I laugh at the thought, heading to my office and sitting on the massive leather chair. A soft tap against the glass has me opening the window, as Betty flies in and hangs upside down from her perch.
“Are gifts manipulative?”I ask Betty.
“Well, are you hoping that in exchange for the gift she gives you something in return?”
“Her affections for me, perhaps.”
“It would need to be a very good gift. Your witch doesn’t seem like someone who is persuaded by money.”
“I knew it, I’m fucked.”
“But…her figuring out the protection spell on her own was one of the happiest moments I’ve seen her.”
“So you’re saying I should give her a new spell to crack? Maybe rip out a page so that she’ll need to come to me for help?”
“You would think all your time on this earth would make you less stupid. No, give her another spell, knowing that it will make her happy, that is all.”
“But then, why does she have any reason to speak to me?”
Betty sighs, making a high-pitched squeaking noise.
“You must stop with the selfishness or you’ll never win her over.”
“So you’re saying I should prioritize Ember’s happiness and perhaps my own happiness will follow?” I ask her, tapping my finger on my desk.
“Yeah, let’s just go with that. The sun will be rising soon. I need my rest and you’re giving me a headache,”she says, adjusting her wings, and cutting the conversation off.
I round my desk and look at the bookshelves before me. Some of them bring me sadness, knowing why I have them. If Ember knew how I came upon these grimoires, she probably wouldn’t want anything to do with me. I suppose that’s no different from how she feels now.
My finger trails the spine of the dark green journal and I pull it out, flipping to the page I had in mind. I’ll never forget the first time I felt the pain of a witch scrambling my brains.
I bring it to my desk and write a note to Ember.
Beautiful Ember,
My home is your home.
You’ll be safe here, that I can promise.
This spell is a difficult one to master, but I’m around any time you need a test subject.
P.S. Thanks for removing the stake.
Yours,
Warin.
I grab her wand, phone, the note, and the grimoire and head to her bedroom.
She’s asleep, her pink hair splattered around pink linens. Her lips are parted as she rests, and her soft lashes rest against her cheekbones. The raccoon familiar is snoring in the corner as I place everything on the nightstand.
I’m not able to resist myself as I move a curl out of her face.
“Sweet dreams, my beautiful witch,” I tell her, being selfish and greedy, as I lean forward and place a delicate kiss against her forehead.
She makes a soft sound of contentment before falling asleep again.
“I’ll do whatever it takes for you to want to be mine, Ember Hallow,” I whisper as a pledge to myself.
