“You’re sure?” Clover asks.
Esme and Clementine look at her like it was a stupid question.
“I’m sure,” I confirm with a nod. “I meant it when I said I’d recognize him anywhere—but don’t ask me how,” I add when I see Clementine open her mouth. “It doesn’t make any sense to me either, and I’ve had eleven years to think about it.”
Setting her bowl down and stepping around the counter, Rowyn asks, “Did you talk to him?” All four of them sit up straighter in interest. “What did he say?”
Shaking my head, I take a deep breath and look out the window again.
“No, we didn’t talk. I still can’t hear him. And I don’t think he can see or hear me,” I answer, hating the way my voice cracks toward the end. Saying it out loud makes it more real than it has up until now.
“That’s curious,” Rowyn muses.
Shrugging as nonchalantly as I can, I jump off the counter and hastily grab the kettle off the stovetop. My movements are jerkier than usual. The unsettling sensation creeping through my veins is suddenly setting me on edge.
“So,” Esme says slowly. I can hear the faint amusement in her voice. Peeking over my shoulder at her, I’m not sure whether I should anticipate laughing or crying at her joke. “It’s like you have to unlock every part of him before you can have sexy, wet dreams with him? Kinky.”
Clover and Rowyn’s heads turn in my direction, waiting for my reaction to Esme’s humor. I don’t know if it’s her crass joke or the look of disgust on Clementine’s face, but I don’t fight the laugh that breaks free.
It’s one of those soul-deep, genuine ones. The kind I don’t think I’ve experienced in over a decade—since my dad died and Agatha turned her back on me.
The type of laugh you aren’t sure you’re even in need of until you’re in a place safe enough to be entertained by such an immature joke.
“I guess that’s the gist of it,” I tell her.
“We saw him at the library yesterday,” Clover adds. “He was with a woman—I think his sister.”
“They could’ve been twins, but definitely siblings,” Esme agrees with a nod.
A weird sense of jealousy courses through me. I hate that they’ve gotten to see him. Learning that the woman he’s with is most likely a sibling calms a lot of the inky feeling that lingered for the last few days.
“He is hot,” Esme says in a teasing voice. “You should unlock all of that… then tell us all about it.”
“Oh, Mother Earth,” Rowyn mutters and shakes her head. It’s hard to see the blush on Rowyn’s ebony complexion, but it’s there. She doesn’t argue with Esme’s claim either. I arch a brow at her, and she nervously laughs.
I can’t help but wonder why she’s always so shy when the topic of sex comes up, especially as a Hearth Witch.
“Even if I was open to having that conversation with you,” I tease, “it’s never going to happen.”
They’re all silent and look to Rowyn, who’s wearing the maternal look she’s so keen on.
“You can’t run away from your fate forever,” she tells me.
With more aggression than necessary, I drop the steeper into my teacup and turn toward her.
“I’m not running from it, okay?” I argue defensively, hurt by her assumption. “There’s no point in getting attached to the man whose life may be the very thing I need to take to end this stupid curse.”
None of them say anything, probably unsure of what to say. In their defense, there’s no words to make any of this better.
Even if Archer was truly my archenemy somehow, I don’t think I’d be any more sold on the idea ofkillinghim. Even for my safety.
However, I will do it for the women in this room, and all of the Gray Witches to come after me in the Blackthorn line.
“There might be another way,” Clover urges.
I stir honey into my tea and don’t bother disagreeing with her. Instead, I tell them, “I’ll do what I have to do to protect all of you. But I certainly will not kill any person until I’m positive I have all the facts. I can’t get access to any of the restricted records or books without physically going to the library myself.”
“We can do the research,” Clover quietly offers.
