Linden blended with the other witches at the Kansas City coven about as well as a poor woman fit in with shoppers at the Country Club Plaza. And she would know since the nearest portal-mirror to the covenstead had spit her out in a BCBGMaxAzria dressing room on Nichols Road.
While there was no place like home, she was not happy to be here.
The only thing worse than rich bitches is rich witches, she thought as she worked her way through the elegantly dressed crowd of magical practitioners who eyed her like a lost leper.
“Goddess help us, even the lotus leaf incense can’t mask her stink,” a tall, twenty-something woman said.
Linden stopped and squinted past the woman’s muddy gray aura. Karma was already working on the anorexic, haute couture model-wannabe; her power was dwindling faster than her looks. Linden laughed in the woman’s sharp-boned face and kept walking.
Still, Ms. Anorexic wasn’t wrong. The coven’s expensive incense couldn’t mask the smell of the booty call spell she had cast to find a magus, a male witch, for a one night stand. To everyone but the one, she reeked. But to him, she should smell like a sex kitten.
He was here—the divination pendulum had pointed to the KC covenstead—which was the only reason she had come home and taken the remote chance that someone would recognize her.
In the middle of the room she turned in a slow circle, taking in the faces of the magi, looking for a response to her blatant invitation.
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