Witcha Gonna Do? (Witchington #1)(37)
Nor is having all kinds of dirty thoughts about the guy you can’t stand who is destined for your sister.
That’s it. Wherever the unsubscribe button is for all of this BS, I need to find it.
“Berries for tickets. You got it,” I say, sounding a lot more confident than I feel. “See you then.”
Cy hangs up without a goodbye. Gil shifts and his arm brushes mine, sending a sizzling spark of oh-yes-we-like straight to my clit.
Fuck. Me.
Yep. Definitely need to unsubscribe. Like yesterday.
Lucky for me, Birdie and Eli pick that moment to stroll in bearing honey cookies and mini fruit tarts. Sugar is exactly what I need. We are all munching away, sitting on the throw pillows on the floor by the ginormous bay window looking out on the massive herb garden on the south side of the house, when Birdie pulls her knees up to her chest and lets out a shaky sigh.
“I’m not sure we can carry this off,” she says, looking a little lost as her gaze bounces from one of us to another. “What if we mess it all up?”
I take one of the pillows and hug it close to my belly as if the square of fluff-filled velvet can protect me from my own mistakes. “You mean what if we go all magical misfit on this like I already did?”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Eli says, but he doesn’t look at me.
I doubt he can after saying a whopper that big.
“We all know that’s not true.” I squeeze the pillow tighter to smother the panic starting to wind up into a tornado in my stomach. “I’m scared of messing things up. Again.”
Gil looks over at me from his spot by the unlit fireplace, his hard gaze sending a shiver dancing across my skin as if someone just opened up the front door during the middle of a snowstorm. He doesn’t blink or break eye contact, and it takes every little bit of confidence I have left to not glance away as his gaze intensifies.
“I have a plan,” he says, his tone so sure it borders on cocky.
“You sound very sure.”
“That’s because there are no alternative outcomes.” He picks up a bundle of sage off the mantle, bringing it to his nose, and taking a deep inhale before putting it back. “There’s more at stake than just your family. All of Witchingdom is at risk.”
“From me?” Ouch. Like I’m not already feeling shitty enough as it is.
He shakes his head. “From the Council.”
A near-hysterical laugh escapes before I can stop it and keeps going until my stomach hurts and I’m wiping away tears from my cheeks. Look, it’s been a rough few days and I’m more than a little slaphappy at this point, and the mention of Witchingdom’s boogeyman pretty much sends me over the edge.
“Gil,” I say once I can suck in a breath and get the giggle fit under control, “I am not in the mood for scary kids’ stories right now.”
“This is no story.” He crosses his arms over his wide chest, and something about the way his stance changes is reflected in the haunted look that turns his eyes dark and hazy as if he’s seeing a nightmare he knows isn’t a dream. “The Council is real and your mother is one of their most powerful foes. If they find out she’s out of commission, they’ll see it as an opportunity to take over that they can’t pass up.”
“Fine, I’ll play along,” I say, trying to make my tone light even though a frigid blast of dread has me rubbing the outsides of my arms to ward off a sudden, intense chill. “Let’s say the Council is ‘real,’?”—I put the word in air quotes—“how do you know their plans?”
Life snaps back into his eyes as his gaze lands on me, and his body stiffens as if he’s expecting a blow. “Because I work for them.”
Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse.
Chapter Eighteen
Gil . . .
Nothing like a real wand-drop kinda moment to make the entire room go quiet. Of course, that isn’t going to last.
“What the fuck, Gil!” Eli says, breaking the silence as he takes a step forward, doing his best to look intimidating, but I’ve faced down much scarier people on a daily basis for more than a decade.
Birdie sinks back against Eli and sighs. “We are so screwed.”
Tilda, though, doesn’t flinch or shrink back or get angry. Instead, she cocks her head, pushes her round glasses up her nose, and gives me a slow, assessing once-over. “Who are you?”
“Exactly who I said.” Sorta.
She lifts an eyebrow and shakes her head. “But that’s not the whole story.”
Of course she would see that. Like me, she’s had to live off her wits. “Not even close, but it’s a long story and we don’t have time for this.”
Tilda reaches out, her hand brushing against my arm, setting off warm waves of awareness through me. It is more than desire, more than attraction, it is like finally walking through your front door after a long day, or that first deep inhale of your favorite meal when you’re starving, or the first taste of mulled wine when the sun begins to set on Samhain. The tension in my shoulders loosens, I let out a deep breath, and my entire body just sort of unwinds.
“Make time,” she says.
There is no saying no to her. Sure, Eli and Birdie are just as curious, but I’m not about to open up for them. This is all for Tilda. Fuck me. I have to figure out a way to dial back the duíl curse I put on both of us or it won’t be long until I forget completely that I want our magical bond broken.