Free Almost Everything by Tate Hallaway

had been an accident, something unforeseen.
    One of the first things my instructors tried to teach me when I was learning magic was that you needed to be careful about how you worded requests. Asking the Goddess for things was a bit like talking to that genie in a bottle. If you asked for eternal life, you had to be sure to ask for perfect health as well, or you might find yourself feeling every day of your ten thousand years, you know?
    Similarly, we were cautioned off hexes. Not that Bea tended to worry overly much about that, but I remembered her aunt Diane telling us that spells bind people together—whether for good or bad. So, if you cursed a bully, you were actually binding your fates together, in a way, on the spiritual plane.
    Maybe that was something the First Witch hadn’t known about. Perhaps when she tore open the heavens and dragged through that first vampire slave, she didn’t realize she’d tied herself to hell.
    Traffic was starting to pick up a little, though the Caribou Coffee I passed by was still shuttered. I sighed wistfully. I could do with a strong, hot mocha right about now. At least I was able to dump my shoe and stuff into the public garbage can on the corner. I wiped my hand on the thigh of my jeans and wondered what the city would think if they found those. Would they go all
CSI
and trace them back to me? And whose blood was on my clothes anyway? Was it the vamp’s or that of someone they’d eaten, as it were? Would I get the blame for an attack? Or even a murder?
    I toldmyself I had enough problems without worrying about something that might not even happen, not in this era of budget cuts. St. Paul didn’t have enough people power to deal with the bad guys as it was. A couple of bloody socks probably wouldn’t raise much alarm.
    It would probably also help if I didn’t stand around looking guilty.
    I moved up the block, past the Children’s Museum and Mickey’s Diner. Mickey’s was open. I could smell the bacon and grease through the vents of the trolley car–shaped restaurant. Frying green peppers made my stomach growl. I felt for the ten I had wadded in my pocket. But, after a moment’s consideration, I put it back. They got a lot of strange characters in Mickey’s, but I still figured my bloody jeans and bare feet would cause a stir. I hurried on.
    A city worker blasted the baskets of petunias hung from the streetlights with a hose connected to a tanker truck with WASTE WATER printed on its sides. She didn’t even notice me as she moved methodically to the next lamp.
    A few blocks down, a couple of homeless guys with heavy-looking army green backpacks called out to me from the courtyard of Catholic Charities across the street. I thought maybe they were harassing me for change or something. When I looked more closely, they were smiling and waving me over, as if they’d noticed the state of my clothes and considered me kin. God, I must have looked worse than I thought. I smiled back at them but kept walking.
    The sunlightglinted on the golden cross on top of the cathedral. I was not too far now from home. The steepness of Kellogg Avenue made my knees ache. Some commuter on a bicycle whizzed by, going downhill.
    Boulevard trees started to change from scraggly young ginkgo twigs to majestic, ancient maples. I could smell summer here—freshly cut grass, blooming roses and daisies, warm cobblestone dust. A mourning dove hooted, its low, sad song mingling with the chirps and cackles of the other birds hidden in the canopy of leaves.
    I was so tired and emotionally drained by the time I got home that at first I didn’t register the figure sitting on the porch steps. It wasn’t until I’d stooped down to pick up the
Star Tribune
from in front of the gate that I thought I saw a pair of cowboy boots. Blinking, I looked up at Prince Luis.
    I probably should have been more polite, but the first thing out of my mouth was, “Oh no, not you again.”

Chapter Five
     
    P rince Luis was