And small. Really small.

  The booth itself was built like a pew, low to the ground, with a wooden back and a padded bench seat. The table was unvarnished wood, topped with a napkin dispenser, ketchup and mustard bottles, and a sugar dispenser. All of which were pushed up against the faded red planked-wall. The paint job was peeling, but strangely, it didn’t detract from the decor. A glance up revealed the bare beams of the rafters. The whole place was rustic and charming, honest and without pretense. I found it oddly refreshing.

  Shelby slid three shiny menus beneath our noses and gave us all another of her professional smiles. “Seraphina will be your server tonight.”

  Marty’s eyebrows bounced up. “Fifi? She’s working here now?”

  “Sure is,” Shelby answered.

  “I thought she had a job at the realty office?” Marty continued.

  Shelby let out a theatrical sigh and jammed one fist into her hip. She leaned in to stage whisper. “She is, technically, but I’d say those days are numbered. She lost another client. Coming on too strong, of course. You know she’s so hopeless with men. Anyway, Ophelia is about to kick her out on her ass if she screws up again.” Then she looked at Finn and gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about my language.”

  “It’s okay,” Finn said and waved away her concern. “I say it all the time.”

  “No, you don’t,” I said, frowning at him.

  Finn looked at Shelby and smiled. And she giggled right back at him. I was going to have a heartbreaker on my hands in a few years—the writing was on the wall.

  “Anyway,” Shelby continued as she faced Marty again. “Roy promised to take Fifi on full time, bless him. You wouldn’t think it from his size, but he’s such a teddy bear.”

  She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, toward the bar area across the room, to indicate the man in question. At first, I couldn’t make him out among the mass of shifting bodies around the bar. Then a gap cleared, and I could finally see the bartender, who apparently was also the owner of the place, haloed in the rays of one of the drop lights that hung from the rafters.

  And my breath caught.

  I didn’t know how in the hell I could have missed him when we first walked in. Because he was in one word—enormous! He stood, very literally, head and shoulders above every other person in the restaurant. On tiptoe, he would probably stand seven feet tall!

  “That’s like the biggest dude I’ve ever seen,” Finn said, his mouth dropping open to reveal his braces.

  “Right?” I asked, my mouth just as wide.

  Roy wasn’t just tall and broad. He was also… handsome. Ahem, really handsome.

  He had an impressive barrel chest, short, thick brown hair, and a sexy amount of stubble. He barely had to flex and chiseled muscles showed beneath the three-quarter sleeve, red-plaid shirt. It was then that I recognized him from his Match.com profile. Mr. Brawny Paper Towel man. Maybe I’d underestimated him then. He looked like he could take the Paper Towel man and Mr. Clean on in a tag team wrestling match and win. And maybe The Rock, too.

  Roy glanced up, as if he’d heard Shelby say his name even all the way across the room. Impossible, over the squealing laughter of children and the warbling karaoke attempt at Shania from a pair of tipsy college girls at the bar. Still, he was staring at us, as though he knew he was being discussed.

  Our eyes locked and the intense gray of his seared into me with such energy, it drew a blush to my cheeks. I tore my gaze away from his quickly.

  What are you doing, Poppy? Staring at a stranger from across the room when you’re out to dinner with McFly and Finn?

  I didn’t have long to contemplate my bad behavior, however, as a woman approached our table, successfully diverting my attention.

  Diverting everyone’s attention.

  People simply stopped whatever they were doing as she shimmied past, moving like a sultry shadow through the crowd, all eyes glued to her. She looked to be around the same age I was, forty, or maybe a little under. Thirty-eight? A very fit, busty thirty-eight. She had a few lines on her face—the only hint to her age—and her hair was entirely silver. Not steel-wool silver, in the way some women’s hair colors as they age. No this was legit silver. A shimmering sheet of fine hair the same color as moonlight. Her eyes were dark, though I hesitated to call them brown. Instead, they were a deep wine color, closer to purple than brown. They dominated her face and, even though I wasn’t attracted to women, I couldn’t help but stare at her.

