It’s always thwarted by some reminder of my reality but it always comes back, stronger even.
I try to find the courage. “I need to go inside—Iwantto,” I say with more force and look back at the house.
He watches me for a long moment, taking in my stare-off with a raven, and an inanimate building.
Hesitantly, he offers, “I can go in with you.” I take in his words and look at him.
My eyes rove over every detail of the face I’ve spent years trying to imagine, considering. His deep blue eyes are sincere, and his tousled hair complements the morning scruff along his jaw and cheeks, thickening over his lip. It’s the perfect length that wouldn’t be itchy against my skin, just rough enough to feel good.
He’s so handsome, it hurts to look at him.
There’s nothing else I ever want to spend my time doing again.
He tilts his head, giving me a small, meaningful smile to get my attention back. “Only if you want,” he adds.
I do want that.
The words don’t come out, but one, weak bob of my head is enough. He stands straighter and opens the gate, waiting for me to take the first step. Pulling Hexate off of my shoulders, she coils around my hands as I hold her close to my chest. It’s all the strength I need until Whisper gently brushes along my legs, adding to the support.
Guilt builds in my stomach from accepting Archer’s support and allowing him this glimpse into my life. It’s going to breed false hope for him. It certainly threatens to do so for me, even if I’m the one keeping him at arm’s length.
It’s impossible to stay away from him though.
I tell myself I didn’t take sleeping tonics so he wouldn’t end up back at the inn. Now that he lives there, I insist to myself he’s only there for Sybil, that I shouldn’t go seek him out.
Staying away is one challenge, but declining his offers of time together is a much harder disciple.
At the top of the stairs, I look around for a key. When I don’t find anything, Archer steps closer and turns the knob.
“Must be charmed,” he murmurs close to my ear. He hasn’t touched me today, not even the gentle caress of my cheek he seems to be so fond of, but his close proximity is enough to light my veins on fire.
I clear my throat and walk inside, momentarily surprised by how cute the quaint house is. It’s not large, but it’s spacious and cozy. We’re in a small foyer between the pastel orange-painted kitchen and a sun-lit reading room. From here, I can see a den tucked behind the bright, cozy room. There’s a staircase and another door in front of us.
“Rowyn mentioned he was a Hearth Witch,” I tell Archer, my voice as low as his was. Turning my head, I whisper the words over my shoulder.
“Makes sense,” he says. “What are you looking for?”
My mouth twists to the side, thinking it over. “I’m not sure. There could be clues about our families, possibly, I’m not sure.”
He watches me and asks, “But that’s not what you’re here for?”
Divination powers can manifest in a multitude of ways, and I have an inkling that Archer’s lean toward perception. When we’re dreaming, I can pick up on his emotions without seeing him. That’s not an ability that comes naturally to me. It’s similar to my connection with Petra, but that connection has always been clear, at least since I saw a photo of her. Now, he can read me like an open book. He’s too keen on every shift in my demeanor.
I don’t mind it. I’m not great at articulating my emotions, so it’s nice he can figure it out on his own.
“No,” I answer. “I just want to get to know her. I would have loved to meet her.”
He pauses in the middle of the foyer, waiting for my next move.
I glance around the lived-in space with so many memories to be discovered. I never expected to have a companion when I came to visit the house, but I am thankful to have Archer here. It’s eerie being in thehome of witches I never met, unsure of what skeletons may be hiding in a closet.
I don’t want him to accidentally come across any new information without me. Just because I didn’t come here looking for answers doesn’t mean I’m not expecting something to happen. Not with my luck.
“Let’s start upstairs,” I say suddenly.
He raises his eyebrows and sweeps his arm in anafter yougesture toward the stairs. They creak with each step I take. It’s unsettling in the silent, abandoned house. From the thick layer of dust, it’s clear the house hasn’t been disturbed in months, left by itself in the wake of its owners’ deaths.
The loud groans the house makes are almost as deterring as Poppy’s previous reaction to me, feeling more like I’m disturbing the memorial of Cordelia and Edmond’s life.
