I look up at her as if I’ve been caught with my hand in the potion cabinet. When I see the faint lines of offense on her features, I kind of feel like I have been.
“Sorry—I am,” I promise and take a bite to prove it. Her brows wrinkle, clearly not convinced. “I’m just lost in my thoughts.”
Clementine clears her throat. “Anything you’d like to share with the coven?”
With a deep breath, I sit up straight. “You were right,” I say and look directly at my best friend.
In the days that she wasn’t talking to me, I realized that I have come to see all four of these women as family—sisters, even. But Rowyn is mybestfriend.
Her head tilts, and she lightly shakes her head in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I guess I can’t run from my fate forever,” I tell her with a nonchalant shrug. It comes off more convincing than it feels. “I met Archer today.”
There’s a deafening silence that falls across the room. It’s heavy, drenched in anticipation. I appreciate when Esme finally breaks it.
“You met him? Man of Your Dreams?” Her excited, giddy smile doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.
“I did,” I confirm with a nod. Picking up my fork, I add, “Then I ran away—well, here.”
Before I can take my bite, continuing with the aloof facade, my wine glass is flying across the room and shattering against the wall.
My head whips in the direction of the glass, but all four of their gazes glued to me.
“Nestor,” I calmly but firmly call to the room. “Calm dow—”
Another glass—this time Clementine’s juice—goes shooting across the room, hitting the same spot.
Clover protectively puts an arm around her sister and says, “I don’t think that’s going to work.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn and give her a look that screams,obviously!She mimics the gesture and uses her free hand to wave toward the mess, silently telling me to do something about it.
“He doesn’t seem to like when I bring up Archer or Barrett—it’s partly why I avoid talking about them when I can,” I say. As if to prove my point, my plate goes flying off the table, shattering at my feet and splattering food all over the wood.
Rowyn yells, shocked and angry, “Ahh! What the hell, Nestor?” Her eyes are moving across the room, trying to see him.
It’s easier for him, or any ghost, to hide their appearance from other types of witches. That natural connection between them isn’t there like it is for me. Nestor is currently in his small, glowing orb-like shape that he takes on when he’s chaotic and aggressive—that would be even harder for someone to spot in a room.
“Okay, okay,” I shout, raising my voice to an unfamiliar octave. It must shock everyone because even the women grow silent and Nestor doesn’t make any more moves. He floats and faintly glows above the fireplace.
Holding my hands out in a placating manner, I slowly start, “Let’s all calm down. Nestor,” I call toward him, “We need to talk about this. So please, don’t ruin any more dishes until we’ve had time to figure it out.”
I watch his orb start to lightly shimmer, like he’s contemplating my words. A couple seconds later, the glowing ball breaks apart like smoke caught in a bubble before he takes on his ghostly appearance again, the one that looks more reminiscent of his human body.
He tilts his head at me.
“Hi there,” I gently coax like I’m approaching a moody child.
“Oh,” Rowyn mutters quietly, sounding surprised and a bit scared.
I turn to look at her and realize all of their attention is on the fireplace as they sport wide-eyed expressions like…
Like they’ve seen a ghost.
“Oh,” I repeat, looking between the four women and my long-passed ancestor. “He’s finally made himself visible to you guys, I’m guessing.”
“Honestly,” Esme says slowly, but there’s lightness in her tone, “I kind of wondered if you were making the whole ghost thing up… or you know, you really were—” Instead of finishing the sentence, she points at her head and circles her finger to mean “crazy.”
Rowyn gasps and looks at me as Clover leans over and slaps Esme’s shoulder.
