“No, no,” I insist. “I don’t want there to be secrets. You four deserve to have the truth before making the decision to stay. I know that,” I admit guiltily.
Rowyn drops the small amount of everoot she was able to save into a small jar with an air-tight lid before tucking it away in the back of one of her cabinets.
“I’m going to wake up Esme, and we’re going to have a family meeting,” Rowyn declares before walking out of the room.
Even with her disapproving tone, it warms something in my black soul that she still chose to call this little coven of misfits a family.
I follow the other two witches to the den, getting settled while waiting for Rowyn and Esme.
Thirty minutes later, I let out a deep breath, glancing at each of the four women and tapping my feet anxiously.
I tell them everything, leaving out the obscured man from my dreams. After last night, I’m not convinced he isn’t involved in all ofthissomehow, but that’s just a hunch after seeing him and my ancestors together.
There’s no reason to worry them with more details than the ones right in front of us, and I’m still feeling protective over our shared dream space after finding Petra and Nestor there.
I did include everything else about my nightmares. The one from the night I left Hemlocke, as well as what happened with Petra and Nestor last night. How desperate she was to communicate and fix things.
They are aware of the hallucinations I’ve had since arriving in Briarhollow—the storm and lightning strike, the deadwalkers the night I found Nestor, and the evening they found me in my bedroom.
Esme listens quietly, trying to keep up with all the new information. We’ve filled her in on the basics—cursed witch, doppelgängers and a ghost. Though, the ghost was more of an assumption than reality for the other women until an hour ago.
Clover and Clementine sit together, mostly quiet—assessing the situation,me—but the older of the two asks questions every so often.
Rowyn on the other hand… She’s simmering like a pot of stew, waiting for me to finish. As I do, all of us look at her. The baton for leader of the coven is often passed between us.
“You remind me of her,” Rowyn says in a cool tone.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I ask in a small voice, “Who?”
“Cordelia,” she says. There’s more warmth, but the disappointment is clear. I’m brought back to our first conversation and suspect what she’s going to say before she does. “There were a lot of great—amazing—things about her, but she wanted a coven and her secrets, too. You can’t have both, Renata.”
“I—I know that,” I whisper and look around the circle.
Tilting her head, Clover asks in a gentle voice, “Do you?”
Biting my lip, I look away in shame before doing my best to gather my courage and look back at them. “I’m trying. It’s not easy for me. I don’t want to lose this—” I wave my hand in the air between us, “—not when I’ve only discovered what it’s like to have a real coven.”
“You should have told us sooner,” Esme adds. It’s more matter-of-fact than chastising.
“I wanted to have some better answers before throwing this all on you,” I admit. It is the truth, though I can hear how fragile the logic sounds to my own ears.
Rowyn’s lingering hurt hits me the hardest. Maybe it’s because we’re closest in age, or because she was the first one to show up and commit to this cursed coven, but she’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a best friend.
“You didn’t think there were things I could help with? Or maybe my grandfather could help with?” Rowyn asks. “He’s the town librarian. That means he’s the keeper of the history of Briarhollow, Renata. Don’t tell me you’re that dense.”
“It wasn’t that,” I try to insist.
Leaning forward, Clover asks, “Then what was it about?”
Looking each of them in the eyes, I admit, “I didn’t want to be alone again. It’s all so complicated, and who knows how dangerous this curse actually is? Or how far it extends?”
“It’s not dangerous,” Rowyn says with an eye roll. When all of us turn in her direction, she adds, “None of your family members have ever been hurt.”
I don’t bother mentioning that while the curse hasn’t ever physically hurt any of my ancestors, it has led to their death in other ways—like causing witch’s fray or going so mad they eventually hurt themselves.
“The only way to be sure of that would be to visit the library,” she adds with more snark than usual.
“We can go this week,” I relent.
