Chapter 28
Archer
Catching Sybil’s suspicious expression, I don’t have to follow her line of vision to know what she’s thinking.
Renata and her coven may have accepted Sybil’s place in it, but I’m not so delusional to believe Renata wants me involved if she can avoid it. The five of them have history that we are not aware of, and clearly secrets they aren’t ready to share with the rest of the group.
I planned on having a conversation with Sybil to tell her that I would stay at the library, and she could go to the inn.
She would fight and insist on staying wherever I am, but having a coven would be good for my sister.
She deserves to see her vision through to the end.
I don’t believe she was brought here simply to join the coven and play innkeeper.
There has to be something else—something profound in Sybil’s fate—that brought her here with me.
Now my concern for Renata’s privacy and boundaries are dwindling.
I trust that she, nor the other witches, would hurt my sister or purposefully put her in harm’s way.
However, I don’t trust Renata’s ability to be forthcoming with information.
Not when it comes to the curse and our role in it.
If she isn’t willing to be honest with the people who want to help her, then fine.
I won’t sit around and hope for the best, not when it involves my family. I’ll use any advantage I can—like living at the inn—even if it means enduring the pain of being near Renata without being with her for the foreseeable future.
“Whatever you want to know,” Renata says.
Sybil snorts next to me but covers it with a cough before catching my eye.
Do you believe her? She silently asks.
It feels wrong to be hesitant toward Renata, but this is my sister. I tip my head to the side in a silent answer.
Not completely.
“Maybe,” Gale cuts in, “I should start first.”
I don’t miss the subtle look of betrayal on Rowyn’s face. She masks it quickly. In her outburst, Renata mentioned something about all of us being sent to the inn. It isn’t hard to piece together that Gale must have encouraged Rowyn to answer the call.
That’s what I have the most questions about at this point.
I didn’t get a whisper in the wind, like Esme had teased at the inn.
I can see how that beckoning may have confused Sybil—or her magic—which resulted in her prophetic trance rather than bringing her straight to the inn’s doorstep like the other witches.
“When Cordelia first arrived in Briarhollow,” Gale says in a sober voice, “She was reluctant to talk to anyone. Eventually, my wife and Edmond broke through her walls. She started to have a life—a happy life—here, but… The signs were always there.”
Glancing at Renata, I catch the water lining her eyelids, but she doesn’t let a tear break free.
“What signs?” Sybil asks.
Everyone’s head turns in our direction, but Renata holds my gaze as she answers, “Of her spiral into madness—the main symptom of being a Gray Witch in the Blackthorn line.”
I can’t pull my eyes away from her, not when all my energy is focused on controlling my breath. It’s the first time we’ve ever really acknowledged the curse and how it affects her. A fierce wave of protectiveness rushes through me, but it’s thwarted by helplessness.
How can I begin to protect Renata when it’s all in her own mind?
Sybil subtly knocks her knee against mine in silent reassurance.
The dream state that Renata and I share is rare.
I never knew it was possible until I experienced it, and Sybil admitted she hadn’t ever dreamwalked to that extent with someone, either.
Without telling me, she started to research the concept and came across a two-hundred page text written by none other than Everly Vexley in December of 1923.
Neither of us had any idea who she was. An old town directory cleared that up.
She was Barrett’s twin sister, and presumably the person who carried on the Vexley family line.
Neither of us are sure why she isn’t mentioned in our family history.
Sybil’s made it her own mission to figure out what happened to Everly.
Thanks to my sister’s meddling, it’s been confirmed that it’s not a coincidence that Renata and I were able to find that connection between us.
It confirms that it’s something deeper than that. Maybe it’s because of the curse, or simply the fates, but Renata and I had no choice in meeting each other eventually. The dream state was the first step in pulling us together.
Witches don’t have fated mates, unless a werewolf is involved. Even then, that is only a wolf thing. The closest we have is the Soul Tie Bond, but the main point of that is we get to choose who we make that promise to.
From what the book said, whatever is tying Renata and I together toes the line between the ancient bond and something fated—there’s no indication of whether it’s as promising as being mates.
It explains why I feel such a strong connection to her. Even before I saw her face or heard her speak, there was always a part of her that felt like she was mine. I sure as hell had given her a piece of myself a decade ago, even if she wasn’t aware of it at the time.
