Her eyes find me, and a meaningful smirk tugs on her lips. It puts me on the defensive, which is unfair considering I’ve told four people the complicated details of our relationship.
Er, no.
Not relationship—connection.
“Oh!” Rowyn is the first of the coven to speak. “That’s okay—just happy you made it in time for dinner.” With a warm smile, she returns to her task of placing servings on each of our plates.
“Are you okay, dear?” Gale asks. It feels like a loaded question.
“I am actually. I’m more clear headed than I have been in weeks,” she reassures the older man, but turns toward her brother, whose eyes are still drilling a hole in the side of her head. With a sigh, she promises him, “I think I’mexactlywhere I need to be, Archer.”
He squints before glancing around the table, and Sybil nods resolutely.
“I’ve been looking for you all for a very long time,” she says, looking at me. Her gaze passes over the other witches in the coven—Rowyn, to Esme behind her, to the Foxglove sisters sitting next to me—but they come back to my surprised face.
I’m not sure if the other women are aware of the energy shifting around me. More pieces of the puzzle are clicking into place.
Maybe we were waiting for something we didn’t even know we needed.
“Us?” Clementine asks with her ever-present adolescent snark.
Laughing, Sybil asks, “Is there room in your coven for two Divination Witches?”
My brows flick up and my eyes move to Archer. Even he looks surprised. As her words settle in my mind, I realize she’s here for a reason—a different onethan her twin.
I don’t know if Barrett had a twin sister, and I haven’t found a lot of information on his history, unfortunately. There’s no denying that Barrett, a Vexley witch, was definitely a part of the coven.
It was the only ancestral line that hadn’t taken their place back at the Dreaming Willow Inn yet.
It’s so obvious now.
Maybe not in the way Rowyn meant, but I was unintentionally running away from my fate.
Without looking away from Sybil, the inquisitive eyes of everyone else in the room turn to me. I hate that these decisions are mine to make—though I trust the other witches to be honest if they were against this.
I don’t want to say no.
Cursed spirits, I want to sayyes.
I never want to be a coven that turns witches away but it’s not only for altruistic reasons, either.
Every minute away from Archer becomes more difficult, like I can’t breathe until I’m in his presence. Our dream state isn’t giving me the same comfort as it did for so long. The tease of something more with him hurts almost as much as the years I went without really being with him.
Yet the idea of spending more time with him—of knowing him on a deeper level—feels like getting my heart ripped out over and over again.
Without second guessing my impulsive decision, I nod. “Of course—especially if you got my call.”
“I’m not sure we—” she gestures toward Archer, “—were called here for the same reasons, but we’re a package deal nonetheless.” There’s a slight lift to her chin at the demand. It’s cute more than it is rude.
“Figured so,” I mutter and give Rowyn an appreciative smile when she finally sits down between her grandfather and Sybil.
“I guess Nestor will just have to keep his shit together,” Clementine announces.
Rowyn scolds, “Don’t cuss,” at the same time Gale asks, “Nestor? As in…?” When none of us answer, he sits up straight and says, “As inNestor Blackthorn? Please tell me you girls are not dealing with a ghost over there.”
“Um, well,” Rowyn says with furrowed brows, anxiously flattening her napkin on her lap. I wonder if she’s ever been in trouble before.
“It’s complicated.” I grimace, suddenly guilty about lying to the older witch.
