The misogynistic ass at TDCM—short for the Thaumaturgic Department for the Concealment of Magic—looked down his haughty nose at me. It made me itch to give him a wart, right on the pointy tip.

Tucking my hands behind my back, I didn’t give in to temptation. Not yet. I reserved the right to change my mind if he continued to piss me off.

“What do you mean I can’t go in? I’m part of the investigative group studying the demonic incursion.” The only woman amidst a bunch of snotty male wizards. They weren’t impressed that I, a mere human witch, had been elected—by the High Coven—to work with them. To be fair, I really didn’t want to work with the jerks either; however, that was beside the point. They were trying to block me.

Mr. I’m-So-Impressed-With-Myself sneered. “Your services are no longer needed, as the matter to which you refer is being handled by those properly suited to the task.”

In other words, they’d found a way to oust the mangy human witch, and the university-educated wizards were taking charge of the investigation. Did I mention they were pompous, convinced of their superiority, and if something didn’t fit their narrow definition then it didn’t exist?

Humanity was so screwed.

I leaned forward and placed my hands on the reception desk rather than slapping him silly. “You can’t be serious. I have valuable information to offer. Have you all forgotten I helped handle the library event and that I was there when the Peabody incident went down?” And by incident, I meant a house haunted by unknown forces that possessed the owner, got rid of the wife, and caused widespread problems since the possession turned out to be rather contagious.

“There were wizards on the scene as well. They will provide insight, if required, to the committee.”

Insight? Snort. I highly doubted that, especially since no one had yet been able to answer any of the many questions arising from that incident, like why I, and the others, had lost a good fifteen minutes of time.

I remembered arriving at the Peabody house, and then I blinked and there was just a smoldering ruin where it used to stand.

No one knew what had happened. Not even Morfeus, the biggest asshat of the wizarding group currently blocking me.

I couldn’t say I was entirely surprised. Morfeus and his cronies didn’t want to explore what had occurred at the Peabody place. Something had happened, something they couldn’t explain, and their pea-sized brains couldn’t handle it. They were happy the house blew up. Most of them went good riddance, problem solved.

But I couldn’t be content and just let things go. What if blowing it up wasn’t enough? What if the demons—or whatever it was possessing non-magical folk—came back? I didn’t want that. Especially since I’d seen what happened to witches hunted by demons.

Turned out we—as in witches, those born of human parents and bearing magic—were a tasty treat to them. A jelly-filled donut they liked to munch on. Some of the people who’d died were my friends, and since my life goals didn’t include feeding a demon, I tended to have a vested interest in ensuring it didn’t happen to me.

I also owed it to my coven to make sure it didn’t happen to any more members. Losing witches meant fewer fees to help pay the rent on our coven headquarters.

And when I say coven, I should add that we don’t dance around fires buck-naked praying to Satan. Nor do we have major orgies—a letdown for many applicants. At least once they were told, it tended to weed out the less serious.

So what did a coven of witches do? Other than moral support, we tended to get together for spell potlucks where we exchanged recipes, shredded ingredients, cooked up a bunch of potions in our cauldrons, and then went our merry ways until the next full moon or All Hallows’ Eve.

Being a witch was less exciting than people thought.

We were also discriminated against.

“Listen here, bud.” I leaned in closer, my fingers curling into fists on his desk. “I am the witch liaison for this sector, which means you can’t shove me out of an active investigation involving us.” Actually, the wizards probably could. Witches were barely recognized by the so-called true magic users. Our diluted bloodlines were an embarrassing reminder that their ancestors had once frolicked with humans.

Mr. Snooty didn’t look impressed, nor did he change his mind. “Your coven will receive a report with the investigating group’s findings once they’ve completed it.”

“And how long will that take?” Uttered with the deepest sarcasm I could manage. Having dealt with the TDCM and its various sub-branches before, I knew it meant months, maybe more given their track record.

“Our best wizards are working on it.”

“Working on it?” I couldn’t help a high note of annoyance. “People are dying now.”

“Actually, ever since the Peabody incident, there have been no new reported cases.”

True, but I for one wasn’t fooled. The demons had found a way into our world. They might be lying low for the moment, but I doubted it would last.

“You’re a moron,” I muttered as I spun on my heel, meaning to stomp out.

As departures went, it might have been more impressive if I hadn’t bounced off a chest. A big and solid chest that sent me flying and landing, quite unceremoniously, on my ass.

The asshat at the desk snickered, which didn’t help my temper.

