It was a psychic.
And honestly, Gryphen didn’t buy into it anyway. To him, this kind of shit was made up, and for as long as he lived, he’d believe that.
There wasn’t anything a psychic could tell him that he didn’t already know.
Mostly, that shit happened all the time, and no one could predict it.
NO.
ONE.
As they reached the cottage that had the same address on it, they both looked around. It looked like any ordinary home, and nothing screamed‘psychic’.
Going to the door, Ian knocked, and Gryphen stood sentry right behind his man.
Just.
In.
Case.
He wasn’t sure what they were going to be dealing with, but he wanted to make sure he was prepared for anything.
When the door opened, a pretty redheaded woman opened the door. She had freckles, big curls, and pretty green eyes.
“Ian and Gryphen?” she asked, in a whimsical Scottish voice.
It was sing-song-y, and caught them both off guard. This was not who they expected.
She looked like a normal woman, and not who they thought would believe they were psychic.
“We are,” Ian said, holding out his hand and shaking it.
Then, Gryphen did the same.
“Come in,” she offered. “I’m Sarah. I’m also going to say something came up with Finn, and he was unable to make it?”
Gryphen laughed.
“Shouldn’t you know that?” he asked. “You know, since you’re psychic?”
Ian stared at him in horror.
Had he lost his damn mind?
What was this?
“Well, no, I don’t know everything. If I did, I guess that would make me…God.”
Gryphen said nothing as they were led into her home. On one wall, there were little bottles of herbs and stones, and on another, there were books.
They ranged from herbalism to witchcraft. Uh, yeah, this was more than a psychic.
This was a witch.
Ian would bet on it. He spent enough time with the Blackhawks and around Janet Leonard to know the witches tools when he saw them.
“You have a really adorable home,” Ian admitted. “It’s cozy.”
