I get out of the car when Rogan does, following behind him like some lamb to the slaughter as he makes his way to the gate. It opens without so much as a squeak, which I find oddly impressive. I add it to the list of weird things that excite me now that I’m a witch. It’s written just underjackalope antlersand abovethe moon.
“Are you nervous?” I ask as Rogan leads me down a cobblestone path to the front door. I whisper the question as though the plants are spying on us, so I need to keep it down.
“Will you think of me as less of a man if I admit yes?” he asks me over his shoulder, also with a whisper.
“Obviously,” I tease.
“Then no, I’m not nervous in the slightest,” he replies, and I chuckle.
My laugh is a little too loud, and I almost shush myself and apologize to the plants for disturbing them, but then I realize that’s crazy and stop myself.
“Um, this place is having a weird effect on me,” I half warn, half observe.
“Yeah, it’s the plants, they have wards and other protections woven into them. It’ll get better once we’re in the house,” Rogan explains, but that doesn’t exactly make me feel better.
He turns to look at me, amusement tilting up the corners of his lips. “Depending on what’s in bloom in the garden, the effects change,” he informs me. “I once found Elon laughing his ass off in a patch of pineapple weed. He said he’d been there for hours,” he goes on, a full grin now stretched across his gorgeous face.
I start to giggle as I picture Rogan finding Elon like that, but then immediately slam my mouth shut. Nope. I’ve been ridiculed enough for one day; I don’t care what happens, I’m going to keep my head on my shoulders.
I almost release a sigh of relief when we get to the door and Rogan opens it and invites himself in, but right now I’m too afraid to breathe, so I just push in after him and pull in a large inhale as soon as the door is shut.
“Ro! How are you?” a kind voice sing-songs in greeting, and before I can track where the voice is coming from, Rogan is wrapped up in a big hug from a small Asian man.
“I’m good, Dave, how are you?” Rogan volleys as he man-pats the gentleman on the back a few times before pulling away.
“I should be offended by that lie, Ro, but since Alora called all of us in today, I know you’re here for something serious, so I’ll let it pass.”
Rogan’s smile drops, and it’s as though I see some of the stress and worry melt away with it. It’s as if he just dropped a mask, and I can see how relieved he is not to have to hold it up anymore.
I’m not sure what to think about that. Part of me is glad that he’s in a place so comfortable that he can be authentic in whatever he’s feeling. But another part wonders if he’s had his mask on or off for me. Uncertainty trickles into my mind, and I know it will have me examining our interactions in search of answers.
“I think the answer is a little of both, dear,” Dave declares as he extends a hand in greeting. “Hi there, I’m Dave, Alora’s husband,” he announces.
I take his hand, not sure if he was answering the thoughts in my head, or some question Rogan asked that I missed because I was wrapped up in the thoughts in my head.
“Hi, I’m Lennox,” I answer, trying and failing not to eye him suspiciously.
“Did you just read my mind?”I ask, only in my head, but Dave doesn’t respond. There is something cheeky about his smile though that makes me wonder.
“Come with me, you two. Alora will be excited. She wasn’t expecting to meet the new Osseous Osteomancer so soon.”
Dave moves quickly down the hall, leading us into the main part of the house. My mind is reeling with questions, and I have a hard time tracking where we’re going. If Alora didn’t know I was coming, how does Dave know who I am? And why didn’t Rogan tell anyone that I would be with him? I know he said his aunt wasn’t big on the details, but does no one know why we’re here and that we’re hoping to undo a tether?
Dave winds us around the house, which strangely seems much bigger inside than it did outside. Eventually we reach a large wooden door, and Dave proceeds to knock on it three times and then wait. When two resounding knocks answer from the other side, the door opens, seemingly of its own accord, and Rogan and I are ushered in.
I step into the room and freeze. It’s sensory overload in all the best ways, and I’m not sure where to rest my eyes first. The walls are the same gray stone as the outside of the house, but the floors and ceiling are a pure black wood. Constellations and planets are delicately painted on every surface with gorgeous gold leaf. The front of the room is framed by large gothic-style windows, and just in front of the wall of natural light sits an exquisite gold crescent table. I count six witches sitting on the convex side of the gilded crescent, seven when Dave walks over and sits to the left of the woman sitting regally in the center.
“Alora.” Rogan nods in greeting, and the woman Dave just sat next to brightens with excitement and nods affectionately back.
My mouth almost drops to the floor as I take her in. I was expecting long gray and white hair, loose flowy clothing, and lined tanned skin from tending to the garden. But what I find couldn’t be further from that.
Alora is what Dita Von Teese will look like when she’s eighty. Alabaster skin, almost the color of cream, with just the faintest signs of age brushing over her features. She has dark gray eyes and black hair that’s side swept and styled with finger waves that remind me of old Hollywood. She’s dressed in a champagne-colored cashmere sweater that looks baby bunny soft, and I realize that I’ve been staring at her for too long now, and I’m pretty sure she said something to me.
Crap.
I look to Rogan, hoping he’ll help me recover, but he’s just staring at me too. Panic claws its way up my throat, and I can feel myself reddening with each passing second.
“I’m sorry,” I start sheepishly. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so beautiful. I was momentarily caught up in it, and I missed either your hello or whatever question you might have asked me,” I confess.
