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“I’m sage smudging,” I say instead, continuing to wave the bundle around me.
“What? Never mind,” he says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and dropping his gaze to the floor. “So, you aren’t in danger, then?” He lifts his head, scanning the space around him like he’s searching for something.
“Um, no?” I say, more in question. I narrow my eyes, studying him as he continues to search the room.
“Walk with me?” I ask, motioning toward the stairs.
“What?” he asks, confused.
“I need to smudge upstairs. Come on,” I say, heading up the stairs as I wave the sage in the air around me.
He dramatically coughs as the smoke curls around him, and I roll my eyes. Heading up the stairs, I resume my humming. Shortly after, I hear Callum following behind me, smiling to myself as he does.
12
Callum
Lydia Aston is mayhem dressed in sunshine.
My mind is slipping, and this time, it led me right to Lydia’s front door. I was sitting at home, minding my own damn business, when I felt the urge to go to her. Images of Lydia lying on that damn storage unit floor flashed through my mind again, followed by flashes of her in the place of Kaila.
I thought that Lydia was in real danger. I couldn’t even stop myself from coming here if I wanted to. The last thing that I remember is climbing on my bike and starting the engine. The next thing I know, I’m knocking on her goddamn front door. Which means that now I’m losing time.
What the fuck is happening to me?
The inside of Lydia Aston’s home is exactly what you’d expect it to be, and yet nothing like you could imagine. It’s beautiful, equal parts cozy and chaotic. The sofa is a deep green, L-shaped design overflowing with mismatched throw pillows of various shades. Glancing over at a large bookshelf built into the back wall of the living room, I take in the shelves that are stuffed with books of all shapes and sizes. Little trinkets are scattered amongst the books—the kind you’d typically find inside an old thrift shop.
As I take in the space, I notice that there’s not a single tidy object in this room. The state of unorganized chaos makes my skin burn with unease. I spot an altar table against the wall of the staircase, the top littered with all sorts of hippie shit. One of the tall white candles is lit, the flame dancing on a silent breeze. I can only imagine what all of that shit is for as I scrunch my nose at the various items. The little witch in question moves toward her staircase after asking me to “join” her. Join her for what, exactly? Who the fuck knows.
The smell of jasmine and sage fills the air around me as I walk through the smoky haze. I cough a couple of times, earning a chuckle from the fun-sized brunette in front of me. I follow her up the staircase without question, watching as she waves the bundle of sage around in the air like it’s going to exorcise my patience. Maybe she thinks the smoke will hide the fact that she’s insane. Either way, I continue to follow her up and up and right into her fucking bedroom. She waves the sage around until the room is doused in the same hazy aesthetic as downstairs. I lean against her door frame, shoving my hands deep into my pockets as I wait for her to finish.
The oversized, vintage T-shirt she’s wearing rides up her thighs when she extends the sage over her head. My eyes catch on the way her nipples pebble against the thin fabric, revealing that she isn’t wearing a bra. I tilt my head, studying them. Though the shirt is hiding them remarkably well, I can tell they’d probably fit nicely in my hands.
Shit. Why is she so distracting right now? It’s especially bad in my current mental state. I feel like I can’t trust any of my thoughts right now, and it makes me want to run. I decide on distraction instead.
“So,” I say, earning her attention, “why are you … what did you call it? Smoodging?” I ask. She rolls her eyes, laughing. The sound of it almost makes me grin. Almost.
“Shhh, I’m trying to concentrate. And it’s smudging, silly.”
She waves the bundle toward me, and I scoot away from it, causing her to laugh again. God, that sound is going to be the death of me. Bury me six feet under, because fuck do I want to hear it again.
“I’m cleansing the space,” she says, setting the sage down on a decorative ceramic plate on a shelf in the far corner of her room.
I cough a few more times, making it sound a tad more dramatic than it is. It works, and this time, I can’t fight the grin that pulls at the corner of my mouth when she laughs. I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing, or why I’m doing it at all. I’m blaming the music box and whatever the fuck it did to me. That seems like a reasonable scapegoat.
“Don’t tell me the big manly man is about to be taken down by a little smoo—”
She turns, her words and laughter coming to a halt as her eyes lock onto mine. She drops her gaze to my mouth briefly. I’m still smiling. Shit. She stares at me for a long moment. It makes me uneasy, and I look away, dropping the smile as I clear my throat.
“So, what are you cleansing? Don’t tell me you believe in ghosts,” I say, changing the subject. It takes her a moment to register the switch, and when she speaks, it comes out a bit raspy. Fuck, why did it sound so sexy?
“Spirits, ghosts, unwanted negative energy,” she says. “You know, normal stuff.” Lydia Aston believes in ghosts. Why am I not the least bit surprised by this revelation?
“Ah, yes. Of course,” I say, tilting my head. “Should’ve known.”
“Ha, ha,” she says mockingly. “So, are you finally going to tell me why you’re here?”
She plops down on top of her mattress, lying sideways. I nearly forget the reason why I’m here entirely as my eyes roam over the contours of her body. In fact, I can’t seem to remember a damn thing.
