“What are you doing here? Are you waiting for m—” Her words trail off once she realizes what I’m holding. “Those aren’t yours.”
There’s no bite in her tone—only caution and a thin layer of sadness.
Flipping over the journal, I lay it on my knee to hold my spot and lean forward with my arms on my thighs. “They aren’t yours either.”
“More mine than yours,” she mutters and crosses her arms.
Squinting at her, it only takes a few seconds for the reluctant smile to tug at her lips, visible thanks to the firelight.
“Is that how tonight is going to go? A competition of who can be the most petulant?” I ask, happy to break up the tension, but not ready to pretend I haven’t read through half a decade of Petra Blackthorn’s life.
She ignores me and continues to avoid my eyes. “Where’s Nestor?”
“He left.”
She finally turns to look at me, confusion clouding her eyes for only a second. “He brought you here—to the journals.”
It’s not a question, so I don’t bother confirming her speculation. Instead, with more bite than I’ve ever directed at her, I say, “You should have been the one to do it.”
“I…I just—” She stops and shakes her head, trying to clear the fog from settling.
I don’t want her to fall into another hallucination, but I need her to start including me in her plans—or at least in the information she finds.
She wipes her eyes, smudging her mascara, and says, “I wanted to make sure that my only theory was true before bringing it to you… and to Sybil.”
She grimaces at the admission, and the sour taste of her guilt hits me. I don’t point out that her reasoning of keeping me in the dark is the same as Cordelia’s. The realization is hitting her before my eyes, and maybe this is the reality check Renata needed. To realize how stubborn and hypocritical she can be at times.
“Not the rest of the coven?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
At Gale’s birthday dinner, when we all “agreed” to be forthcoming about the information we each had, there was a silent agreement between Renata and her coven. Sybil picked up on it as well, but with the fog of her prophecy only beginning to wear off, she could have forgotten about it. I did, until now.
“They all came to the same conclusion, but Rowyn stays hopeful that we’re wrong,” she says quietly.
“Just… tell me, Renata. Please,” I beg. Rising from the chair, I take a step toward her but don’t close the distance.
For a moment, she stands a few feet away from me. Her long legs are shaking despite the warmth from the fire.
“You’ve read her journals now—or some of them,” she says. “Her and Barrett, they were together. They were in love. Soul-deep, unbreakable love. How do you think Barrett handled that when Nestor came back? When his best friend was broken, looking for the two people he was closest to? Nestor had to live with the loss of her for two years… Petra was hardly able to.”
My eyes jump between hers, letting her words settle over me. “He could have grown jealous,” I admit. “We already knew that was the most likely option. How does that change anything between us?”
Her head tilts in desperation for me to understand, and her face almost crumbles. With a deep breath, she walks to her nightstand and shuffles through it before pulling out a sheet of paper.
In a quiet, broken whisper she says, “It changeseverything, Archer,” and hands it to me.
I stand frozen in place, pinching the paper between my fingers. Dread creeps through the room in a thick, dark mist as I stare down at the folded square.
“Open it,” she says. Her voice is quiet but there’s a bite to it—frustration.
I do as she demands and read over it a few times.
Renata? Eye-for-an-eye?
The handwriting is messy, but I can make out the words easily enough. The meaning takes me longer to process. It’s not a riddle, especially not to another witch.
She steps forward, grabbing my waist and shaking me lightly. My burning eyes tear away from the paper and meet hers, tears alreadyrunning down her cheeks and her bottom lip swollen from nervously biting it.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
