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t change clothes, Dillon,” he said, using her last name. “Now that I think about it, I want to buy a drink for a witch tonight. It fits my mood just right.”

“I’ve never been in Waylan’s,” she said.

“It’s right across the street!” he said.

“It looks a little...seedy.”

“It’s completely seedy. And very forgettable. But the beer is cold. Hurry up.”

Troy did as he’d been told and pulled in the flowers, jack-o’-lantern and other decorations and took them back to the workroom. He looked around the shop and workroom appreciatively—Grace kept a nice little shop. It was very tidy and classy. There was a huge glass-fronted cooler that stretched the length of the back room and it was filled with flowers. On the other side of that room was an office space and small bathroom. The floors were shiny wood, the walls painted cheerful yellow and shelves were stuffed with supplies, all neatly arranged. Troy heard a stomping sound and the back door opened. Grace entered and locked the door behind her.

“Where were you?” he asked.

“Upstairs. The stairs are in the alley behind the shop.”

“What’s up there?” he asked.

“Me,” she said. “There’s a little space. Very little. Rose used it as storage. She even let other people rent cheap storage from her—like some of the other businesses. I cleaned it up, made a couple of minor improvements and I live up there.” When she smiled, her teeth gleamed. He thought he might miss those black patches.

“Come on, witchy. Let’s get a drink across the street.”

The inside of the bar was dark and gloomy and smelled like years of spilled beer and stale smoke from back when people were still allowed to smoke in bars. That was the real reason Waylan always had the door propped open, unless the cold wind howled or sleet blasted the windows. The lights were dim and there were only three people at the bar, with a lot of space between them. There was one couple in a booth near the back of the place, sitting very close, nuzzling each other. Other than that couple, there were only men, all of them apparently alone. The place was a dump, really. But the bar itself was nice and the mirrored shelves behind the bar were pretty classy.

“Wow,” Grace said.

Troy pulled out a bar stool for her to occupy. Once she was on it and he was beside her, she leaned close to him and whispered, “My feet were sticking to the floor.”

He laughed. “Don’t let it worry you. We’ll get bottled beer.”

“Good idea,” she said.

He asked the unsmiling Waylan for two Heinekens in the bottle and some peanuts.

“I just swept,” Waylan said.

“Then bring an empty bowl and we’ll be careful with the shells, how’s that?”

“We’ll try it,” he said. “I don’t like my odds. Bet I have to sweep again.”

Two beers appeared quickly, a couple of square napkins slapped down beside them. Troy leaned an elbow on the bar, lifted his beer and grinned. “So. Come here often?”

Grace twirled some strands of her gray witch’s wig. “I think I have the same hairdresser as Waylan. Do you come here often? Because that could be a red flag.”

“There are three places to get a cold beer in town and I work at one of them. If you’re in the mood for a beer, you better be in the mood before eleven.”

“Want to know what’s odd about this place?” Grace asked. “No one is looking at me. I’m the only witch here, right?”