Page 63 of This Witch Is Not Wicked

Harriet shot the group an apologetic look. “You’re supposed to be in bed.” The little girl ignored her, scampering onto her lap and looking at the group expectantly.

She wrinkled her nose. “This is a boring party so far.”

I choked out a laugh that turned into a cough. At least Fiona was honest. I could respect honesty over passive aggressiveness, something I got a lot from humans.

Niamh bustled toward the group, carrying what looked like a tray of cheese, bread, and wine.

“Oh, thank the godwitches.” Ceri reached forward and snatched one of the glasses off the tray.

“Welcome to book club,” Niamh said in a singsong voice, grinning at the group.

Fiona clapped her hands. “Ooh, I love books!”

“You don’t even know how to read,” Harriet pointed out.

Fiona’s bottom lip jutted out. “You read to me all the time.”

Harriet kissed the top of her head. “Fair point.”

Niamh’s gaze landed on Fiona as if she was just realizing the little girl was there. “Fiona, we love having you here, but this book club might not be appropriate for you.”

I leaned forward, suddenly more interested. Were we reading about gore? Death? War? I loved all those topics.

Ceri stabbed a cube of cheese with a small silver fork. “Ooh, is it going to be spicy?” She waggled her brows.

“I want to join too!” a voice called from behind Ceri.

Margaret beamed from her painting, shaking some of her glossy black hair behind her shoulders. She wore the same thing as always, which I supposed made sense if she was a painting—a plain beige dress that hung down to her ankles.

“Hi!” She waved, a wide smile on her lips. “Unlike Fiona, I can read. I don’t know how, but I think it was part of my backstory when I was painted. So . . . is it spicy?” she asked, echoing Ceri’s question.

“Spicy?” Fiona wrinkled her nose. “Auntie, how can a book be spicy?”

I was wondering the same thing.

“Okay.” Harriet grabbed Fiona and set her on the ground. “And that is your cue to leave.”

Fiona crossed her arms and stomped a foot. “I don’t want to. I want to be part of a club too.”

“You can be part of my club,” I said. “My garden club.”

Fiona whirled toward me. “Really?”

Harriet shot me a grateful look, even though I was already cursing myself for speaking up. It had been clear that Fiona shouldn’t be here, and I didn’t want to witness a full-on meltdown from the little girl.

“Really,” I said. “You can help me in my gardens as long as you listen and treat the plants with respect.”

Godwitches be. Having Nevan’s mouth between my legs had really softened me. Here I was inviting a little girl to garden with me so she wouldn’t feel left out. I held back my shudder.

“Okay!” Fiona smiled widely. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Tomorrow?” I asked as she skipped away. I had meant it more as a we’ll talk about it kind of thing, not as a solid plan that would start in twelve hours.

“Thank you,” Harriet said.

“It’s no problem.” I shifted in my seat as she looked at me with warmth in her eyes.

I wasn’t used to any kind of softness from the head of the royal guard. Harriet was always so stern and gruff. But in this environment, she leaned back in her chair, wearing a pair of soft brown trousers and a green blouse, looking relaxed as she took a sip of her wine.