Chapter 19
Renata
As soon as we get back to the Dreaming Willow Inn, I make a beeline to the back garden, following the soft murmurs and cheerful giggles of the other three women.
Rowyn is hot on my heels the entire way.
Her anxiety was growing the entire drive back, but she never said anything.
I appreciate her ability to be silent in stressful situations more than she may ever realize.
When I come around the corner, three heads whip in my direction. They’re sitting on the back patio, spread out on a blanket and enjoying the warm day.
“Everything okay?” Esme asks in her naturally syrupy voice.
“Family meeting,” I tell them, the word tickling my tongue. Ever since Rowyn used the term, it’s felt right. Not even in my own family did we ever use that word, it was always coven. “Now.”
Without waiting to see their reactions, I turn around and throw the double doors open. I stop in front of the lit fireplace and wait with my arms crossed.
Other than the first day that Rowyn cast the fire, I’ve never paid much attention to all of them throughout the house. Not even the one in my bedroom. Now that I am, I can’t help but wonder if the flame is somehow getting bigger? Stronger?
Rowyn’s magic would have been quietly keeping them all aflame for weeks now.
The incantation needed to light the hearth is something different, taken from a well of ancient power that every witch has but with limited access.
It wouldn’t drain us the same way these small house fires should be doing to her, especially for a witch who has declared herself as weak as Rowyn has.
It’s her voice that pulls me out of my thoughts, letting them drift off to be forgotten in favor of the matter at hand.
“Nothing major to worry about,” Rowyn says in comfort to Clementine, wrapping an arm around her. Shooting me a sharp look, she adds, “Right?”
Nodding, I promise them, “There’s been a sudden change in plans, but we’re making these decisions together.”
A resolute calm settles around us at the first step in the direction of a true coven. They had no reason to believe my previous promise, but now my words have actions to back it up.
“I… don’t know where to start,” I admit, glancing at Rowyn. “The beckoning spell or the photo?”
As if we both remembered the significance of said photo, she jumps out of her seat next to Clementine.
“Where is it?” she asks.
Racking my brain, I try to remember where I set it.
“The nightstand to the right of my bed, I think.” Biting my lip for a second, I add, “It’s probably tucked into a journal. May as well bring that down too.”
Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t say anything as she runs to get the items.
“Esme,” I say as I turn my attention to the group. “You mentioned something when you first arrived. I forgot about it. Now, I need to know.”
She sits up straight and looks around the group. “Sure, Renata. Whatever questions you have, I’ll answer. There’s nothing to hide.”
I don’t miss the tone of confusion and betrayal.
Sitting on the coffee table across from them, I shake my head and pat her knee reassuringly. “I’m not accusing you of anything. But you said you hadn’t come because of the call itself. Your grandmother’s demand that you answer it.”
Realization dawns on her, and she nods. “That I needed to take our family’s place back here. Something like that, yeah.”
“What does that mean? Does your family have a history with the Dreaming Willow?”
Her brows furrow. “I assumed so—I didn’t ask a lot of questions.”
That doesn’t surprise me. Esme has turned out to be the most easy-going person of the group. She’s not only open to any new adventure, but she’s excited for them.
“She’s never asked a lot of me, nor has she ever been crazy about my free-spirit. So, when she told me to go, I did. Didn’t even think twice about it,” Esme admits.
Regardless of what brought her here, I’m thankful for her company.
“What about you?” I ask in a more gentle tone, facing the Foxglove sisters now. “How did you get the call? Or know to come?”
“Our granny talked about the Dreaming Willow all the time,” Clementine answers. There’s a layer of sad nostalgia to her voice. “She’d never been here, but her mom passed down stories of our ancestors’ time here, history she learned from her mom, who learned from her mom. And so on.”
“How did you know?” I ask again.
Clover shrugs sheepishly. “The wind carried the message to us. We had been sitting in the small sunroom in our family’s home late one night, and we both just… heard it.”
Clementine nods in agreement as Clover whispers, “‘The Dreaming Willow needs you… She needs you… Go now…’”
“I swear it was our granny,” Clementine adds. “And the gentle nudge was mom, wasn’t it?”
She’s looking at her sister now, needing confirmation that she didn’t imagine this interaction with her kin who’s passed.
After dealing with my deceased ancestors, I have no room to question this. Not that I’d want to—I believe them.
