Girl's Guide to Witchcraft by Mindy Klasky Page B

shelf. No luck. I glanced at the bottom shelf, but I knew I wouldn’t have put the alcohol there.
    I tried the second cabinet without any greater success before I remembered that I had put all the liquor beneath the sink. After all, I didn’t have that many cleaning bottles left by the time Melissa and I had made the cottage livable, and I didn’t want visitors to see my alcoholic stash and conclude I was a lush.
    Okay. I didn’t want Jason to see my liquor and think that I was just a hard-drinking party girl. Our first date was already scripted in my mind—I was going to brew him a nice hot cup of tea one evening when we had worked late at the library on some difficult research project. I’d save the hard stuff for our second date. Or for Bloody Marys the morning after.
    I pushed aside a woefully depleted fifth of gin and reached past sculpted bottles of Kahlúa and Baileys. The rum was at the back of the collection, and I was pleased to discover there was even more of it than I’d remembered. “There,” I said. “Now, if I can just figure out where I put my pitcher…”
    “The one with the fish on it?” Neko asked, popping back from his chat with Melissa. He produced the oversized item from a cabinet as if he’d lived here all his life. Which, come to think of it, he might have. I had a lot of questions for the guy. Questions that I’d be ready to ask, just as soon as the drinks were mixed.
    “Thanks,” I said. Melissa started to help with the mojito preparation, but I waved her over to the tin kitchen table. “Both of you, sit down. I’ll do this.”
    “I can’t wait anymore, though,” Melissa said. “Tell me what we’re treating with the mojitos!”
    “Treating?” Neko purred, and I could see interest waft over him like the scent of salmon. He’d ignored my instructions to sit down. Instead, he had taken over preparing the limes. After watching me roll one across the counter, hard, to release the juice inside, he repeated the process with the rest of the fruit. He moved his fingers like a pastry chef kneading dough. A distant look came into his eyes, as if the motion provided him with a distinctly sexual frisson of pleasure. As if he were a cat.
    I shook my head and began to bruise the mint. I spoke as I worked, telling Melissa and Neko about my meeting with Gran. Both reacted appropriately, gasping in surprise at her revelation (or, in Neko’s case, hissing).
    Years of practice let me eyeball the correct amount of mint, along with sugar, the juice from Neko’s limes and sparkling water. I poured in a healthy amount of rum, then added more when Neko cast a critical eye. I started to dig for a wooden spoon in the container on the counter, but Neko placed a utensil in my hand. I stirred absently, looking from one friend to the other, as I concluded my tale of woe: “And so, I left. I needed time to think. That’s why I couldn’t finish yoga class.”
    “Mmm,” Neko said. “Cat Pose. It’s perfect for tightening your abs.” As if to illustrate, he flexed his taut belly.
    “I’ll drink to that,” Melissa said, eyeing him appreciatively. I poured us each a tall glass. The mojito was icy cold as I swallowed, but the rum warmed my woefully untaut belly. Already, I could feel myself relaxing, opening up. The mint was sweet-sharp against the back of my throat.
    “Mmm,” Neko said. “You put in extra lime. I like them like that.”
    I swallowed another healthy dose before I asked, “How do you do that?”
    “Do what?” His eyes were sly as he met mine over his glass.
    “Know about mojitos. I mean, you’ve been in my basement for a while, right? Frozen as a statue?”
    He licked his lips and glanced over at Melissa, as if he were wondering what he could say in front of her. Fine time for him to decide to be circumspect. “Go ahead,” I said. “She’s my best friend. She already knows about you. At least as much as I do.”
    Melissa nodded and drank from her own glass. She must have