Exhaling hard through my nose, I say, “My apologies, monsieur, for not explaining properly”—the witch leans forward eagerly—“but I’ve already made an appointment with this gentleman.” I drop stiffly to the settee beside Michal and force a would-be convincing smile. The witch still eyes the space between us in suspicion. Scooting a bit closer, I give Michal’s knee an awkward pat. “I shall be spending the rest of the morning with—with him.” “So leave,” Michal tells the witch coolly. For a second, it looks as if the witch might argue, but with one last disgruntled look in our direction, he turns
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