While the servers exclaimed and spread the news, we were ushered to an empty table. One of the older women threw her arms around Mr Abel and made delighted little giggles.

Agent Miller gritted his teeth.

I struggled not to laugh at it all, picking up the complimentary water cup.

You’d think Miller was jealous.

My water cup paused.

When I was a kid, before my parents died, Mom brought home a boy who’d been living on the streets. She told me it was because his parents kicked him out for ‘liking other men’. (And she told me, whether his choice is right or wrong isn’t the issue. How we treat them is far more important.)

I didn’t understand what it all meant until later, when I was living with Gran and watching shows with her.

Goblins are more or less straight as far as I know, so I haven’t thought about it in years. But what if that’s what’s happening here?

I snorted a laugh and took a sip. Wouldn’t it be just my weird luck that I’m having dinner with the first two human beings I’d spent real time with in years, and they’d be into each other? Ha!

So, maybe it’s a thing? But how do I check?

Not that it mattered! I wasn’t looking for a man! Even a cranky, gorgeous man. And especially not a married man.

I was just… curious.

“Mrs. Snown!” Mr Abel gasped playfully. “Can’t… breathe…”

She snorted and stepped back, holding his hands. “Liars end up food for sirens. Just indulge me, boy. I was afraid your job finally killed you.”

“I’m sorry I worried you, Mrs. Snown.”

She wasn’t listening.

Eyes twinkling, she abruptly yanked his left hand eye level.

“Why, Mr Abel! You’re gone and gotten married! How long ago?”

“About a year.”

She glanced at me.

“Oh, no! This is a guest my partner picked up. Miss, uh-”

I snorted on ‘partner’ and had to cough before I could rescue him.

“Aka.” I stood up and held out a hand.

They all hesitated, staring at my hand.

I dropped it, cheeks flushing.

“I guess you don’t do handshakes here.”

There was an awkward silence before Mrs. Snown’s face beamed and she bowed her head.

“Lovely to meet you, dear! Aka? That’s an unusual name.”

“It’s actually Abigail Karina Alberry, but my second-grade friends thought it was too much of a mouthful. So I’m now ‘also known as’ instead.”

They all stared at me blankly. Until Mr Miller narrowed his eyes and they shifted uncomfortably.

Crap. I did it again. I should just shut up.

“Well…” I lowered myself sheepishly into my chair. “I’m going to look at the menu. You two enjoy catching up.”

“Oh, uh, yes. Now, Mr Abel, dear, tell me about your wife-”

As they went back to chatting, I opened a menu.

So they use rings here, huh?

I casually glanced at Mr Miller’s hands, holding his own menu.

Both ringless.

I grinned.

I was happy that this one of the two beautiful men was free. Probably free. He could still be jealous, I guess.

Why was I happy about it? Maybe because no one deserves to be on the receiving end of that relentlessly grim expression. Maybe because I can sense he’d be fun to tease.

Once I figured out how to press his buttons.

“Do you need help?”

“What?”

I looked up to see Mr Miller watching me intently.

“The menu. Do you need help reading it?”

Reading it?

I glanced down again. As far as I could tell, except for a few weird dish names, everything was in perfectly good English.

“Nope. I got it.”

For some reason, he narrowed his eyes at me again. (He’s a real pro at that expression, let me tell you.) Anyway, did he think I was lying or something?

I squirmed.

“Uh-”

“Are you sure?”

Yes, thank you, I’m sure!

I scooted my chair another inch away from him. He didn’t get the hint, so I sighed.

If it’ll make him stop staring at me…

“If you could suggest something, that would be awesome.”

He nodded, his expression smug. Did he think I’d admitted to something? Was it a mistake to accept his help?

“I haven’t tried anything here, but goulash is usually a good bet.”

In my home world, I’ve had two kinds of goulash. One was a soup and one was a pasta dish. I wonder which it’ll be here?

“Goulash sounds great! And a slice of cake.”

