Free Witches Protection Program by Michael Phillip Cash Page B

wrinkles in the corners when he squinted in the sunlight. It made him look experienced, as if he had seen a lot in his lifetime. Much as she fought it, she found herself warming to his gentle smile.
    “What do you know what I think? Let go of me.” Morgan gave a halfhearted tug of her arm.
    “We won’t hurt you.”
    Morgan pulled away, but he held firm, so she dragged him toward a courtyard on the corner of the street as if she were the one holding onto him. They looked like a couple, and a woman looked up smiling at them. There were concrete benches filled with people eating breakfast, texting, or enjoying the spring weather.
    “I need to talk to you,” he told her.
    “You a fed?” She eyed him warily.
    Wes thought for a minute on how to answer that, but before he could respond, the dark -haired girl blurted, “You work for my aunt.”
    He studied the distrust in her obsidian eyes. He wanted to reassure her. She had the look of someone who was lost. She glanced up and down the street nervously. He realized with a start she was afraid, like the receptionist yesterday. He felt the need to make her feel safe. “No. I’m not a fed. We protect…We protect people who are at risk.”
    “I’m not at risk,” Morgan answered defiantly. “Look, I didn’t ask for help. I don’t even know who you are. The little guy” —she gestured at the truck window where Alastair sat, watching them —“creeps me out.”
    Wes wanted to say, “Me too,” but replied with, “We know your aunt is involved with something big. You don’t want to be associated with it.”
    Morgan backed away from him, her expression wary. “You don’t know me, and I don’t want to know anything about you. Stay away from me.”
    “What do you know about the face cream?” Something flickered in her eyes, and Wes knew she hovered with uncertainty. Her small body hummed with tension. “We could help you.”
    “I —I don’t need anything.”
    Wes grabbed her hand, his grip warm and reassuring. He squeezed her fingers, a frisson of electricity startling them both. Morgan pulled her hand away, but he reached forward to touch her shoulder. She ducked away but looked up at him, her eyes softening.
    “If you ever need help, or you want to talk, you have my card.”
    Morgan cleared her throat. “No. I mean, I don’t have it. Not anymore.”
    Wes pulled out another card, pressing it into her palm. Turning, he walked quickly back to the vehicle. Morgan watched as it was absorbed into traffic. She looked down at the card. The name Wesley Rockville and his number was printed on it, nothing else. “Wesley.” Her lips formed his name soundlessly. “Wesley.” This time, when she put it in her bag, she did not crumble his card.
    Squaring her shoulders, she walked into the building. Morgan ducked into a bathroom on the lobby level. She closed the door of the first stall, pulled out her wand, and held it high over her head, whispering, “Demons and witches hate Scarlett’s strut, let me be, just for a while, that blowsy, pathetic slut.”
    Morgan felt her legs stretch and her shoulders widen, and she watched with fascinated interest as her hair lengthened, changing from dark to light. Cat -shaped eyes observed the new body. Morgan bit back a giggle. She had never morphed before. It felt…strange. She enjoyed the moment, almost wishing her aunt could see the successful spell. Shapeshifting was easier than she thought. She walked around, looking at her unfamiliar hands and feet. Posing before the mirror, she practiced the sexy smile that Scarlett used. She took a deep breath, her eyes widening as huge breasts filled the tight shirt. She slid the wand up her sleeve, where she could feel it reassuringly against her wrist. She liked using the wand. Some did; others didn’t. Witches were known to have familiars, an animal that helped do their bidding. Aunt Bea hated pets and refused to let Morgan have one, except for a lone goldfish that didn’t last very