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Well, to be honest, she wasn’t wrong. Probably everyone I had met in the past five years thought I was a bitch. And the angels sure thought a lot worse of me.
I exited the store, checked the vial again—this half dose wouldn’t last me a week.
Time to get some more.
2
I had heard from Sylvie who heard it from a half-siren who had heard from another witch. When I first showed up at her door in Cloverleaf, a small town between Houston and Crosby, she had tried shooing me away, pretending she was appalled that I had called her a witch.
When she threatened to call the police on me, I caved.
“I’m an angel,” I told her. “Well, a fallen angel.” That hurt to admit. “And I need your help.”
Every supernatural knew a fallen angel was a disgraced angel who had lost her wings and couldn’t go back to Elysium—the place humans called Heaven. Putting on my best sad face, I told her I had lost my Celestial Sword when I lost my wings, and my magic had been stolen from me.
She had taken pity on me and let me in.
And now I depended on her.
I drove my car to her house, parked in the driveway, and weaved through the forest of her front yard—way too many plants for such a small place.
I almost tripped on a thick branch jutting from the forest into the small stone path, and then bumped into a wall.
“What the?—?”
I looked up and I stilled.
The wall was a man.
A handsome man in a black suit and with deep blue eyes stared holes into me.
I took a step back and opened my mouth to apologize, but he beat me to it.
“Watch your step, sweetheart,” he said, his voice deep and charming. Then, he flashed a brilliant and perfect white smile at me.
I didn’t like it.
I frowned. “You’re the boulder in the way.”
“Is that so?” The corner of his lips tugged up as he took a large step aside, almost stepping into the vegetation surrounding us. “There you go, sweetheart.”
My frown deepened. Shaking my head, I walked past him, and made it to the front door. Despite myself, I glanced back at the man.
But he was gone.
What the hell?
I knocked on the door.
Ten seconds later, Sylvie opened it wide. “Did I miss—?” Her face fell when her eyes met mine. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Were you expecting someone?”
“I thought—” She shook her head. “Never mind. What is it that you want now?” She turned her back to me and disappeared through the doorway to the right.
I closed the door behind me and followed her from the foyer into her work area. The place was as full of stuff as her yard was full of plants. Long wooden tables with all kinds of herbs and ingredients, ranging from bone powder to bats’ wings and mouse tails. Old, moldy books lined the shelves on the far left, and in the back of the room, three cauldrons stood side-by-side—a small, a medium, and a large one.
The medium cauldron was bubbling with dark green liquid.
