Free Secrets and High Spirits: Secrets, Book 4 by Lou Harper Page A

hobbled with a trio of juvenile nuisances and a nitwit of a partner. So not the simple meathead Teag had taken him for.
    Guilt rose in Teag as he watched Bruce’s solid figure. He pulled his spine straight and walked up to the object of his guilt.
    In response to the tap on his shoulder, Bruce switched the machine off and turned to face Teag, though his gaze behind the safety goggles seemed to focus somewhere on Teag’s forehead. “Yes?”
    “Hey.” Teag sought out Bruce’s gaze, but it remained a one-way connection. “I’m sorry for earlier. I have no idea why I said whatever I said.”
    “Okay,” Bruce replied in the blandest of tones.
    Teag could’ve left it at that, but he wanted…something. To reestablish normal communications, perhaps. He spread his arms, indicating pipes snaking between naked studs, wires hanging from the ceiling, and the general disarray. “It must be the stress of this. Feels like we’ll never get it done.” When no response was forthcoming, he added, “Shouldn’t we have done the floors toward the end?”
    Bruce tugged the dust mask down to his chin. “And get dust all over the freshly painted walls?”
    “Oh. I didn’t think of that. How many more passes with the sander?”
    “Probably two. And it won’t get done on its own.”
    Bruce’s shortness smarted, but Teag knew he deserved it. “Right. I won’t keep you,” he said and began to walk away. “Teag.” He heard Bruce call after him and spun around a little too eagerly. “Put on a mask and goggles if you’re gonna be down here. Tell the Boys too.” With those words, Bruce pushed his own mask back into place and turned his back to Teag.
    Work, however, did not resume, as the Boys clattered inside, grinning like a clowder of cats who’d just done a number on the canary enclosure at the local zoo.
    The source of their high spirits became clear as a middle-aged woman wearing fashionable jeans and a green silk blouse waltzed in behind them. She had a green leather messenger bag slung over her shoulder—two fashionable shades darker than her blouse, Teag noted involuntarily.
    “So this is the place I’ve heard so much about,” she said cordially.
    “Madame Layla!” Jem introduced her. “We pooled our money to hire her so she could cleanse the place,” he added proudly. “It’s our bar-warming gift to you. Too bad Dylan couldn’t be here.”
    While Teag stood dumbstruck, Bruce strode forward with all the poise of a gracious host to greet their unexpected guest. He even discarded his protective gear—something he hadn’t done for Teag. “We’ve heard great things about you. You’re a witch, right?” he said matter-of-factly, as one says oh, so you’re an accountant? Hell, the man knew how to be a host, Teag noted, abashed.
    “That’s correct. You must be Bruce.” She stuck out her hand, and her silver bracelets jingled as they shook hands.
    Teag successfully restored his jaw to its normal position and joined the group. “What a surprise,” he said, smiling, not to be outdone on the hospitality front. On one hand, he wanted to strangle the little idiots for wasting their money on such silliness, but on the other hand, he was truly touched by the gesture. Taking in the eager and excited faces of Olly and Jem, he didn’t have it in him to make a fuss. “What kind of witchcraft do you practice?” he asked politely.
    “Mostly protective magic and spiritual counseling,” she explained without a hint of irony. “That’s how I met Jem.”
    “I was cursed,” Jem said solemnly. “By a meter maid.”
    To keep his eyes from rolling around in their sockets, Teag stared hard at Mme. Layla. She had silver strands in her long, black hair, and fine lines of crow’s-feet at the corners of her lively dark eyes. “Been in the business long?” he asked, not knowing what else to say.
    “Born into it,” she replied off-handedly, eyes scanning the space. “I should get started.” She dropped her bag on the