The stones pulse brighter around us, as if responding to his words… or warning me. I can’t tell which.
“How do I know I can trustyou?” I ask.
He steps back, a smile spreading across his face. “You shouldn’t. Trust is earned. And as hard as I expect the past five years have been for you, I hope that fighting for survival has given you the instincts you’ll need to navigate what comes next.”
Before I can respond, he vanishes.
He doesn’t walk away, but simply disappears in an instant. The stones dim slightly, their blue glow fading to a gentle shimmer.
“Well, hell. Why can’t anything be easy?”
The moment I’m through the glass doors and back in the kitchen, Asher pulls me into his arms and crushes me against his chest. “Are you all right?”
I smack his shoulder blade with a weak hand. “Can’t breathe.”
“Shit, sorry.” Asher eases off the panic a little and pulls me over to the kitchen island. “You talk. I’ll work off some anxiety. I think the house is a stress baker. I have an uncontrollable need to make apple fritters.”
I collapse into one of the kitchen chairs, suddenly drained. “The guy with the eyes is Sebastian, a witch friend of my mother. He told me everything, Ash. About my mom, about why I can’t remember anything, about what’s coming.”
Asher is measuring flour, cracking eggs, chopping apples, and dumping cinnamon, vanilla, and melted butter into a bowl like he’s possessed.
In a way, I suppose he is.
“Lay it on me, baby girl. Start at the beginning.”
As he bakes, I tell him everything—about my blocked magic, the coven’s betrayal, my sisters being sent away, my mother’s death during some magical ritual gone wrong. With each detail, Asher’s expression grows darker.
“So let me get this straight.” He finishes covering each of the dropped dough balls with icing sugar and slides the baking pan onto the middle rack of the oven. “Either this Sebastian dude is a lying psychopath who murdered your mom and is manipulating you, or he’s telling the truth, and the local witch mafia is going to come for you once your powers kick in.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
He runs his hands through his shaggy blond hair. “Both of those options suck.”
“Tell me about it.”
Asher leans forward, his expression serious. “We could leave… like, now. Pack up whatever we can carry and get the hell out of Dodge. Maybe we can find another coven—one thatdoesn’t have a grudge against your family. Let them help you with the magic stuff.”
I get where he’s coming from, because I had the same thought. I also decided against that as an option. “No.”
“Hear me out?—”
“I love you, but no, I’m not leaving.” I stand and pace to the window that overlooks the forgotten garden. “For the first time in five years, I’m somewhere that feels right. This house knows me. My mother’s energy is here. My family’s history is within these walls. Hell, I saw the ghost of one of my ancestors in the woods an hour ago.”
“Baby girl, your family’s history might also get you killed.”
I turn back to face him. “Maybe. But running away won’t bring back my memories or help me find my sisters. It won’t tell me who I really am or what happened to my parents. I need to know, Asher. I need to understand what I lost.”
He studies my face for a long moment, then sighs. “Okay, we’ll stay, but we need to be smart. No charging headfirst into whatever magical politics are waiting for us. You need to play innocent and get control of your powers. We play our cards close to the vest.”
Relief floods through me. “Agreed. We’ll gather as much information as we can and unravel this mystery ourselves. Margaret said the woman who runs the town newsletter has a booth at the local diner—Biscuits and Banter. We’ll go tomorrow.”
“Assuming the house lets us leave.” Asher pulls on an oven mitt and pulls out a pan of golden-brown apple fritters.
“I don’t think that will be a problem. Now that we’re invested in staying, we need to get a feel for the town, and figure out who we can trust. The house won’t stop us. It wants us to succeed. It was only being protective before.”
Asher slides his decadent donuts off the pan and puts them on a plate, yipping as he burns his fingers. It’s way too soon to touch them. They’re too hot, so they crumble and flop. “Dig in.”
I squeal as my fingers burn as I grab one. “Maybe we should wait.”
