He will get the peace and happiness he deserves, and I don’t care what I have to do, I’m going to make sure no one ever fucks with him and the people he loves again.
18
Ipull the huge cream cable knit sweater over my head.
Omg, yes, it’s even softer than it looks.
I reach for the thick socks I found while snooping through the drawers in the closet and pull them on over the dark blue leggings I found hung up on one side of the closet. Rogan bought me clothes, which is super adorable. He’ll probably be annoyed that I’m still wearing his sweater despite the fact that he bought me clothes, but maybe he should stop buying such soft tops, and then I wouldn’t have to steal them.
Really, he only has himself to blame.
I rub the sleeve of the sweater against my cheek and sigh. This thing could be made of baby unicorns, and I wouldn’t be mad at it—that’s how incredible it feels. I tiptoe out of the closet and smile at Rogan, who’s still completely passed out. I tried to get all snuggly with him this morning, pressing my booty into him as Istretched, but he must have been even more exhausted than I realized, because his dick certainly woke up, but the rest of him didn’t.
I kiss the top of his head, not able to help myself, and sneak out of the door. I didn’t get to see too much of the house yesterday between my tears and the wine-hazed trip to the bathroom floor, but the bright interior and the huge windows letting in sunlight and birdsong feel amazing. Especially after the horrid fucking day that was yesterday.
I make it down to the kitchen and immediately start hunting for coffee. I find the mugs, the creamer, coffee beans, and all the other frilly fixings for fancy coffee, but where the hell is the machine? I spin around as though the sudden movement is the key to magically revealing the coffee maker, but all it does is teach me that these socks are perfect for sliding around.
My inner ten-year-old is stoked.
“It’s built into the wall there, just next to the fridge,” a deep voice states out of nowhere. Completely caught off guard, I scream, turn, and in a self-defense move I’m not proud of, I chuck my mug in the direction of the voice.
Shit.
Rogan’s cousin, Cohen, catches the cup in midair like this is a usual occurrence for him, and heat crawls up my neck at my completely ridiculous overreaction.
“Moon shits, you scared me,” I pant as I press a hand to my chest and bend over to try and calm my fight-or-flight response.
“Moon shits?” he questions on a chuckle.
“It’s totally a thing,” I reassure him as I catch my breath.
“I’ve been sitting here the whole time,” he points out from the kitchen table that’s perfectly well lit, and obvious, and providing no excuses for why I didn’t notice him sitting there when I walked in.
This dude must think I’m a psycho. First, I have an emotional breakdown in front of him, and now I attempt to assault him because I’m apparently a wee bit jumpy.
“Are you okay?” I ask him, pointing to the mug. “I’m so sorry,” I offer as he strides closer to hand me back my cup.
“Hey, I’ll take a flying mug over you crushing my bones or something instead,” he teases, and I turn an even darker shade of red.
I mean, it’s good I didn’t attack him with magic, but what does it say about me that I didn’t even think to use it at all? I internally facepalm.
“I’m Cohen, by the way. We didn’t get a chance to meet yesterday,” he politely tells me, offering me his forearm for a witchy shake hello.
His green eyes are a dark olive, and his skin has a stunning golden undertone. His hair is ash brown, but in the light, I see sun-kissed blond streaks running through it. His beard is shorter this morning than I remember it being. I stare at him for a beat, trying to figure out where I know him from, as his face is strangely familiar. It hits me as I reach for his arm for the traditional witch greeting of grabbing forearms. He’s the boy I saw with Rogan in that weird flashback I experienced when we were trying to break that jinx on Tad.
I grab his arm, ready to offer him my name in return, when a tingling sensation moves from him to me. It’s as though someone is tickling me with the fuzzy seeds of a dandelion. I chalk it up to static electricity until a familiar face pokes her white, glowing head from around his back, and my eyes widen with shock as I yank my hand back.
What the hell?
I’m pretty sure Osteomancers aren’t supposed to see ghosts so freely. That kind of thing is more for the Soul Witches. Which means seeing one is already not normal. The fact that I’ve seen two is downright strange, but seeing the same ghost twice...that feels like a haunting, and ain’t nobody got time for that. Especially not me. There is way too much on my plate to add a clingy ghost to the list of my problems.
“What are you doing here?” I ask the glowy specter, who offers me a warm smile. Or it would be warm if she were still alive. Diem looks exactly like she did the first time I saw her. Her golden blonde hair is straight and falls almost to the small of her back. Her blue eyes are hopeful, and she’s wearing all black, which makes me think she was either into the goth scene or more than likely killed at night while she was spying, or meeting someone, or something along those lines.
Diem appeared when I did a reading for her best friend, Colby, back at Order headquarters when I was being kept there for my own safety. It dawns on me that maybe something’s wrong with Colby and that’s why Diem is here.
“What’s going on? Is everything okay?” I press, concern settling in my bones.
Cohen’s green-eyed gaze looks bewildered, and he tracks my stare and looks behind him. “Are...are you talking to me?” he asks, eyeing me like I’ve officially lost it.
