Ambrose blinked, and I knew immediately that the words hadn’t landed—lost somewhere between his hunger and Caitlyn’s manic rambling.
The confirmation came when he shook his head, offering no acknowledgement at all of her letting slip that I was in love with him.
“I have a message for the two of you,” he said. “And for someone called Purdy.”
Caitlyn scrunched her face in confusion, just as Creep’s head performed a slow one-eighty from her position at the stove causing Ambrose to visibly shudder.
“Is the doll always that creepy?” he asked.
“Yup,” Caitlyn said. “That’s why I called her Creep. Anyway, I have no idea who Purdy is. So, what’s the message?”
“You—” His brows furrowed as he corrected himself. “Weneed to leave,” Ambrose said. “Go back to the coven as soon as possible.”
Caitlyn snorted. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Please,” Ambrose said.
The strain in his voice set my teeth on edge. Without thinking, I reached out and grabbed his hand. He startled but didn’t pull away.
“What’s happened, Ambrose?”
His gaze flicked between us, as though he’d only rehearsed as far as the warning and not the explanation. “I... um...”
He was saved by Creep.
Apparently deciding this was the perfect moment, she began serving cocoa—excruciatinglyslowly. Cups slid from their cupboards and slowly hovered their way in front of each of us one at a time. The pan of cocoa bobbed toward us at a snail’s pace before pouring the cocoa in a slow dribble. Finally, marshmallows emerged from the pantryone by one.
As we waited, Ambrose stared into the distance, his eyes flickering as though he were weighing how much to tell us.
Finally—after the last marshmallow plopped into Caitlyn’s mug, after Creep dragged her chair back to the table with painful deliberation, after she climbed up, a cushion appearing beneath her so she could see over the tabletop, and fixed Ambrose with an unblinking stare—he exhaled and began to talk.
“There are some things I can’t tell you,” Ambrose said, “because I promised not to. And others because... a lot of it’s hazy.” He drew a slow breath. “But there’s a witch—one I think you already know—who’s planning to steal your house.”
“Priscilla—” Caitlyn ground out.
Creep shot her a warning glare, the shutters rattling violently against the windows in response.
“No. Not her,” Ambrose said. “A witch called Isadora.”
Both Caitlyn and Creep snapped their attention back to him.
“Pricilla’smom?” Caitlyn said, at the same time I asked, “The witch who hired you?”
Ambrose nodded once.
Caitlyn shrugged, utterly unimpressed. “I can handle Isadora. She was never the brightest witch.”
“That’s the thing,” Ambrose said carefully. “She isn’t fully a witch.”
Caitlyn’s brows knit together.
“She’s part siren.”
Caitlyn’s eyes widened—but only briefly. Almost immediately, dismissal took its place. “Nope. Not possible,” she said. “We’dknowif she was part siren. Lily Cole would know. And besides, if Isadorawerepart siren, then Priscilla would be part siren too.” She scoffed. “And ifthatwere true, she wouldn’t have spent most of my life bullying me when she could’ve just sung a song and made me hand the house and my recipes over.”
Ambrose hesitated, clearly choosing his words with care.
“I can’t speak for Priscilla,” he said at last. “But Isadora isdefinitelypart siren.” He worried his lip, then added quietly, “Because she’s had me under her compulsion for the last week.”
