Now that I’m with the coven, he has been more forthcoming with both questions and information, but he didn’t pry. He simply reminded me that I’m welcome to stay in my old, temporary room any time I want.
I considered the option for the rest of my shift but knew I would be returning to the inn. It wasn’t really a question to begin with.
Resolved to go straight to bed despite the early hour, it’s the only choice I have to avoid Rowyn’s guilt for missing a second dinner in the last few days.
Wallowing in my confusion and hurt with Renata, I’m looking down at my feet as I walk up the stairs. I don’t notice Nestor’s presence until I walk straight through him, hit by the type of cold that seeps down to your bones.
“Fuck,” I mutter and try to shake it off. Nestor moves in front of me, watching me with a curious expression. “Uh, sorry about that.”
He doesn’t acknowledge my statement, instead turning and floating down the hallway to Renata’s door.
After a stunned moment, I turn down the opposite hallway and walk toward my bedroom. As I turn the knob, a glowing ball lands over my hand. It’s the same numbing sensation, but more condensed when he’s in this form.
Not even attempting to turn the lock, I drop my hand and take a step back, giving him room to move without having to experience the cold sensation again. I flinch when he morphs into his full apparition. Nestor avoids looking at me and turns back toward Renata’s room.
Taking a tentative step in his direction, he waits outside of the door until I slowly reach him.
“She’s not home,” I remind him.
Surprising me with a nod, he looks back at her door then me.
Shaking my head, I say, “No, I can’t go in there without her permission.”
He grows frustrated, flickering in and out of visibility. After a long moment when I don’t move, he snaps into the glowing orb and opens the door, throwing it open in his haste to go inside.
I stop at the threshold, still unsure about taking the final step. Part of me is curious. A bigger part of me knows Renata would not be happy about this, and this isn’t exactly how I imagined being invited into her bedroom for the first time.
Still, his glowing ball form grows more agitated from my reluctance. He flies across the room—too fast for me to see—and knocks a stack of journals off the corner table.
“Nestor,” I chastise before feeling ridiculous for trying to scold a hundred-year-old ghost.
Morphing into his full-bodied form, he stares down at the journals. I figure hitting things is easier than picking something up for him, but my annoyance begins to match his earlier mood.
Dropping to my knees, I pile them up, hoping they weren’t in any particular order she would notice later.
I never would have taken her as someone who writes in a journal, I think and assess the dark, leather bound books. Renata keeps things too close to her chest to want the evidence of her emotions written for anyone to find.
A bitter taste lingers on my tongue when I consider that maybe I actually don’t know her as well as I thought I did. Granted, our time together is new and hardly ever lasts long but we know each other on a deeper level than most people who have been together for decades. Some of the things she has told me in our meadow—that I now have access to—are too vulnerable for Renata to share willingly. Even with the coven, if I had to guess.
Grabbing another of the journals, I catch a name on the open first page.
Petra Blackthorn, 1918
That insecurities fade, realizing these aren’t Renata’s. At least I was right about that.
They belong to Petra, which is more nerve-racking in comparison.
Looking up at Nestor, he stares back at me, having not moved in the last minute. After a moment, he nods before dispersing into a puff of smoke.
I’m not sure where he went or when the other witches get home, but I don’t have much time to make a decision. I will probably never get this opportunity again—I’m not even sure the other witches have read these.
With the stack of journals, I clumsily slip into the armchair behind me and begin reading.
When I finish this first one, I look for the next consecutive years. And so on it goes.
The bedroom door opens, pulling me from the entries I’ve become consumed by. Renata gasps in surprise when she sees me sitting under the window, using the light of the moon and the flames from the fireplace to assist me.
Glancing down to make sure Hexate made it inside, she closes the door swiftly and turns back to me.
