Some of her reluctance faded. While it might be mercenary, the mortgage on her condo wouldn’t pay itself. “There’s the silver lining. Wait, I guess I do have one more question.”

“What’s that?” the other witch asked.

“How long is the term?”

“Four years.”

Leanne blinked. “Longer than expected.”

“You’ll receive official notification through council channels. I don’t think I need to tell you that secrecy is mandatory. You cannot share this nomination with your coven sisters, other witches, or your family.”

Though she’d been in Vegas when Gladys intervened regarding the witch hunter issue on behalf of the council, Margie had filled her in quietly. “I understand. And I’m not sure if I should say thanks or—”

Just then, something clattered to the ground, a plastic plate spilling pizza onto the chilly cement. Trev stood there holding Leanne’s jacket in his other hand, and from his look of abject shock, he’d heard a lot, way more than he should have. Gladys fixed him with a terrible stare, and Leanne’s foreboding ripened into full-blown fear. He wasn’t wearing a coat either, but he’d brought hers. He clutched it like a lifeline. Why did he have to be so freaking sweet, choosing to search for her at the worst possible time?

Oh hell.

“No,” she said, stepping between them. “You can’t. Technically speaking, nobody told him. And he didn’t hear anything. Please, Gladys. Don’t do this.”

***

This…has to be a hallucination, right?

Since it was impossible to throw a rocking party without snacks, Trev had ordered a bunch of pizzas, and they’d just been delivered. He got some food into all the hearty partiers, then he noticed Leanne was MIA. Her coat was still hanging on the rack, so he figured she must’ve stepped out to catch her breath and process the good news in private.

But he found her discussing shit that didn’t make sense—couldn’t make sense—at least not according to the world he lived in. They’d definitely been talking about some kind of secret council, but judging from Leanne’s expression, he’d better act innocent and do it more expertly than any role he’d ever played. He’d weigh what he’d heard later. Right now, this appeared to be about survival. If anyone had asked him before tonight, he never would’ve imagined that Gladys—sweet little Gladys—could look this terrifying.

Trev pinned on a blurry, harmless smile. “Whoa, I am not a good drinker. I tried to bring you a slice, but I went and turfed it. Sorry, Butterfly. You must be freezing, though. Put this on. I’ll let you finish your chat.”

“It’s fine,” Gladys said, scrutinizing him from head to toe.