Darkmoon (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

force of habit, I went to the bar, then realized I couldn’t order my usual glass of wine. A pang of guilt went through me as I thought of all the wine I’d consumed over the past month or so. Not enough to get plowed every night, but still way more than anyone in the early stages of pregnancy should’ve been drinking. Well, I couldn’t do much about that. I’d just have to quit cold turkey now and hope that would be enough.
    It also didn’t help that my cousin Marcus was tending bar that night. Sometimes he worked here at the Spirit Room, and sometimes up at the Asylum bar at the Grand Hotel at the top of the thill. Just my luck that he was on duty tonight, instead of one of the other two bartenders, both of whom were civilians.
    “Hey, Angela,” he said, and started to reach under the bar. “Glass of wine?”
    “Um, no,” I said quickly. “Just some” — I racked my brains; I knew I shouldn’t be drinking caffeine, and I didn’t like ginger ale — “just some mineral water, thanks.”
    He raised an eyebrow. “You feeling all right?”
    “Very funny.” He was about five years older than I, close enough in age that he wasn’t too over-awed by my status as prima , and therefore didn’t see a problem with giving me some shit when the situation warranted. “I just don’t feel like drinking tonight, okay?”
    “Hey, no worries,” he replied, giving me a wink, and pulled out a glass and filled it with ice and soda water, then garnished it with a lime. After pushing it across the bar toward me, he added, “This one’s on me.”
    “Very generous of you.”
    A grin, and then he turned away from me to help a couple in their early thirties who’d just approached the bar. I didn’t recognize them, so I guessed they were tourists. Good; I really didn’t want to deal with someone I knew commenting on my odd choice of beverage.
    I took my soda water to one of the high booths at the very back of the room. That seating was more comfortable, and besides, while I wanted to hear the music, I didn’t think I could handle being right up next to the stage, being that close to the band. No, I didn’t know them personally, but it still felt way too intimate to be there almost in their laps, so to speak. Also, I noticed a young man around my age, maybe a little older, setting up an easel next to them, and realized that he was going to paint along with the music. I vaguely recalled Connor mentioning seeing them do something similar at a show he’d gone to before we met, but I hadn’t really put two and two together. It was hard enough to be here at all without having to sit and watch someone paint…and maybe wonder what Connor would be painting if he were here instead.
    Scowling, I sipped my soda water and wished I’d told Sydney that I couldn’t come, that I had stomach flu or cramps from hell or something that would’ve gotten me out of having to be here. She always did have a knack for steamrollering over my objections, although I had a feeling that if I’d mentioned projectile vomiting, she probably would have left me alone.
    Can’t be helped now, I thought. At least I didn’t see anyone from the local McAllister contingent in the bar, although that didn’t mean they wouldn’t show up later, after the band got started. Clearly, I’d revealed my inexperience by getting here right on time.
    But then Sydney and Anthony came in, spotting me immediately, since I was sitting so close to the front door. “Hey,” I said lamely, and Anthony gave me an equally limp “hey” in reply. I knew he was disappointed about Connor’s and my breakup, since that sort of killed his “in” for possibly getting a vineyard of his own. Life sucks sometimes.
    Sydney, however, chirped a cheerful “hi!” before sliding in the booth next to me. She gave my glass of mineral water the side-eye but didn’t say anything except, “Hey, Anthony, can you get me a rum and Diet Coke?”
    He didn’t quite shudder, but I could