I had insisted on meeting Victoria alone that evening. James wasn’t partial to the idea, but I needed to be able to take in what she told me without him being all protective.
Victoria had given me the address of a coffee shop on the other side of Salem, near a park that overlooked the North River. Hours later, the winter wind whipped off the water, cutting through every layer of protection I had and chilling me to the bone. I missed the warmth of this morning, of Shiloh’s warm body snuggled against mine.
I’d brought both the spellbook and the old list with me, hoping that Victoria could give me some insight.
The cafe was nestled into the corner of a shopping center. The sign was flipped to “closed,” but Victoria had told me to let myself inside. The knob turned easily, and I stepped into the warmth of the building.
A woman stood behind the counter, wiping up the last evidence of her day. “You must be Ryder,” she said. She smiled, pearly white teeth and pale skin striking against lips and eyes painted black and smoky. A silver hoop nestled in the middle of her bottom lip, matching the one through her septum. “I’m Victoria. Please, come in.”
“Thanks.” As nervous as I was, I welcomed the heat inside, even shrugging out of my jacket. “I’m sorry—I didn’t realize you’d be closed.”
Victoria waved away my concern. “I shut down early to give us some privacy.” She bustled around the cafe, her long lace skirt swishing around her legs. She stood barely tall enough to reach my shoulder, and her curves were accented by a corset cinched tight over a flowy top. Every article of clothing was black.
She disappeared behind the counter, tying her dark dreads back with an elastic from her wrist. “Sit down. What are you drinking?”
“Um…” I was less concerned with the menu and more with the jars of herbs and god-knows-what-else lining the wall behind her. The entire place seemed as Gothic as Victoria herself, with mood lighting and cherry-stained oak on the tables. Incense burned somewhere, and the scent tickled my nose.
“Relax,” she said, pulling me out of my thoughts. “I may be a witch, but I’m not going to poison your coffee. Besides, my apothecary is through that door.”
She gestured off to the side, and I followed her hand. On the surface, it looked like any other door in the place, but dating a vampire had made me entirely too perceptive. I noticed the subtle things that someone else wouldn’t have: the pentagram etched lightly into the wood, the elaborate crystal frame around the small window, and the line of salt across the bottom. “I thought salt was bad for witches.”
“Ah, a common misconception.” Victoria took two cups down, moving around with the same ease that I did behind the bar. “Salt wards off evil spirits—of any species.”
I took a deep breath. “So everything I’ve ever learned about the supernatural is a lie.”
“Not necessarily. Cliches are cliche for a reason. You still haven’t told me what you’re drinking.”
“Oh, uh, sorry.” I shook my head to clear it. “Cappuccino?”
“Cow’s milk?”
“Fine.”
The espresso machine whirred to life, obliterating any hope of conversation. I slid into a seat at a nearby table while Victoria finished off our drinks. After cleaning up after herself, she set my coffee on the table and took the seat across from me with her tea. The crystal charm of a tea infuser hung over the side, a floral scent mingling with the bite of my cappuccino.
“So,” she said, toying with the crystal moon, “you just found out that true witches exist.”
“You think I’d be less surprised considering I’m mated to a vampire.” I laughed at myself, licking a drop of foam from my lip. “That feels strange to say out loud.”
“Refreshing, though, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“How many people in your life know?”
“Only a few: My closest friends, my daughter, and her husband.”
“How old is she?”
“Nineteen.”
“Which means she’s got a few years before her powers set in.”
Thatwas like a bucket of ice water over my head. I couldn’t ignore how my ancestry would affect Hannah after a statement likethat. “She’s definitely going to be a witch?”
Victoria nodded. “She already is. When witches are born, our powers lie dormant until a number of cycles have been completed.”
“Cycles?”
