Her mouth falls open, and she makes a sound like she’s being lowered into the freezing pits of Hell. Finally, she composes herself. “My Father is a witch named Arthur le Fay. He abandoned me and my Mom; he’s a terrible person.”
“Because he abandoned you.”
“No. Well, kinda.”
“You’reextremelyconvincing,” I drone. “I’m dying to rip his head off myself.”
“Can you do that?” Minnie asks.
I’m delighted to know she has a pension for violence behind that sweet face. “Terrible isn’t a reason for revenge. Not where I’m from.”
“Arthur le Fay is a criminal, a drug runner.” She knits her brows, her voice turning serious. “And he works with humans. Casting spells right in their periphery. He’s a danger to all witches.”
I’ve read enough histories written by mortal souls to know what happens when humans find out about witches. But if witches are burned in the public square, well, that’s humanity at its finest, isn’t it?
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “How exactly would you have me go about this revenge?”
“Well…” She hesitates. “Isn’t that whereyoucome in?”
“You waste my time, witch,” I spit.
Her face curls in on itself, looking disgusted. “Okay I would rather you call me Minnie than witch, if that’s how this is going to be.”
“You are a very confusing and vexing little thing.” I step closer to her, and she jumps but holds her ground stays. “Revenge is vague. You say he abandoned you? So, do you want his family to abandon him?”
“S-sure? I don’t know.”
I huff, now bored of this game. “I refuse your proposal.”
Her face falls. “But–you can’t just say no!”
“Yes I can,” I inform her. “I heel to no master. You chose to forget this.”
“But–but I summoned you to make a contract.” She frowns in an attempt, I think, to look intimidating. “I want to make a contract. You’re standing in my kitchen butt naked–”
“You used that word again.” She cocks her head to the side as if not understanding my words. “Naked,” I clarify.
“People usually wear clothes. You know.” She tugs at the cloth that covers her chest. “Clothes.”
I looked her up and down, taking in the white and gray fabric crusted with red splotches that hangs off her body like curtains.
She frowns. “Do you not… wear clothes where you are from?”
“Why would we hide our forms as you do now? Are you embarrassed of your body?”
“No!” She objects like I’ve insulted her. “I have curves in all the right places.” She sticks her hands on her hips to highlight this fact.
“How could anyone tell with those rags hanging off your bones?”
“Well, these aren’tniceclothes and–you know what? We’re not having this conversation.” She throws her hands up and walks past me deeper into the room, which appears to be her home.
Nothing about it is remarkable. The area is drenched in yellow light, artificial even to my eyes so unaccustomed to this realm. Her shelves are bursting with books. A sad looking lounge is pushed to the wall. A strip of beads hangs on the wall, vibrant red and blue beads catching my eyes even from afar.
Minerva–Minnie–fucking Hells what does she want me to call her again? She’s focusing on the center of the room, Looking down at the floor with furrowed brows as if the planks of wood are speaking to her. I approach a wall ornament, noting the center beads are the pure white of dried bone and in a shape like mouths with little teeth. I reach to touch, the little-mouths looking smooth, but Minnie pipes up.
“Do not touch that!” In a flash she’s standing beside me. I don’t know how her little legs carry her across the room so fast. “That’s a family heirloom.”
Unlike clothes or nakedness, heirlooms are something I’m familiar with. Devils often own heirlooms of immense power, be they the pinned wings of a fallen fae emperor, glasses that once belonged to an angel, or, in my case, texts detailing the mortal realm. What sort of power these beads hold, I have no idea, but I would rather not be hexed, so I pull my hand away.