Mr Miller nodded and took my menu from me. Then whistled to get the waitress’s attention.

“We’re ready to order.”

The woman stopped talking to Mr Abel and nodded, pulling out a little notebook.

“Two goulash and a strawberry glaze.”

“Alright. And you, Mr Abel, dear?”

“House special. And a white wine.”

“No,” said Mr Miller coldly. “You’re on duty. No wine. Get him a sparkly if he wants the bubbles.”

The waitress looked at Mr Abel’s pouty nod and said she’d be back.

I leaned an elbow and looked at the two men.

“So…”

They turned their attention to me and I exaggerated an eyebrow lift.

“As pretty as I am, I’m sure you didn’t invite me here for a weird, reverse harem date. What’s up?”

For an instant, both their faces blanked again. Dang. Did I have to watch all my slang?

“I mean, what do you want?”

“Ah, well-”

Mr Abel looked at Agent Miller, who seemed more intent on staring at me than answering. I rolled my eyes.

“Look, I’m going to get a free meal either way. But if you don’t tell me what you want, you may walk away with nothing.”

“What do you know about the Grucian Coven?”

My turn to go blank.

Not because I didn’t understand but because I felt like I’d been hit with a dead fish.

Grucian Coven? What the heck?! I’m already getting hit with witch stuff?! Did they… can they tell I’m a practicing witch? How the heck did they know to ask me about this stuff?!

I reached for my cup. Trying to hide any trembling that may or may not have been occurring.

“By coven, I assume you mean a group of witches, right?”

Nods.

What do I say? What do they know?

Well… Ok, I’ll try this angle. Worse comes to worst, I’ll be booking it out of here without cake again. Which would be sad but not world shattering.

-“Ok. Once upon a time, there was a pair of sisters. They had ten people in their family, but they were so poor that one day the parents decided that two of them had to go. The oldest children were useful. They could chop wood, bake bread, plow fields, and so on.

So they chose the youngest, weakest, and most useless of the children to kick out.

The girls wandered hither and thither, begging for food and work as they went. Until one day, when they were almost ready to starve to death, they were taken in by a witch.

The witch promised them great power to right the wrongs in their lives.

But they had to make her a promise. ‘You see the poison ivy in the corner? It grows up my house and covers my roof. It protects me from rain and sun. Never touch the ivy.’

They agreed. So the witch taught them to do spells and make potions. She taught them to skin beasts and make men scream to harvest their souls for pudding and pies.

Finally, they were ready to take their revenge.

They returned to the family that had abandoned them. They burnt alive their parents in their home and tracked down each sibling that had not pleaded their cause. Sparing only the oldest sister, who had been beaten for standing up for them.

In despair, the oldest sister sought the advice of a druid deep in the woods. The druid told her to leave it alone. Poisonous beings will eventually destroy themselves. But to take heed and hide herself. Lest the blood witches thirst for the power of their connection.

‘How do I hide myself?’ the eldest asked in despair.

‘Marry my son and go to a faraway place.’ The eldest sister took the druid’s advice and left with the son. Meanwhile, her sisters grew in power and spite, poison filling their souls as they drenched their fingers in blood.

They returned to their teacher’s home and begged to be taught how to increase their power.

‘You cannot,’ their teacher said. ‘Not while the world is full of fools who break the ground, disrupt the ley lines, and interrupt the song of wild things. Look! Look at my ivy. It dies for lack of mana to feed on.’

Their teacher was dying. She told them if they can find a place to plant the ivy where it’ll thrive, then they can claim more power.

So they claimed the blood magic of their teacher’s death, dug up the roots of the ivy, and went searching.

When they finally found a place to plant the ivy, they were so happy! ‘Now,’ said they, ‘we will become the grandest of all!’

‘We will start a coven. Greater, bigger, more powerful than any coven ever to exist. We will restore the ley lines, settle the ground, and let the beasts sing.’

‘But, sister, what shall we name it?’ asked the younger.

‘Why, it’ll be named after me of course. For I am the eldest.’