  There was something about her… something powerful. I had to focus on her to really catch it, but it was there, just the same. A certain energy that filtered through the air around her. She was something… magical. Of that, I was sure. But, as to what type of magical? I didn’t know. She definitely wasn’t a witch, which was a relief in and of itself. Yeah, not a witch, so what then?

  Hmm…

  It didn’t look like she had a lick of makeup on, but her skin was still flawless, minus the few lines around her eyes. I couldn’t see even a trace of lipstick or mascara. She just had this aura of natural beauty that surrounded her—like nothing was fake, not even her ample bustline. Or her impossibly silver hair that reached her waist. And I was fairly sure her lashes really were that long. Her cheeks were pink, her teeth white and perfect, her lips plump and perfectly shaped.

  Maybe she was fae? That could have been and it would also provide an easy explanation for her silver hair and ethereal beauty. Yet, there was something to her energy that was dark—and fae were almost always light energy.

  The only ones who weren’t totally captivated by her obvious and almost haunting beauty seemed to be Finn and Marty. Finn, because he’d busied himself with his Gameboy, occasionally stuffing candy corns into his mouth when he thought I wasn’t looking.

  Marty just seemed bemused, as though he couldn’t understand why everyone was gaping at her. There was a hint of exasperation in his expression, like he’d caught strangers leering at his sister. Protective, yet not possessive.

  It was at that moment that I wondered if maybe McFly was gay?

  “Hey, Fifi,” he said mildly as she paused in front of our table. “Took you long enough! We’re starving over here!”

  Now that I could tear my eyes away from her stunning face, I could see she was wearing the same outfit as Shelby. It somehow looked indecent on Fifi, though, like she was about to start stripping, giving everyone ‘come-hither’ bedroom eyes. The impression only grew stronger when she gave Marty a coquettish pout.

  “Still immune to my charms?” she asked, batting her uncommonly long eyelashes as she did so.

  “What charms?” he joked with her.

  God, maybe he was gay? But that was a mystery I couldn’t focus on at the moment. Instead, my mind was completely taken in by her voice. Even it was sultry. A teasing, almost baby talk lilt that I imagined would act like a siren’s song to most men.

  I wasn’t sure why, but I instantly distrusted her, despite the fact that we hadn’t exchanged one word yet.

  “Sorry, Fifi,” Marty answered with a big smile. “But my date here, Poppy, is just so stunning, I couldn’t focus on anything else.”

  “Whoa,” Finn said as he looked up, first at Marty and then at me. “You’re on a…” And then he saw Fifi and the words dropped right off his tongue. “Hi,” he said, nearly drooling. “I’m Finn.”

  “Well, hi there, Finn,” Fifi answered. “Are you gonna have any room left in your tummy after eating all those candy corns, handsome?” she laughed and it sounded like bells.

  I was still so completely enamored of this woman’s beauty that I couldn’t even ponder the fact that Marty had referred to me as his date and, furthermore, he’d called me ‘stunning’.

  So maybe this was a date? And maybe McFly was… attracted to me?

  I didn’t have the chance to argue with myself because Finn laughed at whatever Fifi had just said and it was the strangest sound I’d ever heard Finn make—a strange choking sort of giggle. Then he cleared his throat as his cheeks colored and he seemed to remember himself. “You want some candy corns?” he asked and handed her the entire bag.

  She giggled and pushed them away. “Honey, at my age, I’ve gotta watch my figure.”

  Not when everyone else is already doing that job for you, I thought.

  Jeez. Jealous anyone?

  Fifi turned those intriguing, wine-colored eyes on me, taking in the full picture… which wasn’t much. I mean, sure I was an attractive woman, but compared to her, I looked like roadkill—run over another two or three times.

  But when I turned back to Marty, his eyes were soft and he was staring at me like he saw something just as beautiful as Fifi, herself. And I suddenly felt myself smiling. I’d honestly never had someone look at me like that—with complete and total… adoration, maybe? Any of my past boyfriends would have been salivating at the sight of Fifi and would have forgotten I was even in the same state.

