Page 91 of Demon and the Raven

“Since when is there a shower in the second bathroom?” I asked him quietly.

The rakish smile I got made my stomach flip over, even though I was exhausted. “Since our wonderful home knows I don’t want strangers—even nice ones, who are young and helpless—in my bathroom.”

“So instead of the clawfoot bathtub that’s been there since the last century, and the small stove to warm the water, there’s a fully functioning shower?”

“Correct,” he said, rubbing his hand over the worn kitchen counter. “And there’s freshly laundered towels as well because my girl loves me and knows I feel the same.”

The waft of orange pomander at that was amazing. Normally, in the fall and winter, I put simmer pots on all day and night because I could. One of my favorites contained dried orange slices, cloves, nutmeg, star anise, and cinnamon sticks. Not only was it a tidy little protection spell—which wasn’t needed here, but still—it also smelled heavenly. Lorne had loved it, and now, suddenly, without the benefit of a pot, the scent was rolling through the house.

“Oh,” Shelby said from where she was on the floor, and I saw the tears welling in her eyes. “My gran always had orange pomanders every Christmas.”

“I never want to leave here,” Liam said and gave up, lying down on the floor where, of course, there were now folding futons and light cotton blankets. He fell asleep in seconds.

Meijun came out of the bathroom, dubbed that the best shower she’d ever taken in her life, stumbled over to where the others were, in front of the unlit fireplace, and lay down.

“Stay here and protect me, okay?” she asked Argos, curling up beside him, asleep the moment she closed her eyes. If she only knew how truly safe he could keep her.

Jeremy, on the other side of Argos, was facedown, spread out like a starfish, utterly comatose. Shelby rose slowly and shuffled to the bathroom.

Meijun had nearly kept all her dirty clothes together when she was done showering, but she’d stumbled a bit at the end. I collected the shirt and socks that had fallen out of her duffel, put them inside, zipped it up, and put the bag on the hearth seat.

As a good host, I needed to wait for Shelby to emerge before going to take my own shower, so I sat at the kitchen table and watched Lorne check all the doors, make sure the gas stove was off, then turn on the gas lamp beside the sink. He didn’t have to do any of that—the cottage watched over everything, from the hearth roaring all winter to the open windows in the summer—but I think it found his care and worry charming, as evidenced by all the things it did for him, from making sure the floors were warm in autumn to letting the breeze flow through in spring.

Historically, there was no electricity in the cottage, only gas. But since Lorne moved in, there were solar panels on the roof connected to a battery storage system for the TV and new refrigerator. It had been a lot of changes in a short time, but though initially I’d been hesitant to alter the cottage that had been the same for generations, I realized that renovations were healthy, especially when you were making them for a good reason. Or for the one you loved.

Standing in the kitchen, so very thankful that all was well and we were all safe, I turned and looked out the kitchen window above the sink, not wanting anyone to see me cry.

Strong arms wrapped around my waist, hugging me tight to his solid chest, before Lorne rubbed his stubbled cheek over mine.

“You all right?”

“Simply relieved and happy.”

“Me too,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss under my ear.

I leaned in, loving that I could, loving that he was physically and emotionally strong enough to be my rock. “Boy, did I win the lottery with you or what?”

“I dunno, did you?” His tone was teasing, as was his hooded gaze, before he turned me in his arms to face him, tangling his fingers in my hair, then easing me close for a kiss.

A soft throat clearing stopped us, and we both turned to find Shelby standing there, smiling sheepishly.

I sighed. “Good shower?”

“Best one ever,” she said, then bit her bottom lip. “I’m really sorry for killing that very romantic moment, but I also need to tell you that separately you’re both gorgeous, but together it’s like…chef’s-kiss perfection.”

“Then I guess I’ll forgive you for interrupting,” I replied with a smile, taking hold of Lorne’s hand and tugging him to the table. We both sat, and Lorne propped up his chin on his closed fist.

“Are you awake enough for Xan to talk to you?” Lorne asked her. “Or should we wait until tomorrow morning since it’s nearly midnight now?”

She jolted and rushed over to the table. “No, I’m good right this second and would love to—I mean, I can tell from”—she gestured around her as she sat down—“everything in this cottage and everything I can feel that you’re a witch.”

I nodded.

“And there’s so much magic in here, like it’s in the walls, it’s everywhere, and even now, I can hear people walking in other rooms I know aren’t physically here. The rooms, I mean.”

“What?” Lorne asked, looking at me.

“The cottage is…” What should I say to him? “Vast,” I settled on. “You know that. In fact, you commented on it the first day you were here. You said the house—because that’s what you were calling it then—appeared small from the outside.”