“I have a lock-picking kit if we need it,” Sam chimes in, breaking the tension.
“Why?” I ask, my eyes bugging out of my head.
“Because I’ve locked myself out of my business more than once, and locksmiths are expensive. I’m not a thief.” He holds up his hands in the universal sign of surrender.
“That’s exactly what a thief would say, don’t ya think?” Ari snips out.
“Alright, before we end up taking each other out with what is clearly too much nervous energy, let’s move.” I take off at a slow jog, hoping they follow. Driving would have been too obvious to anyone passing by, and the exercise will help us all, I hope.
It’s about four blocks of Ari complaining as she trudges through piles of leaves that have collected on the sidewalk, Howie trying not to comment on her clear lack of physical prowess, and Sam staying glued to my side. We slow to a walk as we turn the corner onto Crow, spotting the downtrodden cottage in the distance. It sits back from the road more than the others. At one time it probably would’ve been surrounded by trees. There’s a buzzing in the air. A strange sensation overwhelms me, and I stop.
“I don’t know if we should go any closer,” I say under my breath. My chest feels heavy as my arm turns tender with what feels like scratches clawing their way from my wrist to my shoulder.
Sam places an arm around me, pulling me into his side. “We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to, but I promise you’re safe with me. The decision is yours.”
“Yeah, Ollie. We’re doing this to help you. If it doesn’t feel right, we can figure something else out,” Ariella reassures me.
Taking a few slow, deep breaths, I shake my shoulders and walk forward once again. I have less than two weeks at this point to figure it out, I can’t stop now. As we get closer, the cottage comes into view. It’s what you would imagine any witch’s lair to look like: a small black house with ivy clinging to the sides sporadically. The windows appear to be cloudy with age and neglect. The roof is covered in moss. I’d bet there are all kinds of creatures lurking inside.
“Well, it looks like no one’s been here in a long time. Maybe we can get in and out unnoticed after all,” Ari chirps. She has no clue what we are dealing with, and frankly, the positivity annoys me.
“Should we just try the door?” Howie asks, shrugging.
Sam walks up the small step leading onto the front porch, and the door creaks open with a screech. My stomach flips. It reminds me of the door popping open when I entered Irina’s shop. I glance at Howie. He’s the only other one of us who’s met her, and his face has turned as pale as a ghost.
Sam clicks on his flashlight, peering inside slowly before pushing the half-rotted door completely open. He motions with his arm for us to follow, and I clutch for Ari’s hand as we take the step up.
We walk in, cautiously pushing cobwebs out of the way, and my body erupts in chills. My teeth chatter so loudly that Sam immediately backtracks asking, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, uh. Just cold,” I lie. I’m not okay. She warned me, she told me in the cemetery I needed to embrace it before making my decision. But I have, haven’t I? I came clean to Sam. I’ve tried opening up on my own.
Howie and Ariella head upstairs with flashlights, leaving Sam and me in the main room. Looking around, I notice a rocking chair made of wood branches placed by a stone fireplace. A cobweb-covered cauldron lies on its side on a pile of ash. There’s a small table centered in the room, and what I assume was a kitchen on the left. It’s basically some shelves and a prep island made of wood, but she wouldn’t have had a stove or modern appliances back then.
Sam nods at me and we walk toward the shelves. I run my fingers across a collection of books, sending dust swirling into the air—they must be first editions. Beau would lose his mind. I’m careful as I extract them, trying to make out the worn titles in only the glow of a flashlight.
“Olive, look, there’s something here,” Sam says from the other side of the kitchen.
I take the ten steps toward him tentatively, stepping over a pile of orange and red leaves that must have blown in when the door opened. Unease settles low in my belly. It’s a book. Sam moves to pick it up. “Stop, try not to touch it,” I snip out. Leave it to my restoration training to kick in at the worst possible time.
“I, uh, okay?”
“It’s fragile. If the society is going to claim this place, there’s a chance that Beau could get these. I don’t want to ruin them.” I try to justify my outburst with logic. The real reason settling into my bones is more that I don’t want him to be the next one carrying a curse.
I shine my light on the book, carefully dusting it off with a featherlight touch. “Oh my gosh, this is incredible. How did it survive in these conditions?” I lean in, careful not to get too close.
“What is it?” Sam asks, rubbing his hand up and down my back.
“It’s Eleonara. She’s so beautiful.” I hurriedly move it over as a spider crawls across the cover, making me gasp.
“Who’s Eleonara?” Ari inquires as she descends from upstairs and crosses the room.
“It’s a book, one of the first of what would today be considered romance. John Dryden was an English poet, and supposedly he wrote stories about falling in love. Not that anyone has ever seen an actual complete copy.” I try my best to explain. There’s a real chance I’m the only person aside from Beau who would even care.
“Did you find anything upstairs?” Sam looks at Ariella and Howie.
“Nothing, she didn’t leave much behind,” Howie explains.
“Or someone cleaned house.” Ari props her hands on her hips.
