“Nestor, I need you to behave,” I continue, pushing the subject since he’s calm right now. “He’s not going anywhere, and I won’t commit any murders until I’m absolutely sure.”
In a blink of an eye, he dissolves into smoke before it forms into the glowing, floating ball that always means trouble.
“Nestor,” I cry, more tears falling as my desperation grows and a migraine starts to claw at my brain. “I’m doing everything I can, I promise! I need answers.Pleas—”
I’m cut off by the empty teacup that whirls across the space, straight toward my head. Dropping to the ground a second before it would have hit me, I don’t get up. I let out a loud, frustrated sob, and reach for my bedside table.
Grabbing the first thing I blindly find, I throw the antique glass vase full of chamomile and lavender. It’s not the prettiest bouquet, but Rowyn’s been leaving the fresh blooms by my bed for the last few weeks.
Nestor shifts back to his full form and the glass goes straight through his body, hitting the mantle behind him. It only adds to my anger and the lack of control that is taking over my life.
I’m not surprised when the door flies open and Esme’s worried expression takes in the scene, finding me in a crumpled ball on the floor.
“Renata,” she murmurs and cautiously moves forward, but stops just inside the door.
“Make it stop,” I beg. Roughly, I push my hands up my cheeks and tangle them in my hair. Gripping tightly, I close my eyes and try to focus on the physical pain I’m creating instead of everything that is a result of Nestor and being in this godforsaken inn. “Please, just… stop.”
“What’s going on?” Archer’s faint voice filters through the open doorway, making me more aware of my current state.
Trying to stand, all the strength has left my body. I fall back on the floor. From my broken position, I turn my head in time to watch Esme push Archer back into the hallway before he can get a look at me.
Thank you.
My lips move over the words, but no sounds come out.
“Get Rowyn,” Esme commands before slamming the door in his face.
Closing my eyes tight, I lean into her soft touch as she wipes sweat off my forehead and lifts my head into her lap.
We stay like that until my throat is ready to work again.
“Is it real this time?” I anxiously ask. Even with my eyes closed, I know Esme’s confused about what I mean. “The teacup and vase—are they both shattered? Was it real, Esme? Or did I imagine it all?” My voice catches at the end and I take a deep breath, but a fresh wave of tears breaks through.
She’s quiet for a long moment. Her body turns in place, taking in the mess she didn’t notice in her haste to get to me.
“It’s real, Renata,” she murmurs and leans her head down to rest on mine. “You didn’t imagine it this time.”
“This time,” I repeat sadly.
“Shh,” she quietly soothes. Her hand moves down the back of my head, and some of the pain subsides. It’s slow at first, but noticeable. I’m more clear-minded than I have in months, but I’m exhausted.
It’s easy to forget how healing Love Witches’ magic can be when it takes many other forms. Some texts argue that their healing abilities are stronger than Hearth and Green Witches, under the right circumstances.
It’s not long after that Rowyn and Clover come rushing into the room, wet towels and a fresh teacup in their hands. They don’t say anything, but the three of them move in tandem as they help to lift me off the ground and tuck me into the sheets. It’s silent as I watch them clean up the glass. Clover lifts the teacup to my lips.
For once in my sad life, I’m lucky.
A new, raw sob rips from my soul before I can clamp it down. Clover doesn’t ask any questions as she sets the glass down and wraps me in her arms. It’s the same, protective embrace I’ve seen her give to Clementine whenever the young witch is leaving her sight for even an hour.
After the mess is cleaned and the tea has been drunk, Rowyn leans forward and tucks the blankets around me tightly.
“I put a sleep elixir in your tea,” she admits.
Panic is like a wildfire through my veins and I try to push out of bed, terrified at the thought of being stuck with Petra without anywhere to run.
None of them let me get far, leading me back down to the pillows.
“It’s the strongest elixir Eden has,” she promises. “It’s a secret recipe that her great-grandmother created. I’ve used it. There won’t be any dreams tonight, Renata—just relax.”
