Her dark eyes rove over me. “Did you just wake up?” she asks incredulously.
“Yeah.” I tuck my mop of unbrushed hair behind my ears. “I only got to sleep just before dawn.”
She gives me an empathetic look, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this, El.”
And just like that the lump is back in my throat and I’m fighting tears. “What did you find out about Damien?”
She intertwines her fingers in front of her hips. “I spent most of the night and morning calling every Gowdie witch in my family. No one has Damien. Believe me, if they were lying, I’d know. We’re a close-knit group. We don’t keep secrets from each other.”
I give her a skeptical look. Doesn’t everyone have secrets?
“I tried to lie to my parents about your freeing Damien, and a flock of wrens barraged my window until I fessed up. Our magic keeps us honest. Believe me, whoever did that spell wasn’t a Gowdie.”
A breath leaves my lungs, but any relief I feel is replaced quickly by a new anxiety. “If it wasn’t your family, who else could it be?”
She shrugs. “Who else had his blood?”
I shake my head slowly. The truth is, I have no idea. I both feel like I know Damien better than anyone in my life and also don’t know him at all. I know he hunted animals on my property for food. But he never shared with me where, exactly, he sleeps during the day. All I know is he called it Night Haven, it’s underground, and I can’t go there.
“What other missions did he do for your family before he came to me?”
“Nothing where he’d leave his blood behind,” she says darkly. “Damien was good at what he did and rarely made mistakes.”
I sigh. “Then I have no idea. Come on. I’ll make coffee.” I trudge in the direction of the kitchen.
“Are you okay?” Maeve asks from behind me.
I glare at her over my shoulder.
“I mean, I know you’re not okay. But it’s almost two in the afternoon. I’ve never known you to sleep this late, especially during a crisis.”
I come to a halt just outside the kitchen, my eyes drifting to the clock on the wall. “Oh my God. I had no idea it was this late.”
“It’s reasonable you’d be run-down after everything. It’s understandable. You need the sleep.” She places a palm on my forehead.
“I’m not sick.” I nudge her hand aside. “Unless you count heartsickness. Breakfast blend or dark roast?” I pull up short when I see a full pot in my coffee machine. I reach out tentatively. The carafe is hot to the touch. The scent of fresh-brewed beans meets my nose.
“Looks like you already brewed a pot,” Maeve says, brow furrowing with concern.
“I don’t remember making this.” I stare and stare at the pot. It’s fresh. I definitely washed this pot out last night. Someone made coffee this morning, and it wasn’t me.
Maeve frowns. “Do you think you made it in your sleep? I read an article about people on Ambien doing all sorts of crazy things in their sleep.”
“I’m not on Ambien.”
“But in your heightened emotional state… Maybe…”
I sigh. What other explanation is there? “Right. That makes sense. Weird though.” I open the cupboard and retrieve two cups. Only after I pour the coffees do I realize the mugs I picked were two of Grams’s favorites. One is pink with white kitten paw prints and says Paw-sitive Vibes Only. The other is covered in red roses and says Old Gardeners Never Die, They Just Spade Away.
I smile, thinking of her as I bring them to the table and offer both to Maeve so she can pick. She’s taken a seat where my Grams used to sit. As always, she’s wearing all black like the gothest goth that ever gothed. She even takes her coffee black. The two silly mugs rest in front of her like kindergarteners at a field trip to the morgue.
I manage a half smile when she chooses the pink one.
She shrugs. “I like cats. Thinking of getting one.”
I reach into the fridge for the cream and pause as the scent of my Grams’s rosewater soap fills my nose. My hand starts to tremble, and I hurry to set the cream down on the table.
“El? What’s going on? All the color just drained from your face.” She leaps out of her chair and takes me by the shoulders, easing me into my seat. “Are you okay?”
