Rowyn sighs and crosses her arms over her stomach, leaning back and looking tired. “The two theories from that night both come back to one source: Barrett was in love with Petra, and he killed the couple in a fit of jealousy.”
Esme gasps, clutching her chest. Despair crosses her features, and I can’t help but wonder what types of emotions a Love Witch would connect to. It can’t only be the positive ones.
“The question is,” I continue, “Did Petra curse the land in spite, or did the curse breed from the betrayal of a coven member?”
“I guess either of those make sense,” Clover muses, “but there are a lot of holes when you question why Petra would curse her family’s inn and her legacy.”
“I don’t know how logical I’d be in death,” Esme refutes.
Clover tilts her head, half agreeing but still unsure.
Biting my lip, I glance at Nestor and wonder how good his ghostly hearing is. In a whisper, I admit, “Some of Petra’s journal entries make me question her feelings for everyone involved.”
None of them say anything, so after another look at Nestor floating by the fireplace, I ask, “What do you think about the possibility of some psycho murder-suicid—”
Before I can finish the question, Nestor evaporates back into his orb state and goes crashing around the room.
“Okay, okay,” I yell, standing up with my hands raised. “That was a horrible, unfair suggestion.”
He doesn’t pause, but he does move slower, stopping back by the fireplace. Once he’s there, he transforms back into his full body, and begins pacing back and forth—floating would be a better word.
The speed is erratic, like he’s growing more impatient. What startles me the most is I’ve never seen him do this. Every few seconds he’ll shake his head like he’s trying to get something out of there.
My heart cracks, sympathetic to how the growing panic of your own madness feels—even if he’s the cause for most of mine.
“Hey,” I start and slowly walk toward him. “Nestor, hey.”
I reach out to him, aware that we won’t be able to make contact, but I’ve heard that ghosts can take some of the warmth from the living when they pass through them. It’s temporary, but ancient Gray Witches believed it was the only sense of comfort someone could find in purgatory.
I may be the only living person, other than Archer, to understand how desperately it hurts to want someone’s physical affection and to be unable to get it.
I lightly run my hand along his arm. He startles at my touch, stopping in place to look at me.
Only my finger tips brush along the wispy outline of him, so the cold is barely noticeable. It’s hard to distinguish his features, even from this close, but I can still make sense of his thick brows and strong, crooked nose.
I hold my hand between us to let him decide what he wants to do. After a moment of contemplation, he moves closer until my palm is near his chest—his heart. The sharp pain of coldness shoots up my arm. I fight the urge to pull away from him, especially when I see the soft expression of contentment settle on his features.
It’s the most at peace I’ve seen him, even with his translucent color flicking in and out from the lingering agitation.
Clementine steps up next to me and tilts her head, taking in his appearance. She doesn’t hesitate to reach her hand out and place it next to mine, not over his heart but still at his chest.
I’m positive the look of surprise on his face matches mine, and probably the other women in the room.
Almost immediately, his body stops flickering and the relaxed expression returns.
Clementine wiggles her fingers but doesn’t pull away.
Clover and Esme follow suit a few seconds later, standing behind him and each putting a hand on his shoulders. It takes Rowyn a little longer. Finally, she walks up to the group. Cautiously, she reaches forward and sets her hand in the air on the other side of mine.
I meet each of their eyes, trying to communicate how deeply I appreciate them in this moment.
Clementine tells him, “We’re going to figure this out. For you and Petra.”
For the first time, he nods.
I have to admit, I’m a little jealous she’s gotten such a clear interaction from him when all I ever get is confusion and chaos.
However she did it, she seems to have brought him more peace than he’s received in a hundred years. For that, I’m grateful.