“It felt like it,” Clover answers softly and wraps an arm around her sister.
“Well,” Rowyn says, startling me. I hadn’t realized she was back in the room and listening to the last half of our conversation. “I only had to come from about three streets over, and the instruction also came from my grandfather, but my gran had a hand in it all too.”
I offer her a small, warm smile that feels alien to my features. It dies quickly when I quietly admit, “I’ve had a feeling since Rowyn arrived that the spell didn’t call out to random people. My blood mixed with the curse or the house, but there’s a reason it’s all of you.”
“Then it’s time you start to realize you aren’t in this alone anymore,” Clementine adds with an eye roll.
Turning to her, I let out a low laugh and look around the group.
“Yeah, I think you’re right about that.”
“Wait,” Clover interrupts, “What’s that?”
I know what she’s pointing at before I even turn around, but I look at Rowyn anyway. She’s clutching Petra’s journal in front of her chest, and there are two photos sticking out.
“I forgot I saved that one too,” I say and grab the book from Rowyn’s hands.
She’s startled by the quick movement, but easily lets go of the journal, taking a seat next to me on the table. As soon as I pull the two photos out from the place they were holding for me, she gasps in surprise.
“Oh, I didn’t even think about this,” Rowyn admits. “Other than she’s one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever seen—which now double checks out.”
With a teasing, sly expression she raises her eyebrows and tilts her head in Esme’s direction.
Throwing her head back, Esme laughs and asks, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She’s damn well aware of the amount of sensuality she emanates, even for a Love Witch.
“To be fair,” I tell Rowyn, “You start to think about the resemblance between people much more after you’ve seen your own doppelg?nger.”
Esme snatches both photos out of my hand, and I don’t put up a fight. I dread the thought of looking at that photo and realizing that Rowyn is right—Barrett’s face was always visible.
Or worse, it still isn’t visible to me.
I don’t care much about an eternity of never seeing Barrett. However, I dread the thought of what that could mean for the man in my dreams, and if I’ll ever see his face again.
“Do you think there’s more?” Clementine asks hopefully while peeking over Esme’s shoulders.
I cross my arms and stare at the back of the other photo in Esme’s grasp. “There was a box full of them, and Petra’s coven was the last one to live here. It’s been my estranged, lonely family members ever since.”
Looking at me over the small polaroid, Esme asks, “What’s the significance with this photo? I mean, not that we couldn’t stare at that gorgeous face of yours all day, but we already knew about your doppelg?nger an—”
“Petra,” I cut in. “Her name was Petra Blackthorn.”
All of them must hear the sadness mixed into my voice, because they offer me sympathetic looks.
I’m still figuring out where this level of grief is coming from and which parts of it belong to Petra. I gesture in Esme’s direction, silently asking her to go on.
“We already knew about your connection to Petra and your new friend—er, Nestor, right?”
“Yes, Nestor. I’m still working through this—” I hold up the journal, “—but he’s my great-great-great-grandfather. The family tree is murky. From my understanding, Cordelia, the woman who left the inn to me, is my great-aunt.”
Clover and Esme nod, still confused, but having sympathy for the complex history I’m currently wading through.
Clementine, on the other hand, is losing patience by the second. “Still doesn’t explain why the two of you came in here with your panties in a twist about this thing.”
She grabs the photo out of her sister’s hand and waves it around in the air.
“Can you see both men in that photo?” I ask.
Almost instantly, she stops moving and looks at me like I’m crazy.
“Yeah, anyone without vision problems can see that there are three people in this one.” She holds it out in front of her, as if to double check she isn’t losing her sight.
“I can see there are three people,” I affirm. “However, the man on the left’s face was obscured to me the last time I looked at that.”
Slowly, her eyes move to mine, but she doesn’t say anything for a long moment.
Looking at the photo, then back to me, Clover asks, “And now? What changed?”
“I haven’t looked at it yet bu—”
As quick as lightning, Clementine twists the photo in her hand and holds it up in front of my face. I blink in surprise, trying to regain focus on my new field of vision.
When I do, I see him.
Barrett.
Definitely not the man from my dreams.
They are identical as far as I can tell, yet I’m positive I could pick them out from a line up with my eyes closed. That’s how different they are despite sharing a face and part of a soul.