“You’re not crazy,” Rowyn insists.
Laughing lightly, I shrug and reach for my drink, remembering that Nestor threw it across the room. With a quick stink eye thrown his way, I tell Rowyn, “We aren’t sure of that yet,” and grab her wine glass.
Esme smiles, clearly appreciating my dark humor. Honestly, I’m thankful to have herandher sense of humor here. I love that all four of them are choosing to stay by mine and the inn’s side through this, but Esme is the only one who isn’t scared to casually talk about the curse. Her easy-going nature takes some of the fear out of the conversation when she makes jokes or mindlessly mentions it.
Rowyn and Clover always make it seem like a big family meeting whenever they bring it up. I can tell Clementine is interested, but she’s only a kid—everything about this is so out of her realm.
“Well,” Rowyn says, ignoring my comment, “I went to the library earlier. My grandfather let me see the more restricted texts.”
“What makes them restricted?” Clementine asks in a dry voice.
I’m wondering the same.
“Usually, it means that the author didn’t charm it, so it began to deteriorate before anyone noticed. They’re charmed now, but the damage has been done,” she says with a sad shrug.
“I thought you would say they were cursed or had ancient magic in them,” Clementine rolls her eyes. “You know, something interesting.”
Shaking her head, Rowyn says, “There are definitely those—” the young witch perks up, “—in cities much older and less forgotten than Briarhollow.”
Clementine deflates and sits back, ready to listen.
From the corner of my eye, I assess Rowyn. It’sbecauseof Briarhollow’s history I assume there are texts about dark magic and other dangerous things. It is better not to encourage Clementine’s mischievous nature sometimes.
Rowyn’s eyes move along each woman, stopping at Nestor for a beat too long, before settling on mine. “I can’t say the books brought us any new information, but it did confirm a lot of things.”
“Like what?” I ask when she pauses too long.
She glances over at Nestor again before looking at me inquisitively.
I sigh and turn toward his floating body.
“Nestor,” I gently chide him. “We’re all going to stay calm, right?”
He looks around the room, not making any move.
Turning to the coven, I shrug and tell them, “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Rowyn scoffs indignantly but continues, “It confirmed what we know—that no one is actually sure what happened that night. No one in our families ever spoke about it, and apparently it was forgotten at some point for all of us?”
She looks around the room. Esme, Clover, and Clementine all nod.
Esme asks, “What about Barrett? Where did he go?”
Rowyn opens her mouth before promptly shutting it, knitting her brows in thought. “I’m not sure. His body was never found, so I guess he ran off?” Her eyes move to mine in question.
I shrug and say, “You officially know as much as I do—but I’ve always had the feeling my mother is aware of more than she’s letting on. It’s a lost cause, though.”
“Your sisters?” Clementine asks. It’s the most cautious and innocent I’ve heard her.
I shake my head and simply answer, “No.”
She doesn’t say anything, but I catch the way she grabs her sister’s hand under the table. I offer her a small smile, hoping it comes off comforting.
“Okay, so let’s just assume it’s forgotten history,” Rowyn compromises. “There are multiple books detailing the return of Nestor, whom the town assumed to be dead after he went missing for three years, and the theories about what happened that night.”
“Can you remind me what those are again?” Esme asks. “I’m doing my best to keep up with everything but it’s a lot to take in over a couple weeks.”
“It is,” I admit. “Rowyn knows more about this than I do.”
