“It has been prophesied,” the witch cut in. “The power of Moonstone Falls will fail, and you will be at the center of it. Leave now… before all is lost.” Without any further explanation, the witch climbed onto a broom and flew off into the distant horizon, leaving an empty landscape of the circle of trees and a bonfire still burning in the dark.
At the bottom of the frame, a plaque had been fastened.
“Celestine Skycaster.”
Calli’s grandmother just warned him he would hurt Calli, and… destroy Moonstone Falls?
Hades whined softly at Malcolm’s side, sensing the dread he now felt. Malcolm absently patted the dog, trying to comfort him. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
CHAPTER NINE
Calli woke to the distinct feeling she was not alone. Cautiously opening one eye, she found two creatures at the foot of her bed, heads down, staring at her.
The giant schnauzer politely waited for her to sit up. Persephone sat on Hades’s back, kneading her tiny paws as if getting comfortable..
“What time is it?” She grumbled. She tried to sit up, but her head throbbed and her mouth tasted like sandpaper. She felt hung over, but she hadn’t had anything to drink last night. Had she? No, the only thing she’d eaten had been those snickerdoodle cookies…
Oh God.
The spell had to be the reason she felt like this. An unexpected magical side effect?
Hades whined and crawled forward on the bed to lick her face.
“Thank you, I think.” She laughed softly as the dog nudged her cheek with his nose. “What’s wrong with you, anyway?” Persephone trundled toward Calli on her little legs and Calli scooped up the ball of fur, grinning at the little purr that immediately started up when she held the kitten to her chest. The kitten’s tiny paws looked like black marshmallows.
A deep voice came from the doorway. “Glad to see you’re awake.”
Malcolm watched her cuddling her familiar. He had changed into a fresh pair of jeans, and wore a gray T-shirt topped with a dark blue and purple flannel button-up shirt that he left unbuttoned. She wondered where he’d gotten new clothes.
He seemed to read her mind. “I have a small travel case on the back of my bike. It’s got a couple of days’ worth of clothes, but I wouldn’t mind hitting up a clothing store if there’s one in town.”
“We have the Spooky Boo-tique.”
“Of course you do.” Malcolm chuckled, and the rich sound did something strange to Calli’s heart. His hair was doing that thing where it fell into his eyes like some boy band singer. She wanted to brush it back with her fingers right before she leaned in to kiss him. And that only reminded her of what they’d done last night on the picnic blanket in the meadow at Whimsy Woods. The man was wicked and wonderful.
“Oh, um…” he cleared his throat. “I kind of met your grandmother last night.”
Calli, who had just started to stand up, nearly tripped and fell out of the bed. Malcolm was there in an instant to steady her and the kitten in her arms.
“You okay?” he asked in that low, enticing voice that called out to every feminine instinct in her.
“What do you mean you met my grandmother?” she asked, her voice held a note of uncertainty she wished wasn’t there.
Celestine was dead, her bones buried in the quiet cemetery just on the other side of town.
“I said kind of. I met her painting,” Malcolm explained.
“Oh, right.” That made sense.
Why hadn’t she realized that’s what he meant? Maybe it was because Malcolm had the strangest way of bringing things back to life whenever he was near. Not literally of course, but things in her world just seemed more alive, more charged with energy.
But with a warlock who could stop time, who’s to say he couldn’t go backwards in time too?
She shook her head. No, that was a wish too far. Part of being a hedge witch was accepting the cycle of life and death, embracing life while you had it, because eventually it would pass.
She wasn’t foolish enough to believe he could bring something back from the dead but for an instant she’d almost thought maybe he had.
“Calli,” Malcolm’s bright green eyes searched her gaze. He sighed. “I feel ridiculous even mentioning this, but I don’t want any secrets between us… She said something strange to me.” From what he knew of witch portraits, they didn’t talk much, and it wasn’t like the person in the painting had their soul trapped within the oil, it was more like an echo of them. The painted version of that person had some memories and knowledge, and could interact with someone, but they usually didn’t.
