Free Any Witch Way She Can by Christine Warren Page A

future?”
    â€œKnock yourself out.”
    Michael hovered over her the entire time Betsey worked. He winced every time the witch hummed and actually whimpered when he saw the tiny shards of glass lift from Randy’s flesh and dissolve into thin air. Randy had to admit the entire experience may have been more traumatic for him than it was for her. By the time her hand looked as if it had run into nothing worse than a kitten with a bad temper, Michael looked as white as a sheet and had little drops of sweat glistening on his forehead.
    â€œAll set,” Betsey announced cheerfully. “Just keep it clean and slap a bandage over the really bad spots for a couple of days and you’ll be good as new.”
    â€œThanks.” Randy rubbed her thumb over a long, pink scratch and grinned. I have to admit, I’m impressed.”
    The witch wrinkled her nose. “Thanks, but it’s just parlor tricks. Luckily, there wasn’t any nerve or tendon damage, or I would have had to send you to the hospital. I’m great with first-aid, but not so much with the major wounds.” She sighed. “Power is a fickle mistress.”
    Adele appeared at Betsey’s side and squeezed the other woman’s hand. “Be that as it may, we’re all grateful,” she said. “I wish there were something I could give you in return.”
    Betsey’s expression took on a hint of speculation. “That’s not necessary, but if you wanted to explain to me why Harold Devon is lying unconscious on the floor with a minor scalp wound while we all ignore that fact, I wouldn’t tell you to shut up.”
    Adele smiled a bit grimly. “That’s a bit of a long story, Betsey, my dear. One that I think calls for more of my best brandy.”
    Michael had seized Randy’s hand almost the minute that Betsey released it, and he wasn’t satisfied until he’d examined every inch of it to make sure she hadn’t missed a single wound. Once he was satisfied, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a tender kiss into her palm.
    Randy felt it all the way down to her toes.
    â€œIf you don’t mind, Adele, I think Randy has had enough excitement for one night. She needs some rest.” Michael laid a hand against the small of Randy’s back and urged her toward the door. “I’m sure you can explain all this without us. If you’ll excuse us?”
    For the second time that night, Michael began to shepherd Randy away from a crowd of her grandmother’s curious guests. She had no reason to protest, but this time her grandmother stopped her before she’d taken three steps.
    â€œMiranda.”
    Adele placed her hand on Randy’s arm and hesitated. Looking down, Randy noticed for the first time how that hand had grown older. It bore wrinkles and age spots on the pale, delicate skin, but its grip remained sure and unexpectedly tender.
    â€œRandy.” Now Adele’s voice softened, and Randy raised her head in surprise. “I want to…to thank you. For your help tonight. You did me a great favor.”
    Her grandmother’s voice sounded rough and awkward, but none of that mattered. Randy could feel her heart fluttering almost nervously, and she realized that what mattered wasn’t the ease with which Adele was saying this; it was that she was saying it at all.
    â€œYou’re welcome,” she managed, and her own voice was rough. She cleared her throat.
    Tentatively, Adele leaned forward, paused, then closed the distance and pressed her lips to her granddaughter’s cheek. Randy’s heart stopped for a split second, then resumed beating with even greater strength.
    When Adele pulled back, her eyes almost looked misty. “I would very much like it if you would come for dinner on Sunday.” She glanced at Michael. “Both of you, if you’d like. But you especially, Mir—…Randy. It would make me very happy.”
    For the first time