  “That’s sweet,” Fifi said, but the sour note in her tone said she thought it was anything but.

  What was sweet? Oh yeah, that McFly had said we were on a date and I was… ‘stunning’.

  Fifi frowned. It seemed like someone wasn’t used to getting the brush off. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked as Finn stared up at her, still in a complete stupor.

  “Can I have a…” he started and then shook his head as he looked down. “I forgot what I was going to say.”

  Fifi giggled, her previous upset apparently completely forgotten. “Take your time.”

  “Okay,” Finn answered with another smile.

  “I’d like an iced tea with lemon, please,” I started and then looked at my son who was still tongue-tied. “Finn would like a strawberry lemonade, and...” I glanced over at Marty.

  He snapped his menu shut. “I’ll take an iced tea, as well, with six sugar packets.”

  “Six sugar packets?” I repeated, shocked.

  “He likes sweet tea,” Fifi answered, and the familiarity between them suddenly burned me, though I wasn’t sure why.

  “And we’ll take some beer nuts with mustard to start,” Marty continued, completely oblivious to the strange hostility brewing between Fifi and me. “And the wings please.”

  “Got it,” Fifi said.

  “Oh, and Fifi,” Marty continued. “Don’t skimp out on the buffalo sauce.”

  She giggled. “I’ll make a special note.” Then she winked at him before disappearing down the aisle with an extra sashay to her hips.

  “Who was that?” Finn asked as he turned to face Marty.

  “Oh, that was Fifi,” Marty answered and sounded bored.

  “She an ex-girlfriend?” I asked before I could help myself.

  Marty threw his head back and laughed. “Good God, no! Why do you ask?”

  I frowned and tried to find my previous good mood, but it seemed like it was long gone.

  “She just seemed… very… into you,” I started, not really sure how to phrase it, because it was damned embarrassing and I wished I’d never even started the conversation.

  “That’s just Fifi,” Marty said, waving a hand dismissively. “She’s like that with every man,” he started and then looked at Finn, “Or young man she meets.”

  “I felt like I was hypnotized just by looking at her,” Finn said as he returned his attention to his Gameboy, seemingly unperturbed by that fact.

  Marty nodded. “She has that sort of... effect on men.” Then he shrugged. “I’ve never quite understood it. Some people say she’s gotta be a witch.”

  My stomach did a nervous flip-flop. She hadn’t felt like a witch, but maybe that would have explained the feeling of… animosity I got from her? Hmm...

  She wasn’t a witch. I would have felt that energy coming off her.

  Right. And I hadn’t felt that energy. But, I had felt something…

  “I hope not,” I muttered.

  “Witches are bad news,” Finn added.

  Marty’s eyebrows lifted a little at that, but he didn’t ask the question until Fifi had returned with the beer nuts, the wings, multiple dipping sauces, and our drinks. Then she made another grand exit, flourishing her hips as she walked away.

  “You believe in witches?” Marty asked as he looked at me.

  Chapter Eleven

  I shrugged. “You don’t?” I mean, believing in witches wasn’t that far off from believing in ghosts…

  Marty chuckled. “No.”

  “What about Henner’s grandmother?” I asked. “Wasn’t she a witch?”

  Marty shrugged. “I mean, she was known as ‘Witch Tayir’ but that doesn’t mean she was a real witch. As far as I’m concerned, witches don’t exist.”

  I frowned. “Really? That seems surprising when you operate a part-time ghost hunting business?”

  He steepled his fingers and frowned right back at me. “It’s not the same thing. Ghosts are just energy. Witches are like… monsters.”

  He had no idea what he was talking about.

  I didn’t try to disabuse him of his belief, though. This was supposed to be a nice, sit-down dinner.

  “Witches are real,” Finn said. He didn’t even look up from his Gameboy. “Rare, but real. Just ask Mom. She knows all about them.”

  Marty looked at me with the expression of ‘Well?’ written all over his face. I nodded. The cat was out of the bag, so it was no use pretending there was no cat or bag.

  “There are usually a few covens per state,” I started. “And a few family lines within those covens. Witches are long lived and they’re matriarchal.”

