Blood Witch_ Book Three - Cate Tiernan [37]
“How many covens has she had?” I asked, curious.
“Hmmm, let’s see,” Cal said, counting under his breath. “Eight, I think. She forms a coven in a new place and makes sure they’re really strong, then she trains a new leader, and when they’re ready, she moves on.” He smiled down at me. “She’s like the Johnny Appleseed of Wicca.”
I laughed. Cal kissed me again and got into his car, and I headed for Das Boot. A minivan slowed next to me, and the window went down. “Going home with Jaycee!” Mary K. called. She waved, and I waved back. I saw Robbie pull away in his car, and down the block Bree climbed into her BMW and drove off. I wished I knew where she was going but didn’t have the emotional or physical energy to follow her.
Instead I headed for Red Kill.
Practical Magick smelled like steam and tea and candles burning. I stepped in and felt myself relax for the first time since I had pried myself out of bed this morning.
For a moment I stood just inside the door, warming up, feeling my chest expand and my fingers thaw. My hair was slightly damp from the snow, and I shook it out so it would dry. David looked up from the checkout counter and regarded me with his full attention. He didn’t smile, but somehow he conveyed the impression of being glad to see me. Maybe I was finally used to him, because it felt like seeing an old friend. I hadn’t felt an immediate connection with him as I had with Alyce, and I wasn’t sure why. But maybe I was getting over it.
“Hello, Morgan,” he said. “How are you?”
I thought for a moment, then shook my head with a tired smile. “I don’t know.”
David nodded, then stepped through a curtained door in back of the counter, revealing a small, cluttered room. I saw a tiny, battered table with three chairs, a rusty apartment-size fridge, and a two-burner hot plate. A teakettle was already starting to whistle there. Strange, I thought. Had he somehow known I was coming?
“You look like you could use some tea,” he called.
“Tea would be great,” I said sincerely, deciding to accept the friendship he seemed to be offering. “Thanks.” I stuffed my gloves into my pockets and looked around the store. No one else was here. “Slow day?” I asked.
“We had some people in this morning,” David replied from behind the curtain. “But it’s been quiet this afternoon. I like it this way.”
I wondered if they made any money doing this.
“Um, who owns this store?” I asked.
“My aunt Rose, actually,” said David. “But she’s very old now, and doesn’t come in much anymore. I’ve been working here for years—on and off since right after college.” I heard some clinking of spoons in mugs, and then he ducked back through the curtain, carrying two steaming cups. He handed one to me. I took it gratefully, inhaling its unusual fragrance.
“Thanks. What kind of tea is this?”
David grinned and sipped his own. “You tell me.”
I looked at him uncertainly, and he just waited. Was this a test? Feeling self-conscious, I closed my eyes and sniffed deeply. The tea had several scents: they blended together into a sweet whole, and I couldn’t identify any of them.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“You do,” David encouraged quietly. “Just listen to it.”
Once again I closed my eyes and inhaled, and this time I let go of the knowledge that this was tea in a mug. I focused on the odor, on the qualities carried by the water’s steam. Slowly I breathed in and out, stilling my thoughts, relaxing my tension. The more still I became, the more I felt part of the tea. In my mind’s eye I saw the gentle steam rising and swaying before me, dissolving in the slightest breath of air.
Speak to me, I thought. Show me your nature.
Then, as I watched inside my mind, the steam coiled and separated into four streams, like a fine thread unraveling. With my next breath I was alone in a meadow. It was sunny and warm, and I reached out to touch a perfect, rounded pink blossom. Its heavy aroma tickled my nose and bathed me in its beauty.
“Rose,” I whispered.
David was quiet.
I turned to the next steam thread and followed