“The house that used to be owned by Dimitri Novac,” I explain. “I own it now. I turned it into a library.”
Bo’s face clears, and he nods. “Yes, that one.”
“What happened at the house?” This question comes from Samantha.
Bo frowns. “I … I can’t …” He coughs repeatedly, rubbing his throat, as if that’ll soothe the reaction.
I hand him a second bottle of water, which he drinks as quickly as the first.
“That’s okay,” Levi says. “If you don’t remember yet, we can come back to it later. But do you know why you were at the house?”
That’s a good question. Nowadays, mythics of all kinds come by to browse the collection of texts I have. There’s a reason for people to visit. But from what Delta—Dimitri’s daughter and the woman who sold the property to me—has said, her father was a recluse. Not one for visitors.
And why would a visitor be cursed?
A prick of wariness tugs at the back of my mind. The reminder that I don’t know anything about this monster, and just because others we have freed from curses were innocent, that doesn’t mean Bo was.
The only thing that keeps me from scuttling away in self-preservation is the general vibe of the monster’s aura. Before I shuttered my magical sight, I didn’t pick up a single ounce of hostility.
When we came upon him this time, his aura was swamped in a navy blue, speckled with tan.
Loss.
Loneliness.
“I can’t say,” Bo mutters in response to Levi’s question.
Before we can pry further, there’s the rumble of an engine through the trees. Down the weed-choked drive comes a luxurious BMW SUV, and I shield my eyes against the blinding flash of LED headlights.
Bo grunts next to me, doing the same until the driver shuts the lights off and climbs from the vehicle. Blinking spots out of my eyes, I begin to make out the trim figure of Georgiana Stormwind.
In the past, I’ve only ever seen the siren completely put together—with her blonde hair styled, makeup on point, and clothes chic and smooth. Now she’s still Southern belle gorgeous, but with ajust rolled out of bedvibe. A camel-colored peacoat is buttoned over a set of what appears to be silk pajamas, matching a silk wrap around her curls. The hands that clutch her collar are perfectly manicured. She even slipped on a set of heels for this excursion.
How she’s not wobbling on the uneven ground is a magical move itself.
“Bo?” Shock quivers through her singsong voice. “Is that really you?”
The monster stares at the siren, his face slack. “Georgie?”
Georgie?Sounds like they were close.
Her mouth pops open in an O, and she steps forward, wide eyes on his face.
“You … you’re the same,” she whispers. “You haven’t aged a day.”
Bo’s gaze is locked on her, and I wonder if I should back up and give them room for some kind of reunion hug.
“How long has it been?” he rasps.
She blinks, long lashes brushing her cheeks, and something about her changes. It takes me a moment to realize I was unconsciously reading her aura and the colors have altered. What was once a combination of lime-green surprise and lemon-yellow eagerness now fades into peachy wariness with sparks of white fear.
Is Georgiana scared of Bo?
If so, why is she still leaning toward him?
As if hearing my silent question, she straightens her spine. “You disappeared seventeen years ago.”
Bo sways on his feet, and I find myself reaching out, as if I’d be able to catch him if he collapsed from shock. In most cases,I’ve got a good chance of holding someone up, but Bo is a big man and might end up squashing me.
