“Did you… smell my grandmother’s rosewater soap just now? Like she was here?”
Her dark eyes narrow behind her glasses. “No. All I smell is coffee.”
I straighten, allowing my eyes to drift around the kitchen. “I don’t think I made this coffee.”
Maeve’s brow furrows. “Then who did?”
“I think it was Grams.”
“Grams is dead, El.” She reaches across the table to squeeze my arm. “She’s gone.”
I stare into my mug. “Yeah, but, um, I saw her last night, in my attic.” The last syllable rises as if I’m asking a question rather than sharing an experience. I follow it up with a nervous lift of my brows.
“You saw your Grams here last night?”
“Well, her ghost. She was gray and white, sort of translucent, with silver eyes and pinprick pupils. She was trying to tell me something. I reached for her but?—”
Maeve holds up a hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You actually saw your grandmother’s ghost in the attic last night? You’re sure this wasn’t like a dream or a hallucination?”
I nod. “She appeared when I was really upset.” I give her a brief rundown of what happened in the attic last night and then about visiting her grave.
“And you didn’t see her again?”
“No. I waited on her grave. Only came in when a fox caught my eye at the edge of the woods. That reminds me. I need to put out food again today. It looked like it was starving.”
Other than the twitch of one of her eyelids, Maeve doesn’t react, just picks up her black coffee and takes a sip. “So… do you think your Grams is, like, haunting you?”
I shake my head. “No. Definitely not, at least not in a bad way. I think she was trying to comfort me. And it only happened when the room changed color.”
She arches an inquisitive eyebrow.
“Everything turned hazy and swirled with crimson, like I was on a stage with a red light and a smoke machine.” I drum my fingers on the side of my mug. “When Tony was choking me and I saw my parents in the underworld, it looked the same. Smelled the same too. Like the world was on fire.”
“Fuck, Eloise, that’s a lot to take in.”
“Yeah.”
She lowers her voice and leans forward. “Does it freak you out a little? You haven’t had much experience with stuff like this.”
I snort. “No more than learning my best friend is a witch and the man I love shifts into a horned beast with wings? No. At this point I’ve learned to roll with it. It’s comforting, to be honest. I wish she’d come back.” I look down at my coffee. “Actually, maybe she did. I think she made me this.”
We stare at each other for a few minutes while we both process it all. I take another sip. The coffee is exactly how Grams used to make it. Just a little on the strong side. I fight back another round of tears. If Grams is here and watching, I know for damn sure she wouldn’t want me wasting my time crying for her. She always wanted me to be happy. If she were here, she’d tell me to keep going and to control what I could control.
After a few deep breaths, I ask, “I have to get Damien back, Maeve. I need him. How do we find out who took him?” I dig my hands into my hair and rest my elbows on the table.
She swallows, leaning back in her chair. “I might be able to track him using magic if you have some of his blood.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t make it a habit of storing people’s blood.”
“What about during, um, sex?” she asks awkwardly, her nose wrinkling. “Did you drink from him?”
I think back and then shake my head. “No. He drank from me though.”
She scratches behind her ear. “Fuck—it’s his blood we need. I’m afraid magic is out. That’s the only way I know to track a shade.”
My head pounds. I bury my face in my hands.
“Hey, have you eaten anything yet? You look really pale. Let me make you some toast.” I hear Maeve move behind me. The rustle of the bread bag. The spring-loaded arm of our ancient toaster.
