to the small parking lot of the bar at the end.
He parked his bike and set his helmet on the dash, uttering his security spell as he did so. That was one more thing he didn’t understand about Sully. Her store was poorly secured. One flimsy lock on the front door that a teenager with a penknife could pass. When he’d visited her home, he hadn’t sensed any blocks or shields there, either. As though she couldn’t be bothered. He didn’t know a witch who didn’t layer their security with any number of spells. Some were innocuous, some had painful elements invoked for trespassers. Personally, he preferred the painful variety. He didn’t have any patience for those who tried to steal or damage his property.
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