Frog Hollow (Witches of Sanctuary Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

of grease and salt before lathering it over my body like a paste.
    By three o’clock, I finally stop wallowing across my mattress like a flea-infested dog and come to two very logical conclusions. The first—never go gallivanting through high grass in a bikini. The second—don’t assault your neighbors, because karma really is an itchy pain in your ass.
    Due to my internet frenzy this morning, my cell phone is officially dead. No electricity. No phone. I have no choice but to spend my day unraveling wire hangers and plotting how I can unite the high grass bugs under my power to serve my own evil purposes. When I start planning how I can use them as a protective barrier around the property for unwanted neighbors, I realize I should probably eat. A real dinner. A dinner I can’t eat out of a box with my hands.
    I go upstairs and attempt to freshen up. A gallon jug shower and clean clothes does the trick. It’s a long drive to town, and the mountains block the low moon on the horizon. It’s peaceful. Lonely, but peaceful.
    The deep curves twisting in and out of the valley make Main Street seem to pop out of thin air. I park a couple streets over from the crowd and follow the glow of the streetlamps. The streets are littered with people. Young couples push strollers while their children run along beside them. A group of teenagers cross the street, waving to the car that stops to let them pass. I turn around looking for Wally and Beaver Cleaver as if I’ve been plopped down in a page from 1955.
    I spot other people sitting out on balconies of the old stone buildings, eating and laughing as the sound of music drifts from the open windows. I peer over my head, admiring the strings of white lights that hang from building to building, giving a soft glow against the retreating sun.
    I follow the flow of people down the cobblestone sidewalks, admiring the easy atmosphere. The sleepy shops I’d seen during the day on my way through town are alive and vibrant now. In fact, an antique shop I pass has removed the glass from the windows. I hear the dinging of the cash register from outside. As I walk, I peek inside frilly dress shops and candy stores, promising myself I’ll come back when I am in the mood to browse.
    I stand on the edge of the sidewalk, glancing back and forth, unsure of what direction to head first.
    “Lost, chérie ?”
    I spin around, startled by the voice. It’s not every day you hear a perfect French accent. My second time around, I realize the voice came from above me. I step off the sidewalk and look up. Leaning against the balcony of the yellow stone building behind me is a guy. His smile is instant.
    Beautiful.
    Tussled raven hair compliments the black bow tie on his stark white dress shirt. I quickly glance away, thinking he isn’t talking to me. I know little of the French language but enough to know chérie is a term of endearment. The street is littered with people. He surely meant his sweet sentiment for someone else.
    I turn back around, forcing my gaze on the busy street. A hint of laughter echoes above my head. “Now, Wilhelmina. Don’t be shy.”
    I jerk around, my mouth already gaping.
    Smirking now, the boy takes a long drink from the cherry-colored glass in his hand. “Rooster’s,” he says casually. “The place you’re looking for is Rooster’s Diner. It’s up the street.”
    I eye him suspiciously. “How do you know what I’m looking for?”
    He twists the glass around in his hand and takes another drink. “Oh, just call it a hunch.”
    I open my mouth to speak, to ask him how he knows my name, but he strolls off, still laughing. “Hey!” I jump on my tiptoes, but he doesn’t return.
    The balcony is empty. I try the glass door to the building, but it’s locked. Of course it’s locked. As I find the sign, I realize it’s the entrance to the bank. How could some random stranger hanging out after hours at the bank possibly know my name?
    He must know Reid.
    Annoyed, I slowly