A snarl might have curled my lip. “Watch where you’re going.”

“Terribly sorry,” a cultivated male voice said, low and sexy. “I’m afraid I didn’t notice you.”

I looked up, way up, and got treated to chiseled perfection. Square chin. Bright, dancing, blue eyes. Blond hair. Wearing a casual outfit.

Obviously not a wizard. He’d have knocked me down and walked on past.

Still, how did he not notice me? Did my flame-red hair not register?

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I just love polishing the floor with my butt.” There might have been a liberal dose of sarcasm in there as I wiggled around.

He reached out a hand, again, his polite manners giving away the fact that he wasn’t a magic-using douchenozzle. But if he wasn’t a wizard, then what was he?

I felt a definite tingle when he grabbed my hand. A sizzle that made my girly parts sing va-va-va-voom. Since that never happened, I immediately assumed he wore a spell to make him more attractive to the opposite sex. So many men nowadays resorted to charms and magic instead of something old-fashioned like good manners.

Without any effort on his part, he hauled me to my feet, but once I was upright, he didn’t release my hand.

I should have tugged it away; however, I found myself rather fascinated. “Are you an elf?” Rude, yet I couldn’t contain my curiosity.

At the query, his lips quirked. “Not exactly. And don’t let my parents hear you even hint at it. They’d be most insulted.”

Offended to be compared to what many believed was the most prestigious race in existence? Elves and wizards, and even shapeshifters and vampires were no longer a secret to the world. Humans had found out about them by accident via a televised incident that no amount of claims stating it was doctored could appease.

The supernaturals, as we humans tended to call them, those fascinating mystical creatures and beings we read about in fairy tales and legends, were real.

And obnoxious.

We lived in interesting times. With interesting people. And things that didn’t quite classify as people but demanded rights.

The poor human governments were quite stymied. Especially when some of the more reclusive groups, such as the merfolk, began to demand tariffs on all goods floated on their seas. Apparently, the humans had been taking advantage of their oceans and abusing their waters for too long. The merfolk were quite done with humanity’s disdain for their oceanic territory.

They hadn’t quite declared war yet, but some of the more egregious infractions—a tanker ship leaking oil and doing nothing about it, plus the whaler that was overfishing the waters off the coast of Newfoundland—became the first convicted casualties of the newly enforced Poseidon Laws. There was no appealing the decision. The Kraken ate the offending parties whole.

Being a somewhat morbid spirit at times, I kind of wondered if someone got to yell, “Release the Kraken!” Wrong, and yet I felt no sympathy. Humans had been abusing the world for too long. It was about time someone did something about it.

Of course, there were those that screamed it was our right to do as we pleased. Humans were the dominant race according to them. Humans made the rules.

The supernaturals, in many cases, refused to acknowledge them, and there was no true way of enforcing the laws short of declaring war. There were some that argued we should.

We lived in divided times.

As my mind wandered through the various species I knew of, trying to fit the hot and mysterious man into one of those groups, I realized he still held my hand. He also exhibited an amused glint in his eyes.

There goes Willow with her head in the clouds again. That was one of the nicer things kids had said about me when I was young. Those that chose to use meaner words? They got diarrhea in class. Bullying a witch, even a young one training in secret, was never a good idea.

I tugged my hand free—the loss of contact quite sobering—and I drew myself to my five feet five inches and a half, the half being important when you’re short—and stated, in a haughty, if high-pitched voice, “I’d say thank you, but if you weren’t so oblivious, this could have been avoided.”

“My apologies again. My mind was preoccupied with other matters.”

Probably on where to have lunch. Someone this good-looking probably never entertained a serious thought.

Ooh, that is mean, even for me. I shouldn’t let my bad mood over getting kicked out of the demon investigation turn me into a bitch. “If you’ll excuse me, I was just leaving.”

“Going so soon? We just met.” His lips quirked into a smile that made my girly bits tingle.

I armored myself against it and clutched the medallion at my neck, which wasn’t doing its usual job of filtering out magic. Maybe the spell on it needed refreshing.

“I have business elsewhere.” Namely my crummy coven office in the warehouse district. I rented a rundown building for my group with concrete floors perfect for drawing protective circles—and also not easily ignited. When spells went wrong, fire usually followed.

“Until we meet again, fair lady.” He inclined his head and moved past me to the reception desk. I almost turned to watch. A red-blooded woman, I wanted to see if the rear presented itself as nicely as the front.

However, I restrained myself. Barely. If only I had the same self-control when it came to chocolate.