Page 10 of Moth to a Flame

“You’ve got that right. I have deliveries to make.”

I peered up at him. His red eyes were ringed with exhaustion, and I felt his worry creeping through him and then through me.

Next step, Lucia. What’s the next step?

“Change of plans. You’re coming with me.”

“Into the house?” he asked.

“Into the house. Please don’t touch anything. I’ve got poisonous plants everywhere. I’ll find my notes, and I’ll need your help with something. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He said it without any hesitation, and that same pleased feeling rolled through my chest again. This time, it was a lot harder to shut down as I really got a look at his whole six-foot-something frame in his tight motorcycle jacket beneath the starlight. He was watching my face when it happened, and I saw his mouth twitch.

“Walk.”

He fell in beside me on the path, matching my pace exactly, and I kept my eyes on the dark shape of the house so I wouldn’t have to look at him, because that wasn’t leading to anything productive. And right now, being productive was the only defense I had from completely breaking down.

CHAPTER FIVE

Fortune Teller Aesthetic

She was kind of bossy, this mysterious, sad witch. I followed her up the dark stairs to her ancient house.

The house was impressive. We stepped inside, and twin staircases flanked the entry hall, dark, ornate banisters curling along the curved stairs like the vines in her greenhouse. A richly patterned wool rug covered solid oak floors, and damask velvet wallpaper coated the walls. Numerous family portraits dating back centuries stood like sentries on either side. Almost all their subjects had light strawberry-blonde or flaming orange hair like Lucia.

Her family.

Above the main fireplace hung the most recent. Lucia sat on a red velvet chaise, younger, perhaps in her teens. Her eyes were bright and her smile wide, which, based on my short time with her, was hard to imagine. Her mother had the same red hair, although hers was pulled back into a tight bun, and they shared the same freckles. Her mother’s other hand rested on the shoulder of a boy with strawberry-blonde hair. He was smirking, and something about it set me off.

Lucia must have felt the shift in my mood because she glanced over, and I felt her stomach drop as her gaze landed on the portrait.

“Follow me.” She waved me through a narrow doorway, and I didn’t question it, especially when apparently my only other option was experiencing agonizing pain.

She led me into the kitchen.

It was…kind of a fucking disaster.

Everywhere I looked, small brown and green bottles glinted like beetle shells, and drying herbs and plants hung from every available surface. The sink was full of dirty dishes. The black cat-bat creature from the greenhouse jumped up next to the incriminating pile and meowed, and I felt her flush with embarrassment.

“Sorry, I don’t have many guests.”

“I live out of my motorcycle. I’m not judging.”

And I wasn’t. If anything, I kinda liked that this bossy, uptight witch had a secret mess. Made her seem more human. She busied herself sorting through a pile of what looked like old mail, her embarrassment sitting at a low simmer beneath her skin.

It was kind of cute.

She found what she was looking for in the pile, an old Post-it note, walked over to the wall, and…took a rotary phone down, holding the receiver to her ear.

This girl didn’t have a cell phone? Or was this part of some witch aesthetic I wasn’t up to date on?

She held the receiver between her ear and shoulder and waved me over.

“I need you to talk to her,” she said.

“What? Why?”