Hexes and Hemlines Read Online Free PDF Page A

I’ve never had much chance to practice.
    Apparently I still wasn’t much good at it. Sailor’s mouth pulled even tighter in irritation.
    “I’m saying if you’re smart you’ll get the hell out of Dodge.”
    “San Francisco is my home now,” I said, as much to myself as to him. “I love the Haight, and I have no intention of leaving. Besides, there seems to be a lot of . . . ‘activity’ in this town lately. I think I’m needed.”
    I could see the muscles in his jaw working, as though he was biting back words.
    Giving him a moment, I inhaled deeply and relished the scenery. The salt off the bay mingled with the aroma of steaming seafood. A child ran past, trailing a bright red balloon. His father followed, laughing, a little girl perched atop his broad shoulders. Two teenage girls in brand-new Alcatraz sweatshirts slouched by, clutching bags of saltwater taffy and loaves of sourdough bread. A small crowd milled around a man whose clothes, skin, and hair were all painted a shiny silver color; when money was dropped into his bag, he performed a jerky, robotic dance.
    I love tourists. So normal. So happy. So blissfully unaware that witches and whatnot lurk in their midst.
    “I might know someone who could help you,” Sailor said finally, bringing my attention back to our conversation.
    “Help me how?”
    “Train you.”
    “Rather than Aidan?”
    He nodded.
    “Sailor, I know Aidan’s . . . unpredictable sometimes, but surely he’s good at what he does. He’s talented, and seems to be in full control of his magick. Other than not liking him personally, is there a reason you’re waving me off?”
    Sailor finally met my eyes. I knew he couldn’t read my mind, a fact for which I was profoundly grateful. But there were times . . . odd moments when I felt as though he really did understand what I was thinking and feeling, even though there was nothing psychic about it. This worried me. Sailor was undeniably intriguing; but when all was said and done he was a bitter, misanthropic shell of a human being. Why should I feel such kinship with him?
    “Fine, princess, have it your way.” He shrugged. “Just be careful. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
    He turned on his heel and stalked off toward his motorcycle, parked illegally on the sidewalk. His back was as stiff and as unrelenting as his icy gaze.
    Still, I couldn’t just write him off. He had helped me not long ago. A witch like me, accustomed to flying solo, didn’t forget something like that.
    Besides, every once in a while a glimpse of something else shone through Sailor’s bitterness: a searching, yearning loneliness that reminded me, too much, of my own.
    That topic bore further scrutiny, I supposed. But right now I had an appointment with the male witch Sailor had just warned me about.
    I gathered my animals from the sullen Clarinda, thanked her with all the warmth I could muster, then led my entourage up the floating central stairs to the second floor. We passed wax replicas of the Mona Lisa and Elvis—both the young, curled-lip version and the Las Vegas, jumpsuit-wearing edition—walked by the sinister Chamber of Horrors, and proceeded through a small exhibit of European explorers to an arched mahogany door that appeared almost invisible to the throngs of casual visitors who enjoyed the museum.
    But to me it beckoned.
    Aidan opened the door before I knocked. Though I was prepared for what I would see, the breath still caught in my throat at the sight of him.
    Aidan Rhodes, male witch, possessed a kind of soulmelting good looks. Too good. I had witnessed women, and a fair number of men, quite literally stop in their tracks to stare as he walked by. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had golden hair that curled slightly at the nape of his strong neck, while his square jaw held just a hint of manly whiskers. His long-lashed eyes were a captivating periwinkle blue, his crooked smile showed white, even teeth, and his easy laugh was accompanied by a