Hexes and Hemlines Read Online Free Page B

strode out of the building. He wore heavy-looking black motorcycle boots. Faded jeans. Leather jacket. And a really bad attitude.
    A fellow I knew only too well.
    A fellow named Sailor.

Chapter 3
    Upon spotting me, six feet two inches of muscled man reared back, on guard and wary.
    This was the sort of response I’d become inured to as a child in Texas, when my neighbors got the notion I was a witch. But Sailor wasn’t unfamiliar with witches; on the contrary, he worked for Aidan—albeit reluctantly—and was himself a powerful psychic. Still and all, he’d been assiduously avoiding me ever since he’d helped me drive a demon out of a building not long ago. Unlike most psychics I’ve known, who enjoy their abilities to communicate with the beyond, Sailor was not what you’d call at home in his psychic skin. He was also one sorry excuse for a human being. For some reason, I really like him.
    “Hello, Sailor,” I said as I approached him. “Lookin’ for a date?”
    “That wasn’t funny the first hundred times. What are you doing here?” His dark eyes swept over my vintage outfit before shifting to my animal entourage. “And do you think you could cause a bit more of a scene?”
    Passersby were starting to take note of the pig.
    I gestured to Oscar to go on inside the museum. He herded the cat over to the old-fashioned kiosk that served as a ticket booth. The lethargic young attendant, Clarinda, glared at me, but nodded. Clarinda loathed me—and by extension my pig, presumably now also my cat—but she respected or feared Aidan more. So she cooperated. After a fashion.
    “I’d better be going, anyway,” Sailor said.
    Having been shunned for most of my life, I had developed a fairly thick skin when it came to personal slights. But it still rankled that Sailor was always so anxious to get away from me. After all, we were . . . friends. Sort of. I didn’t have all that many, so I figured he counted.
    “Wait,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
    “Asked you first.”
    “I’m here for a lesson. Aidan’s helping me hone some of my skills.”
    “What?”
    “You told me yourself I should get a better handle on my powers. Remember? So I talked to Aidan and—”
    He gaped at me, aghast. “You’re letting Aidan train you? Good Lord , woman.”
    “He’s a pretty powerful fellow.”
    “Uh, yeah . That’s the freaking understatement of the year. Sure as hell doesn’t mean you should trust him to train you.”
    “Hey, Sailor, know what I’ve noticed?”
    “I have the feeling you’re going to tell me.”
    “You’re happy to cast aspersions on Aidan, yet you never explain why. So do you have an actual, you know, reason for distrusting him, or are you just still twelve years old?”
    Sailor’s eyes slewed to the side, looking around us surreptitiously, as though only now realizing we were still standing near the entrance to the Wax Museum. With an agitated quirk of his dark head he strode out into the busy street, looking neither left nor right, assuming the cars would stop for him.
    Which they did.
    I trotted along behind him. On the opposite sidewalk we were immediately engulfed by hordes of chatty tourists rushing to and from bay cruises, seafood restaurants, and the assorted attractions of Pier 39, the Cannery, and the Ghirardelli Chocolate factory. Their vivacious energy swirled about us, creating a virtual cone of silence.
    “Look, if you need training,” Sailor said, still surveying the crowd, “which you do , why don’t you go back to your source? Who started you out?”
    “My grandmother, Graciela. But she’s back in Texas, where I grew up. She won’t come out here—you know how old-school witches are. Attached to the land.”
    “So move back to Texas. That sounds like a really good idea, the more that I think about it.”
    “You’re saying you wouldn’t miss me?” I smiled coquettishly, or at least as close as I could come. I’m not what you’d call a natural-born flirt, and