This Soul Magic. Michele Hauf

pleased to help you. You need to go to the sixteenth quarter.”

      “I’m not sure where that is. I’m new to the city.”

      “Yes, you are, aren’t you? I’ll write it down for you.” She hobbled over to her table, which was littered with crystal balls and vials of various potions, some marked “for the low, low price.” She handed me a paper with an address, then slapped a vial of dark substance onto my palm. “Five euros.”

      Potions and magics were not my thing. I could get whatever I needed from Libby’s arsenal of witchcraft supplies. And I’d already secretly checked for “angel cures” and “wing restorers” only to be disappointed. “I don’t think I need whatever this is.”

      “Oh, you do, or you won’t be able to see the person you need to see. You rub this ointment under your eyes to see beyond this realm and into theirs.”

      “You want me to look into another realm?”

      She nodded and held out her hand in wait of payment.

      Having a few euros that Libby had tucked into my back pants pocket to buy whatever caught my eye, I paid the woman and she shoved me away as if my presence offended her.

      I turned right into Libby’s smiling yet wondering green eyes and discreetly shoved the vial into my shirt pocket before pulling her into a hug. “Get everything you need?”

      “Mostly. I have one more table I need to stop by that sells dragon’s breath. Won’t take but ten minutes.”

      “I’ll wait for you here.”

      “Can’t wait to be back by your side, lover.” She kissed my cheek, curling the heat to my skin as quickly as my smile. “You’re so cute.”

      When she had left, I tugged out the vial and inspected the sparkly black contents. A glance to the elderly woman who’d sold it to me found her—missing. Her table was no longer there.

      Turning about, I wondered if I’d mistaken her location, but I didn’t see the odd white hair anywhere. She had been right there.

      “Witches,” I muttered. “They creep me out.”

      Save for the ones who planted skin-warming kisses on me. I did like kissing. Much better than vacuuming.

      Ten minutes later, I had been compelled to listen to an elderly witch’s explanation that she could bespell the frown from me (really? I didn’t frown. Maybe? Hmm...), had watched a set of blonde twins perform allotriophagy—they’d made each other spit up butterflies—and had decided that mugwort stank and I preferred frankincense as a scent.

      Libby’s boisterous voice carried above the hubbub of chatter. I noticed a thin dark-haired man approach her and lean in close. As he spoke, the frail and poor example of male touched her wrist.

      Marching toward my red-haired goddess, my fingers curled tightly and my chest expanded. I growled. The man looked at me, gaped and stepped away from my woman.

      Libby turned, and just as I swung up a fist to connect with the idiot who had touched her, she stopped me with a smack of her palm over my knuckles.

      “What are you doing?” she asked forcefully. “Reichardt?”

      “He touched you.” Had been close enough to kiss!

      “It was just a friendly touch. He’s not—”

      “I must defend your honor.”

      “Monsieur, no...” the man started.

      Libby slid between me and the male witch—who cast me a snide look down his narrow nose. “You can’t go around punching witches,” she said. “He’ll return with a blast of magic that’ll send you across this room. Holster it, lover boy.”

      “But...”

      Libby’s stern gaze deflated my anger and made me feel as if everyone was watching my admonishment. I didn’t want to look around to verify if that were true.