Chapter 27 #2
Rowyn’s grandfather nods, concern taking over his expression as he pulls out his pocketwatch.
“I offered to stop by the library so we could walk together,” he mutters to himself and begins to stand from his chair.
Rowyn pauses her serving and I can see the distress reaching her features. Her dinner has the potential to go downhill fast, and it’s her nature to care for everyone.
“Should we look for her?” she asks.
Archer’s gaze finds mine, and I see his uncertainty.
Clover is halfway out of her seat, aware of how important a sibling relationship is, when someone comes rushing around the corner. She’s a clumsy blur of dark brown hair flying in the wind, a bell-sleeve patchwork top, and flare jeans.
“Sorry I’m late!” she yells out. Immediately, her eyes find her brother’s, and her mouth pops open in a small O.
Archer flinches at her words, but gathers his senses to meet her halfway. He places a hand on her arm and watches her intently for a long moment. She ignores him, looking around and catching her breath. When her blue eyes meet her twin’s, she smiles and reassures him. It’s too low to hear.
After a whispered conversation, Archer turns toward the group. He waves his arm out, ready to introduce her.
She jumps in. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she repeats to the group. Looping her arm through her brother’s, she comes up the porch stairs and takes a seat next to his chair. “I’m Sybil, by the way. You’ve already met my brother, it seems.”
Her eyes find me, and a meaningful smirk tugs on her lips. It puts me on the defensive, which is unfair considering I’ve told four people the complicated details of our relationship.
Er, no.
Not relationship—connection.
“Oh!” Rowyn is the first of the coven to speak. “That’s okay—just happy you made it in time for dinner.” With a warm smile, she returns to her task of placing servings on each of our plates.
“Are you okay, dear?” Gale asks. It feels like a loaded question.
“I am actually. I’m more clear headed than I have been in weeks,” she reassures the older man, but turns toward her brother, whose eyes are still drilling a hole in the side of her head. With a sigh, she promises him, “I think I’m exactly where I need to be, Archer.”
He squints before glancing around the table, and Sybil nods resolutely.
“I’ve been looking for you all for a very long time,” she says, looking at me. Her gaze passes over the other witches in the coven—Rowyn, to Esme behind her, to the Foxglove sisters sitting next to me—but they come back to my surprised face.
I’m not sure if the other women are aware of the energy shifting around me. More pieces of the puzzle are clicking into place.
Maybe we were waiting for something we didn’t even know we needed.
“Us?” Clementine asks with her ever-present adolescent snark.
Laughing, Sybil asks, “Is there room in your coven for two Divination Witches?”
My brows flick up and my eyes move to Archer. Even he looks surprised. As her words settle in my mind, I realize she’s here for a reason—a different one than her twin.
I don’t know if Barrett had a twin sister, and I haven’t found a lot of information on his history, unfortunately. There’s no denying that Barrett, a Vexley witch, was definitely a part of the coven.
It was the only ancestral line that hadn’t taken their place back at the Dreaming Willow Inn yet.
It’s so obvious now.
Maybe not in the way Rowyn meant, but I was unintentionally running away from my fate.
Without looking away from Sybil, the inquisitive eyes of everyone else in the room turn to me. I hate that these decisions are mine to make—though I trust the other witches to be honest if they were against this.
I don’t want to say no.
Cursed spirits, I want to say yes.
I never want to be a coven that turns witches away but it’s not only for altruistic reasons, either.
Every minute away from Archer becomes more difficult, like I can’t breathe until I’m in his presence. Our dream state isn’t giving me the same comfort as it did for so long. The tease of something more with him hurts almost as much as the years I went without really being with him.
Yet the idea of spending more time with him—of knowing him on a deeper level—feels like getting my heart ripped out over and over again.
Without second guessing my impulsive decision, I nod. “Of course—especially if you got my call.”
“I’m not sure we—” she gestures toward Archer, “—were called here for the same reasons, but we’re a package deal nonetheless.” There’s a slight lift to her chin at the demand. It’s cute more than it is rude.
“Figured so,” I mutter and give Rowyn an appreciative smile when she finally sits down between her grandfather and Sybil.
“I guess Nestor will just have to keep his shit together,” Clementine announces.
Rowyn scolds, “Don’t cuss,” at the same time Gale asks, “Nestor? As in…?” When none of us answer, he sits up straight and says, “As in Nestor Blackthorn? Please tell me you girls are not dealing with a ghost over there.”
“Um, well,” Rowyn says with furrowed brows, anxiously flattening her napkin on her lap. I wonder if she’s ever been in trouble before.
“It’s complicated.” I grimace, suddenly guilty about lying to the older witch.
“So, you aren’t dealing with your long deceased ancestor?” he asks dryly and takes a sip of his wine. “Then who is Nestor? A fairy locked in the attic? A demon you summoned in the den?”
“Maybe,” Esme says. Her eyes are sparkling with mischief.
“No,” I immediately tell Gale, then look back at Esme. “And there will be no summoning in the cursed inn, Esmeralda.”
Rolling her eyes, she leans back in her chair with a defiant shrug. “The inn isn’t cursed, you are.”
If it weren’t for the interest already piqued in Clementine, followed by Clover’s glare, I’d laugh.
“Ignore her,” I tell everyone who doesn’t know Esme the same way the coven does.
“Why is a ghost surprising when we’re dealing with everything else, like our—” I point between Archer and myself, “—doppelg?ngers? We were all sent into that godforsaken house and expected to deal with it… Well, surprise! We are dealing with it.”
Taking a deep breath, embarrassment begins to seep in at my outburst. The longer everyone quietly stares at me, the more anxiety sets in.
What will they say?
Will Gale want me to leave? He should.
I didn’t need to yell or make a scene.
As the initial embarrassment settles, something else takes its place.
Relief.
Fuck, that felt good. The pressure of my fate is a ton of iron strapped to my shoulders that I’ve been carrying for years.
Maybe they will shame me or banish me—someone could even hit me—and it wouldn’t be anything I haven’t experienced before. Even as I think the words, I know that won’t happen. For the first time in my life, I’m safe enough to explode with emotions and not be villainized for it.
As my breathing finally returns to normal, my eyes bounce around to each person—lingering longer on Archer’s gaze—and I’m only met with concern from each person. Even Sybil, who looks sympathetic.
“I’m—I wasn’t sure if you knew about the doppelg?ngers,” I admit suddenly.
Archer, Sybil, and Gale don’t look surprised, so they must have figured it out at some point.
“Cordelia did share some of the photos with us, so I knew as soon as I saw both of you,” he says and holds his hands in mine and Archer’s directions.
“He’s come to see me once,” Archer says. “In my dreams.”
My brows furrow. He must have been in the meadow at some point.
Sybil clears her throat uncertainly. “I know about the doppelg?ngers, but I’m still new to all of this—” She waves her hand in the air around me.
“Me too, girl,” Esme says and pretends to clink her glass before taking a sip, pulling a smile from Sybil.
Gale looks at me with a friendly but challenging expression. “I think it’s time all five families are on the same page again, don’t you think?”
Biting my cheek, I avoid everyone’s eyes and fiddle with my utensils on the table.
He’s right—and this moment will determine how much like Cordelia I am.
Do I keep my secrets and die with them? Or trust my growing coven?
Finally meeting his eye, I nod and look at the four witches staying at the inn, a silent plea in my eyes.
Don’t mention the eye-for-an-eye theory.