He smiles at me, taking in the small space between us. I swear he leans closer. Maybe I’m imagining it.
“I want to find a picture of them,” he answers honestly. “Aren’t you curious?”
I roll my eyes. Of course I’m curious what she looked like. Did she resemble Petra and me with white-blonde hair and dark onyx eyes? Not all Gray Witches share our traits, so I’ve imagined a hundred different possible faces.
His attention goes back to the papers as he shuffles through them. A faint meow comes from the den. We were just in there and hadn’t come across any animals. When I hear it a second time, curiosity gets the best of me.
Stepping away from Archer’s side, I approach the threshold into the living area and come to a halt.
On a window ledge, a black cat sits, licking her paw and staring at me. We noticed it was open, but assumed it was for Poppy. Unlike the raven, this cat is much more calm at the sight of me. She almost looks like she expected it.
“Wait,” I mutter and lean closer. “Have we met?” I ask what I am positive is a familiar.
She sets her paw down and jumps from the window to the couch, closing a few feet between us.
“What was that?” Archer asks, coming up behind me. I open my mouth, trying to process if this cat is who I believe it may be. Before I can, Archer holds something in front of me and says, “I think I found a photo.”
Snapping out of my stupor, I grab the print and hold it up.
I’d recognize this face anywhere. After only minutes with the old woman five years ago, her features have been engrained in my memory.
Dark eyes and thin lips against pale skin. Cordelia is younger here than when I met her. She looks the same minus some wrinkles that come with time. Her hair is black with a few gray streaks, unlike when I met her.
My gaze moves back to the cat, who is watching me expectantly.
“Oh,” Archer says, surprised by the new presence. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”
“I didn’t either,” I admit, keeping my eyes on the cat. “She lives here. She belonged to Cordelia.”
His body turns toward me with crossed arms. “Are you sure? I didn’t see any pictures of them together anywhere.”
“I met Cordelia,” I whisper and slowly turn to look at him. “I met her, Archer. And I had no idea.” My voice cracks at the same time a tear slips down.
“Hey,” he murmurs and hesitantly steps closer. His calloused hand finds the small of my back, landing on the sliver of skin. “Renata, talk to me. What do you mean?”
“I—I met her,” I say again and try to take a breath. I’m not inconsolable, but my breath is shaky, making it hard to form words without stuttering. “She came to my mother’s apothecary once. She said…” I let out a dry laugh. “She said I looked like her great-grandmother.”
He huffs out a breath. “She could have been more specific.”
A wet laugh breaks free, and I nod. “She totally could have been.”
We fall into silence while I take in the picture of Cordelia and Edmond as Archer takes in me, making sure I’m okay. I don’t think he’s using his magic to manipulate my emotions, but I wonder if he wants to? I kind of wish he would.
“I wish I knew her,” I admit.
I’ll never be satisfied. First, I wanted to see what she looked like. One single meeting would have been enough, I told myself. Then I realized I did meet her, and it wasn’t enough. Not anywhere close to it.
“Why didn’t she tell me? She asked my age, then said something cryptic about coming back another time. Why didn’t she just take me then?”
Cordelia knew how my family treated me, at least to a degree. She said so in her letter, and she experienced something similar based on what my grandmother used to say. She harbored a deeper level of disdain than my mother has for me.
My anger simmers into a darker, more consuming emotion. One I’ve experienced almost daily from my family.
Rejection.
I’m not expecting an answer when Archer’s hand slides up my back and gently grips the back of my neck. He tilts my head to meet his eye. “Maybe she was protecting you. If she saved you from one fate, it would only be to bring you to another cruel one.”
Sighing sadly, I look up at him with uncertain, hopeless eyes. His expression almost cracks in response but he holds it together, becoming a standing pillar in the midst of my internal storm.
