The merchant hasn’t ever visited Calista, but he has taken a few passengers here before. On the way, he offered me a bit of lore that he’s picked up over the years. It was mostly everything I was able to piece together from the books about her and Nestor, as well as everything Renata knows.
Even the thought of her has me ready to turn back around and throw it all to hell. A day is too long without her, and weeks have been torture. The time difference isn’t too drastic, so I’ve been able to spend every night with her. Who knows how long it will be until I see her again now that I’m approaching Calista’s cottage?
Hopefully it’s not an extended stay because I’ve become addicted to Renata. Her soft, blonde hair that tickles my chest when she’s sleeping. Those faint freckles that are only visible if you’re inches from her. The sweet, musky scent of her tea and perfume.
My great undoing, indeed.
We share an intimacy that’s deeper than sex every time we find ourselves back in that meadow. It’s one that is mental—spiritual—but takes form in the shape of our bodies tangled together in our dream state. It’s different than actually being inside of her—the touch of her body and sweet scent of her perfume is a whisper of reality.
It feeds something in my soul—a deep, primal part of myself that no one else would ever have access to. It sparks an ancient well of magic in my heart that I’ve never had a reason to reach for.
I’ve begun to think I might have one now if she agrees when I’m back with her.
Whisper quietly yelps from beside me, encouraging me to keep going. He’s been restless since we left—worried about Sybil and Renata. I tried to get him to stay for his own safety but knew it was a losing battle.
Taking another breath, I push off the tree and walk the last mile to Calista’s cottage. Staying in the shadows, I stare at the small stone house. It’s located thousands of miles away from any civilization, but the home looks normal. Nearly ancient, but inconspicuous.
The wooden door opens, and a youthful woman steps out into the small courtyard, sweeping fallen leaves and dirt off the edge. She’s pretty—beautiful even. Her golden, sun-kissed skin, hints at a life spent outside. Her black hair is pinned half up and flows down her back. I can’t see much else from this distance, only that she’s short with a full figure and appears to have three large hogs as her companions.
Despite the attractiveness, I don’t find myself tempted by her. It makes me miss Renata’s sharp features that soften under my body. The soft glow of her white hair under the moonlight, and the golden tint it takes on when the sun is rising as we’re still tangled in bed.
I shift on my feet, looking around the rest of her quaint property, and a twig breaks. My heart stops with it, and Whisper has switched from companion to predator.
Her head snaps up, looking straight in my direction. A wolfish grin tugs at her lips as she points at me, then crooks that finger in a come hither motion.
Whisper growls quietly, placing his body in front of mine. Swallowing down the dread, I pat his back and step out of the tree line, but stay at the edge of the clearing.
Her head tilts to the side, and she looks at me like I’m her prey for the afternoon. One she would very much like to play with before eating.
“Who are you?” she asks. Her voice is smooth and rich, floating through the air and wrapping around me like a siren’s song. “I’ve seen you before…” She sniffs the air. “But I’ve never met you.”
My eyebrows scrunch in confusion, knowing for certain I’ve never seen her before.
Unless she means my face, not me.
Shaking off the magic that tickles along my consciousness, trying to probe my brain, I say in a strong voice, “Archer. I have some questions about someone who came to see you.” Her brows crinkle in curiosity. “Nestor Blackthorn was looking for everoot a hundred years ago.”
Pausing in surprise, she looks at me and tilts her head, assessing me in a new light. She lets out a loud, screeching cackle—a stark contrast to her voice from moments ago.
“What is your last name, Archer?” she teases and steps forward, letting the broom fall behind her. “You lookexactlylike a Vexley witch, if I’ve ever seen one.”
My face scrunches, so many questions whipping through my mind. The first one: Did she know Barrett?
How would that be possible? Would that mean she knows Petra?
She lets a saccharine smile slip across her lips as she teases, “Oh yes, dear, I know all about my former lover’s wife and best friend.”
My mouth drops open.
Former lover.
That’s impossible.
I land on one theory—the only one that makes sense: she compelled him to stay with her. It’s her fault that Cassia Foxglove died and Nestor was missing for three years. Petra had to raise their young child without him, and then he came back to the heartbreaking realization that his wife was in love with his best friend.
“Are you here for the plant, or information?” she probes. Her smug expression tells me she knows the answer.
“Uh, information,” I mutter.
