Knowing she’s telling the truth, I try to let her words calm me. When they all get up to leave me alone, I reach forward and grab Esme’s hand. It’s a silent plea for her to stay longer. She crawls onto the bed, settling against the pillows, and turns toward me.
With a glance at Rowyn, I don’t find any hurt that I chose Esme over her. She’s usually the first person I go to in any situation I can’t handleon my own. I’ve grown close to the other women in the coven, and right now, there’s something about Esme’s presence I need.
With one final assessment, Rowyn and Clover leave the room, quickly securing the door behind them.
After letting out a deep breath, I turn my head to look at Esme. We lay there watching each other for a long time, her hand skimming along my arm and infusing me with a cool, calmness. It’s like an ice-cold glass of water after being in the blazing sun.
“Go ahead and ask,” she whispers, not disturbing our small sanctuary of my bed.
Biting my lip, I don’t meet her eye as I shamefully let the question fall from my lips. “What were you doing in Archer’s room?”
“Rowyn sent me up with a fresh pair of sheets,” she says. “I helped him strip the bed and change them out.”
This time, my eyes meet hers and she can see my insecurity. “What were you talking about?”
With a soft, empathetic smile, she murmurs, “You, Renata. Only you.”
I want to ask more questions, like the specific details of that conversation and if there were any nuances she picked up on, but the elixir begins to kick in and my eyes flutter shut.
Chapter 30
Archer
It’s been two weeks since Sybil and I moved into the inn, and I have to give it to Renata’s coven. They have done an amazing job at subtly keeping distance between her and me.
We see each other at dinner, unless I’m at the library or she has a migraine, which is becoming more frequent. During my free time, I help around the inn as much as I can. Even with seven people, the work feels endless.
I swear the inn accumulates dust and grime at a rate that would send a Hearth Witch into hysterics. It’s impressive how patient and determined Rowyn has been.
The kitchen and dining room are in the best shape, being used most often and where Rowyn spends most of her time. There aren’t any repairs the former needs other than a fresh coat of paint and some updated appliances, but it’s nothing that makes it inhospitable. The dining room is halfway stripped of its wallpaper, but it’s old, brittle, and stuck. Most of the bottom floor and the wing our rooms are located in are waiting for their own restoration, It would be easy to get overwhelmed. I take the coven’s lead, focusing on one thing at a time. As for the rest of the house, most of the upstairs is in need of a deep cleaningand repairs.
Rowyn keeps Sybil and me busy, using the excuse that since we come from a family of Hearth Witches, we are her biggest assets when it comes to cleaning. She even lets Sybil help her cook most nights, and according to Clementine, Rowyn typically prefers her solitude when she’s in the kitchen. I’m often sent into town to check on textiles, fabrics, and furniture they ordered a couple months ago. It’s slowly starting to finish, and Sybil’s pick-up truck is the largest vehicle we have.
None of them, except Renata, know how my magic manifests. I assume they think because Sybil and I are twins, we have the same type of divination magic. Even without my perception, I realize they are controlling the situation for Renata’s benefit.
You can’t manipulate someone whose magic is literally designed to do that.
It would bother me more if they weren’t so damn good to Sybil.
They’ve accepted her into their coven with open, understanding arms. Even Renata.
Between the two of us, my twin has had more time with her than I have on this plane of existence.
It’s overwhelming seeing them together—the two people who know me better than anyone. That has only been cemented since the first night I spent here.
Despite Renata’s reluctance to spend time with me when we’re awake, I’ve found her every night since I moved in. Our proximity makes it easier. I don’t even have to try, and she never uses the charm to wake herself either.
Barrett hasn’t made another appearance, but Petra and Nestor watch us most nights. Renata has started to ignore them, and they stay in the shade of the trees while we bask in the warm, golden sunrays closer to the lake.
This is a step forward on this weird path we’ve been walking along together. We used to stay closer to the area her ancestors have now taken over. It’s like when we moved into the openness of the meadow, some of the windows to Renata’s soul opened along with them.
I haven’t pushed her to give us a chance or mentioned what almost happened on Gale’s porch. Instead, I’ve focused on all the years I missed but now have access to.
The first few nights, I kept it lighter.
I asked her about the time she resurrected a black wasp at eleven and it woke up only to sting her sister Agatha on the cheek. It was the first fight they had. She was reluctant to tell me the story, but the ice began to melt with each word and soft chuckle.
A single word didn’t go unheard as she spoke, but everything else about her was just as important—the way her thin shoulders relaxed, how her faint freckles look like glitter under the setting sun, and that sweet scent that’s always infused with a hint of her morning tea I’ve become addicted to.
