Bad Luck Charm (Witch City, #1)

by Julie Johnson

attrition.

‘Sisyphean

Skeletons? In my closet? Not with all these shoes. - Gwen Goode, lamenting her lack of storage

A special place in Hell? For me? That’s actually so thoughtful. - Gwen Goode, flattered by an enemy

A man shouldn’t care about your ‘body count’ unless you’re secretly a serial killer. - Gwen Goode, refusing to kiss and tell

“What are you doing here?” He didn’t answer my whispered question. He set down the duffle and sleeping bag, shoved the keys into the pocket of his jacket, and began to climb. I watched him coming at me, my hand tightening on the railing to hold my ground, eyes never shifting away from his. “Graham, I asked what you—” “Sleeping here,” he informed me, coming to a stop on the step below mine. With our natural height difference, this put us almost perfectly at eye level. “What?” I breathed. “You can’t sleep at my place. So, I’ll sleep here.” “Here?” “There are about a dozen empty rooms to choose from. I’ll be far enough away to give you your space, let you get some rest in peace. Close enough to cover you if anyone makes a move.” “We...” I said weakly, holding tighter to the railing. “We’re in a fight.” “Don’t give a shit,” he clipped back. “You don’t give a shit?” “Nope. Not one shit.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “You want to be pissed at me, be pissed. Hell, I’m pretty fucking pissed at you, too. But I’m here. Told you before, I’m not letting you run from this. That goes both ways. Means I don’t run either, even when you’re a bitch.” “Did you just call me a bitch?” “Yeah, because you’re being one.” “And you’re a dick!” “I can be, yeah. Especially when you piss me off, which you’re liable to do seeing as you’ve got a temper and can be stubborn as hell when you set your mind to it.” “I do not have a temper!” I yelled, directly contradicting my own words as anger coursed thr...