“That’s when you found me—when Petra broke down.”
“That answers a lot of my questions,” I admit.
“Good. I’ll answer all of them tomorrow, I promise,” she says and tightens her hold around me. “Barrett said something weird… He said ‘not even binding the coven’s souls to the inn could save them.’ Do you know what that means?”
“No,” I answer quietly. “I’ve never been particularly good at binding spells.” Our magic tends to favor one of the recessive elements more than the others. For me, it’s always been fire magic. Sybil has always had a knack for water magic. “You are though.”
“I am,” she agrees and shrugs, letting out a frustrated breath. “But I’ve never heard of anything likethat. Other than the Soul Tie Bond and a few other rituals, I’ve never read about how to bind someone’s soul to aplace. Why would someone even do that?” she asks incredulously.
“Why wouldn’t someone?” I ask, trying to work through all the possibilities.
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Tonight, I might have.
“Because,” she says slowly, “I don’t think a person could move on after death, at least not fully.”
“Like a ghost?” I ask. “Like Nestor?”
I glance around the room, realizing he’s been mostly absent since I arrived.
“Maybe—I don’t know. Nestor seems like a typical ghost to me. But I’m not positive,” she says.
“Okay love, we’ll figure it out,” I say and run a hand down the back of her head. “Get some rest.” I pull one of her legs across my thighs and hold her close.
She lets out a low, tired hum as she gets comfortable. “Tell me a story—one about you and Sybil as kids… A happy one.”
My lips tilt up as I go through the thousands of memories Sybil and I.
“Sybil was convinced she would marry a vampire,” I say with a chuckle. Renata lets out a breath of amusement, but the claws of exhaustion pulling her down. I continue, “We used to sneak out every night in search of one. Gods, we drove our mother mad until she charmed every inch of our house. A fly couldn’t get out of there undetected now, thanks to the two of us.”
For the next ten minutes, I reminisce on all the times we explored the nearby forests in the middle of the night. Junimere is small, but there are plenty of creatures in the forests—supernatural and otherwise. We found vampires a few times, but they were always local, and knew our parents. There was the time we stumbled into a hurt wolf. He was about our age and scared. His injury was only a broken shin that his rapid healing would mend on its own. Thanks to our mother, we knew how to set a bone from a young age.
When her breaths are slow and steady, I let my words trail off, and I stare at her. Taking in her beauty, I’ve memorized each of her little freckles of starlight. They remain one of my favorite features of hers. Her brows crinkle, and she lets out a small whine. It’s gone as soon as it comes, but the echo of it in my mind plays on repeat.
I consider how she’d feel about me manipulating her dreams. When another cry breaks through her lips and she digs her nails into my sides, holding tighter, I decide to act now and apologize tomorrow.
Kissing her temple and rubbing a hand down her cheek, I close my eyes and push my intentions into her mental space—replacing any lingering anxiety with the comfort and safety I try so desperately to provide her when she’s awake.
Once she lets out a sigh and relaxes against me, I pull away and take over my post of watching over her again, resolved to not get a moment of sleep in favor of making sure she doesn’t experience another second of fear tonight.
Chapter 42
Archer
There’s a tense, stale air in the room over dinner the following evening. Everyone is on high alert after Renata almost fell off the balcony last night.
More like she was about to throw herself off.
Just thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach.
Rowyn has been keeping a close eye on Renata all day—insisting that she needed help baking a few dozen loaves of the bread she likes to take to some of the elderly town members. Sybil was with them most of the day and insisted that they haven’t broached the subject of last night, but she’s been giving me a strange, assessing look since I got home.
Clementine is complaining about the “old, snotty” Green Witch who is the head of the garden committee; Rowyn dignifies her claim that Mr. Oleander really is the worst.
Clover is watching her sister and glances toward Renata every few minutes. Esme is watching Clover with concern but she, too, is worried about what happened last night.
Renata is quiet—more so than usual. She typically enjoys sparring with Esme and always has excitement saved for Clementine. Tonight, she’s sitting in the chair next to me, picking at her food.
Toward the end of the meal, Clementine’s words trail off, and she seems nervous at her inability to continue filling the silence. We all look around at each other, except for Renata who is staring at her plate.