There’s still so much I don’t know about the curse, what affects it could have on Sybil and me, or any of the other women sitting in our small group.
Trying, and failing, to ease the tension, Renata adds, “To be quite honest, sometimes Nestor’s ghost is the most normal thing about me.”
Rowyn scoffs, “Don’t start.”
Renata shrugs nonchalantly, but doesn’t give the indication she’s joking.
“What does that mean?” Sybil asks. “Spiraling into madness can mean different things. It’s often how people would describe my magic.”
Gale gives Renata a moment to answer. As her silence drags on, he does the honor.
“That is your magic, dear. While Divination Witches are not the easiest to understand from an outside perspective, it is very different from what Cordelia experienced, and she didn’t have the doppelg?nger to worry about. ”
Everyone is silent, waiting for Gale’s stories and any clarity he can bring to our situation.
“Hmm,” he muses and twists the wine glass in front of him.
“Cordelia was a private witch, even with the people she trusted most. However, the hallucinations became bad enough for her to go looking for help, especially from my wife and Eden. I heard some of the stories, and correct me if I’m wrong, Renata. ”
He waits for her acknowledgement and she bobs her head.
“There’s no awareness, like your magic grants you,” he tells Sybil. “Cordelia knew when she was in a hallucination—unlike someone suffering from witch’s fray—but she was a victim of it. She would have fallen off a balcony a time or two, had her Chosen not been there to stop her.”
Renata sucks in a breath and looks out into the yard, the color drained from her face.
Watching her for a few seconds, Sybil turns to Gale when the silence grows. “Her Chosen? Cordelia made the Soul Tie Bond?”
I was filled with as much disbelief when I found out, having never met a witch who performed the ritual.
“She did, to Edmond Finkle. My wife believed Cordelia was scared he’d leave her without the bond, but there was no way.
He loved her very much.” He lets out a sigh.
“We all tried to help, but she was a recluse at heart, despite how much she loved this town. She… she started to struggle with reality versus her visions.”
“Gray Witches don’t have visions,” Sybil cuts in.
He nods. “Correct—and that’s the first sign, isn’t it, dear?”
This time, he’s speaking to the only Gray Witch at the table. Reluctantly, Renata agrees and refuses to look at anyone, instead staring at the trees over his shoulder.
“What was the first one you had?” he presses.
Seconds pass, and I’m positive Renata isn’t going to answer. As I wrack my brain, trying to think of any question to keep us on track and move the attention off of her, her quiet answer surprises me.
“The first night I spent there, after deciding to sell the inn,” she says. “I figured someone would be interested in it, despite—or maybe because of—the history. As soon as I made the decision, it started to pour down. I couldn’t even see my hand through the storm.”
“I didn’t realize that was your very first night here,” Rowyn says.
Renata nods. “I went onto the porch and just let the rain fall around me, thinking that Cordelia had a sick sense of humor and far too much time on her hands in the afterlife.”
Gale chuckles. “Now that’s true.”
She cracks a smile. “At one point,” Renata continues, “I closed my eyes and needed a sign—anything—to point me in the right direction. Next thing I knew, lightning struck fifty feet from me and I ran inside, only to find Petra’s journal waiting for me by the fireplace.
That’s what convinced me to stay. And I guess, accidentally send out the beckoning call. ”
Sybil, always one for the small details, says matter-of-factly, “You’d need blood for such a grand spell.”
Rowyn assesses Renata, from her silky white hair down to the silver choker she always wears with a small, protective tourmaline hanging off of it. “That’s correct, but she’d only need a drop if the intentions were strong enough.”
There’s a silent conversation being shared between them, spoken through their eyes and whatever bond the two have formed over the weeks.
Finally, Renata nods. “Right—just a drop or two.” Lifting her hands, she holds out her palms. There are faint scars across the bottom that appear old and healed over.
Until Rowyn asks, “There are scars? But the salve…” Her voice trails off as she zones out, and she seems to be replaying another memory of theirs.
“The scars of blood magic are permanent,” Renata mutters, staring down at her hands now in her lap. “A drop or two doesn’t change that.”