Before I can think about what I’m doing, I follow her.
I’m Julia, walking home from the coven circle. The street is empty, fog rolling in from the river and clinging to the cobblestones. Gas lamps cast pools of weak yellow light that barely penetrate the mist.
A young woman appears beside me like a ghost, and I stop in my tracks. She is breathtaking, her blonde hair catching the moonlight, a thin shawl draped loose over her curves, her green eyes wide. Her dress is mud-splattered at the hem, as if she has been sneaking through the forest.
“I—” Her voice shakes. “I saw you. At the gathering. I’m Charlotte. Rebecca’s sister.”
I should keep walking. Rebecca would be furious if she knew I was talking to her little sister. But there is something in the way she looks at me—like she’s starving for something and I’m the only one who canoffer it to her.
“Does Rebecca know you’re out here?” I ask, eyeing her up and down. “Or are you in the habit of following strange women in the dark?”
She flushes but holds my stare. “Only the ones worth following. What is your name?”
“Julia Moreau. And you ought not to be out here alone.”
She lifts her chin. “I’m not alone. I’m with you.”
She’s bold.
I chuckle. “You thinkIshall keep you safe?”
“My parents think I require a husband for that, but men are vile and fragile creatures who have never interested me.”
Fascinating. I’m beginning to like this woman.
“What do you want, Miss Cooper?”
“I want…” She swallows hard. “I want to know what it feels like. The power. Being free. Being you.”
I step closer until we’re nearly touching, curious what she’ll do. Her breath hitches. She shivers, but she doesn’t back away.
“And what makes you think I would show you?”
“I don’t know.” Her eyes meet mine, and there’s such desperate hunger there. “But I hope you can find it in your heart to help a woman who is tired of being small and decorative and safe.”
She’s right. The thought of this beautiful woman wasting away as the wife of some brutish man makes my jaw clench.
“I saw how the other witches look at you,” she whispers. “With respect, not pity. No one has ever looked at me that way.”
I reach out and trace my fingers along her jawline. Her pulse jumps beneath my touch. “If you want to feel power, I can show you. But sanguine magic comes at a price.”
“I’ll pay it,” she breathes.
I shouldn’t. But her willingness is intoxicating, and it’s been years since I’ve had someone offer themselves freely.
I smile, holding out my hand for her to take it. “Come.”
In my cottage, I light the fire with a wave of my hand, letting its heat flood the small space. The flames catch eagerly in the hearth, illuminating shelves lined with bottles and herbs.
“Sit,” I command.
Charlotte obeys, choosing my bed instead of a chair. She’s trembling in anticipation, looking up at me through her lashes.
I move to stand in front of her, and she has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes.
“This might frighten you,” I warn.
“I am not afraid of witches or magic.”