  “Matriarchal?” he repeated.

  I nodded. “Magic tends to run down the maternal line. For some reason, the Y-chromosome seems to stifle magic,” I continued with a shrug. To Marty’s credit, he didn’t appear to shut down and he didn’t interrupt me or shake his head or any of the host of reactions I imagined I might see. Instead, he just listened with an openness in his eyes I found refreshing. “Women inherit witch magic and men don’t. For the most part.”

  “Then there’s no such thing as warlocks?”

  I nodded. “Well, there are, but they’re extremely rare and they usually end up… going insane.”

  “How nice.”

  “It’s the same for all magical humans. Gypsies, mediums, fae and witches. All of the most prominent are women.”

  “Wait, did you say ‘fae’?” he asked. I nodded. He continued. “As in faeries?”

  “Yep.” I took a sip of my iced tea. “Sometimes you’ll get a warlock like Merlin who shows serious talent, but usually men can only do parlor tricks if they inherit magic at all.”

  Marty was squinting at me, face screwed up in that polite but inflexible mask people adopted when they didn’t agree with you or thought you were slightly batty.

  “So you’re saying you can do magic?” Marty asked.

  “A little,” I said, dropping my eyes to the roll of silverware on the table and then the coasters. They were patterned with a silhouette of a wolf howling at a crescent moon.

  “Could you do some magic right now?” Marty asked.

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, heat flushing my face. I hated that question. Hated the looks I got when I gave an honest answer. It was always at this point in the conversation that eyes glazed over and I was given a vaguely condescending smile, like I was a stupid little girl telling tall tales.

  “No, I can’t. I don’t do the sort of magic you’re thinking of—like conjuring up stuff from thin air.”

  “Mom is still powerful, though,” Finn added, not bothering to look up from his game.

  “I don’t brew or cast spells like a witch. My magic is more... based on my intention.”

  “Your intention?”

  I nodded. “My magic is all in the blending of the oils I work with and the phases of the moon. Sometimes I infuse salts or crystals, as well.”

  I braced for the smirk, the brushoff, for something to change in his expression. Marty still looked a little skeptical, but then he shrugged. “Until I see a witch, I think I’ll remain a cynic on that subject,” he added.

  “You have a right to your opinion.”

  He nodded and wore a big smile. Even though we didn’t agree on the topic, he was respectful and I appreciated that.

  Marty looked at Finn. “So your mom’s magic skipped you?”

  I glanced over at Finn, surprised at the direction the conversation had taken. I hadn’t planned to talk about witches or gypsy magic. I’d hoped we could talk marketing. At this point, though, I wondered if that would happen tonight.

  “No, Finn has a gift,” I answered.

  Finn tore his gaze away from his Gameboy just long enough to show a sullen pout. “If you can call it a gift.”

  “Hey, just remember, it’s better than Great-Uncle Joey’s gift!” I said with a laugh.

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, the ability to find mushrooms is pretty lame. But Great-Uncle Tobias’ gift is way cooler than mine.”

  “What can Uncle Tobias do?” Marty asked, leaning in with a wide grin. Seemed the skeptic was gone. Or, at the very least, this story was too interesting for him to stop himself.

  “He can burp fire,” Finn said.

  “Smoke,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”

  “Either way, I bet he’s great at birthday parties,” Marty said with a chuckle.

  “It’s cool,” Finn said with a nod. “Cooler than my gift.”

  “Your gift will get you further in life,” I argued.

  “What is your gift? What can you do?” Marty asked him.

  “I’m like a lie detector,” Finn answered with a shrug. “I know when people aren’t telling the truth or if they’re like… pretending to be something they aren’t.”

  Marty looked confused. “How do you mean?”

  Finn shrugged. “Like our waitress.”

  “Fifi?” I asked.

  Finn nodded. “There’s something… off with her. And the bartender, too. And the hostess was keeping something about her family to herself.”

  I waited for Marty to don the dubious mask again, to tell Finn he was imagining things, and change the subject. Instead, he nodded.