“I was fourteen. She lost both of her parents that day. Then, last week, we were told I was the cause of it. I might as well have killed them all over again.”
Her brows rose in surprise, then lowered. “I’m so sorry you found out that way. But you have to understand that even if it was foretold, it was still an accident. I know you want her to forgive you for this, but that takes time and understanding.”
“I’m not sure I could have forgiven her if I had been in her place.” Malcolm replayed that night over and over in his mind.
“I don’t know you well, but I’m certain you would have forgiven her immediately.” Tamsin’s eyes seemed to peer straight through to his soul.
“How could you possibly know that?” Malcolm asked.
“You told me what it feels like to be with someone you can witch-lock with. So answer me this. Do you love her?”
For a moment, Malcolm couldn’t speak. But the answer was obvious. “I love her so much it feels like I’ve always loved her. That every atom in my being carries her name, that my heart beats to her breath, that my soul exists to see her smile. Every part of me loves her.”
“And this is a witch-lock we’re talking about. You think that happens every day? You don’t give up on something like that. Give her the chance to see it, to feel it. She is your destiny. The witch you will lock with will not be able to walk away from that cosmic pull.”
“She already has given up,” he replied, remembering that haunted look on her face when she told him to leave her house.
“You think perfect couples always have it easy?” Tasmin said, her eyebrow arched. “She was dealing with shock, and reliving her grief. Once the shock has worn off, and she’s had the chance to see the truth, forgiveness will come more easily. Especially if she loves you.”
“You sound like you have experience in this.”
Tamsin’s face pinkened. “Not really… not yet, anyway. I believe I found my special someone. Problem is, he isn’t approved of by my family.”
“I can understand that. Calli’s a hedge witch.”
Tasmin nodded. “Ah, that kind of roadblock. In my case, I’m the seventh child of a seventh child. That comes with certain… responsibilities. According to my parents. Now that I’m twenty-one, my parents want to fulfil a contract for me to marry a warlock that lives here in Boston. He’s the son of an illustrious witching family. I’m trying to find my way out of it.” She lifted the book she’d been holding. “Hence the research.”
“What is it with parents interfering in their kids’ lives?” Malcolm asked in all seriousness.
“No idea.” Tamsin chuckled, though the sound held a hint of bitterness. “Good luck with your witch, Wayward Malcolm.”
He laughed at her teasing.
“And good luck with your true warlock mate,” he replied.
“Actually, he’s a dragon,” Tamsin said with a laugh.
Malcolm gasped. “An honest to God dragon?” He’d always known dragon shifters existed, but they were rare.
“You can see why my parents don’t approve. You think hedge witches get a bad rap with this crowd? Try telling them you’re in love with an ancient English dragon.” She jerked her head to signify the Council in general and laughed, this time a hint of mischief in her eyes again.
“Well in that case, good luck with your dragon,” Malcolm said. It was oddly comforting to know he wasn’t the only one going through challenging times when it came to love and talking to her had given him some hope.
He left the prophecy chambers and searched for the scrying room. Thankfully it wasn’t far, and it was empty. In the center of the room, a large scrying mirror made of a circular cheval glass with a metal frame that might have dated back to the Middle Ages, its shape bent and damaged in places around the edges.
Malcolm double checked to make sure he was alone, then placed his palm against the mirror to wake it up. A ripple of liquid silver shot across the surface.
“Show me Callista Wynter.” The mirror hanging inside Pages & Potions showed a busy bookstore, but no signs of Calli. Then the mirror flashed again to show the inside of Mystic Mornings. The coffee store was bustling with customers but Calli wasn’t there either.
That was strange. Why did it show him places where she wasn’t? “Show me the Wynter house.”
The interior of her old Victorian house opened before him and his heart came to a stop. The front door was open, broken glass scattered on the floor. Potted plants were turned over everywhere, and broken protection spells hung loosely like cobwebs. A bloody handprint streaked across and down the side one wall, and there was a pool of blood a few feet from the door.
No… oh no no no…
“Calli!”
Something terrible had happened there. He bolted into the spell-weaving room, then headed straight for his private traveling mirror, focusing on the place he needed to go.
