I smiled at two men who slid apart to make a spot for me, setting my drink and chips on the lower rim of the table while I tried to figure out why some people were happy at the five that was rolled and some were upset. One of the witches who’d made room for me was standing too close, and I wondered when he would inflict his pickup line on me. Sure enough, after the next roll he gave me a sloppy grin and said, “Here I am. What are your last two wishes?”

My hand trembled and I forced it to remain unmoving. “Please,” I said. “Just stop.”

“Oh, nice manners, babe,” he said loudly, trying to embarrass me, but I could embarrass myself a hell of a lot easier than he could.

The chatter of the game seemed to vanish as I focused on him. I was ready to let him have it, my self-respect wounded to the quick, when surfer boy appeared. “Sir,” he said calmly, “that was the worst line I’ve ever heard, not only insulting but showing a severe lack of forethought. You’re obviously bothering the young woman. You should leave before she does permanent damage to you.”

It was protective, yet implied I could take care of myself, not an easy thing to accomplish in one paragraph, much less one sentence. I was impressed.

One-line-wonder took a breath, paused, and with his eyes rising over my shoulder, he changed his mind. Muttering, he took his drink and his buddy on the other side of me and left.

My shoulders eased and I found myself sighing as I turned to surfer boy. “Thank you,” I said, taking a closer look at him. His eyes were brown and his lips were thin, and when he smiled, the expression encompassed both of them, full and honest. There was some Asian heritage in his not-too-distant past, giving him straight black hair and a small nose and mouth.

He ducked his head, seemingly embarrassed. “No thanks needed. I had to do something to redeem all men for that line.” His strong-jawed face took on a false sincerity. “What’re your other two wishes?” he asked, chuckling.

I laughed, ending it by looking at the craps table as I thought of my big teeth.

“My name is Lee,” he said, stepping into the silence before it became awkward.

“Rachel,” I said, relieved when he extended his hand. He smelled like sand and redwood, and he slipped his thin fingers into my grip to meet my pressure with an equal force. Our hands yanked apart and my eyes jerked to his when a slip of ley line energy equalized between us.

“Sorry,” he said as he tucked his hand behind his back. “One of us must be low.”

“It’s probably me,” I said, refusing to wipe my hand. “I don’t keep line energy in my familiar.”