I caught the glass before it hit the ground, the thick-cut crystal still cold from the spelled liquor. The amber liquid sloshed up the side of the glass, but nary a drop spilled. This little feat wasn’t magic—not really—simply instinct, muscle memory. Well, that, and the shriek of alarm blaring in the thoughts of the witch who nearly elbowed it off the bar. My eye twitched, a spike of pain blooming in my temples at the sheer volume of her mind.  Shit, not again. The screech of her...