Lustre (A Witchlight Novella)
It takes a special kind of very bad day to break the one rule that every witch has. Never⸺and I mean never, never⸺work for angels. If breaking up is hard to do, try it while hunting down a dream thief with a mean streak. Add in a very tight deadline courtesy of your unfriendly, neighbourhood supernatural, and even if the job is all expenses paid, it still amounts to a very, very bad day. You can't cash anything from the other side. When you witch in haste...your regrets might make the obituaries.
I'm a witch. It does give me a few little tricks up my admittedly very short sleeved summer blouse, but I didn't know what he was at first sight. That kind of power is beyond most. Anything that can tell what supernatural DNA hides under your seemingly ordinary skin is way up there on the food chain. Yeah, I mean that literally. Sure, I can make a good guess most of the time, but all I saw when the angel approached me was that his aura shimmered and glowed like he'd been rolling around in fairy dust all day.
He was tall, with that slim but masculine type of build that was big in the eighties. His hair was wild and tousled with curls that, in retrospect, framed his head in a golden halo. He was wearing jeans and a bright green t-shirt, looking to all the world like a young man in the early bloom of his twenties. My first concern wasn't anything supernatural. Looking at him I wondered if he could pay for my services.
His text message hadn't told me much.
I need some witch work. Interested?