Chapter 33
Renata
Standing outside Edmond’s house, I stare at Poppy sitting on the mailbox across from me. A nearly identical image to the first day I arrived to Briarhollow.
Except this time, Poppy isn’t rousing and angry at the sight of me. She brought me here.
I didn’t try to sleep last night, too afraid of facing the nightmares alone after what happened at the library. There wasn’t an ounce of desire to talk to anyone, not ready to rehash my hallucination, but knowing I would need to.
So, I decided to go with the coward’s choice and spend the day in the community garden. It’s the best place to get lost for a few hours.
Poppy had other plans.
Her blurry figure came into view through the kitchen window.
I’m used to being followed by her now. I’m not sure why she chooses to stay close to me, not when Rowyn lives here and they’ve known each other for years.
Poppy is less temperamental than the first day we met and seems to be warming up to me, despite the physical distance she tends to keep. I don’t mind her.
Until today when she swooped down as soon as I walked off the porch, flapping her wings at my head.
The little beast woke up and decided today was the day she’d finally attack.
I ran toward the gate, trying to get away from her, and the closer I got to the street, the less aggravated she was.
When she only berated me for making or missing a turn, it was clear she was trying to guide me somewhere.
There weren’t a lot of possibilities, but I still didn’t expect her to bring me here—into Edmond and Cordelia’s home.
The shock is microscopic compared to my gratitude. There weren’t any signs that Poppy would allow me to go inside, so I hadn’t tried again out of respect for her and her bonded witch. It doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about Cordelia though.
It’s unlikely that anything inside the house will clue me into our family or curse—not if she was as secretive as Rowyn has said—but it can give me a look into her life.
Cordelia had everything I have always desired, and am now getting a small taste of.
She and Sylvie Connor didn’t have a coven as full as mine, but they had friends.
An entire town of people who cared about them and have continued to keep their memories alive.
Cordelia made the Soul Tie Bond with her heart’s Chosen.
She lived for decades, happily it seems, before she succumbed to her mind’s deterioration.
And Poppy is offering me a chance to get to peek into her life.
I rapidly blink back tears and stare at the house, anxious to go inside. From the way Poppy shifts her weight, she’s getting impatient. She’s giving me an olive branch, one I doubt will be offered again.
Taking a deep breath, I sense his presence before I hear the roar of his motorcycle. Letting my head fall to the side, I watch him slow to a stop a few feet from me.
Cursed spirits, removing a helmet and getting off a motorcycle shouldn’t be as hot as Archer is making it.
I can’t look away. His forearms flex as he grips the bottom of the headgear, shaking out his messy hair.
The dark jeans complement his lean, muscular frame as he lifts a leg and pulls it over the seat.
The fabric bunches around his upper thighs at the movement, bringing my attention right to his crotch.
Dear Gods, I chastise myself and look away quickly.
Clearly not fast enough by his satisfied chuckle.
My eyes squint into a glare directed at the house, not wanting to see the expression that matches his laugh.
With a sigh, I try to hide my grief over Cordelia and cross my arms. When he stops next to me, I ask with exasperation, “Where are you going?”
He gives me an assessing onceover. His bright eyes meet mine. “Back to the inn.”
I roll my eyes and look back at Edmond’s house. Whisper slinks between his legs to sit by our feet, and they stare with me.
“I didn’t expect to find you here,” he says and looks around, “on a random street.”
My lips lift a little, but drop just as quickly. “Mmm,” I hum in acknowledgment.
I feel his gaze on me for a few more seconds before he turns forward again. “Are you going to say hello?”
I wish I could.
Glumly, I shake my head. “This was Edmond and Cordelia’s home. Poppy was his familiar.”
He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes slide back to me, focusing for a long moment. I’m not sure how freely Archer uses his magic, but I wouldn’t be upset if he used it to probe further. Maybe he could disentangle these sensations.
Unsure why, I continue. “We were estranged. Poppy delivered a letter to me a couple weeks after she died. I wasn’t welcome inside when I first arrived.”
“How did she die?” he asks, a little dazed. When I turn to look at him, his Adam’s apple bobs, and his eyes are still on me, glazed and unfocused.
Gale hasn’t told the Vexley twins about our only working theory, but I wonder what he knows.
The town’s belief that Cordelia’s death being tied to the curse’s effect on her mind isn’t a secret.
He’s trying to solve the same puzzle we are.
I’ve gotten used to talking about the curse and its effects, but I understand having to grapple with the reality of losing each other when we’ve only just found each other.
“Technically speaking,” I answer slowly, “She succumbed to witch’s fray.”
Our gazes hold onto each other while he puts the pieces together, like I did when Rowyn said nearly the same thing to me.
He swallows. “Gale said the curse affects Blackthorn witches similarly to witch’s fray.” I raise my eyebrows at him, not willing to say it. After a moment, he nods in resignation. “So, Cordelia passed away from the deterioration of her mind due to the curse.”
“Edmond followed her soon after,” I finish his thought.
It’s obvious that Edmond bound his soul to hers with the intent of chasing her spirit into every life. It’s one I can’t let go of—one of the very few things to always spark that ember of hope into something more.
It’s always thwarted by some reminder of my reality but it always comes back, stronger even.
I try to find the courage. “I need to go inside—I want to,” I say with more force and look back at the house.
He watches me for a long moment, taking in my stare-off with a raven, and an inanimate building.
Hesitantly, he offers, “I can go in with you.” I take in his words and look at him.
My eyes rove over every detail of the face I’ve spent years trying to imagine, considering.
His deep blue eyes are sincere, and his tousled hair complements the morning scruff along his jaw and cheeks, thickening over his lip.
It’s the perfect length that wouldn’t be itchy against my skin, just rough enough to feel good.
He’s so handsome, it hurts to look at him.
There’s nothing else I ever want to spend my time doing again.
He tilts his head, giving me a small, meaningful smile to get my attention back. “Only if you want,” he adds.
I do want that.
The words don’t come out, but one, weak bob of my head is enough.
He stands straighter and opens the gate, waiting for me to take the first step.
Pulling Hexate off of my shoulders, she coils around my hands as I hold her close to my chest. It’s all the strength I need until Whisper gently brushes along my legs, adding to the support.
Guilt builds in my stomach from accepting Archer’s support and allowing him this glimpse into my life. It’s going to breed false hope for him. It certainly threatens to do so for me, even if I’m the one keeping him at arm’s length.
It’s impossible to stay away from him though.
I tell myself I didn’t take sleeping tonics so he wouldn’t end up back at the inn. Now that he lives there, I insist to myself he’s only there for Sybil, that I shouldn’t go seek him out.
Staying away is one challenge, but declining his offers of time together is a much harder disciple.
At the top of the stairs, I look around for a key. When I don’t find anything, Archer steps closer and turns the knob.
“Must be charmed,” he murmurs close to my ear. He hasn’t touched me today, not even the gentle caress of my cheek he seems to be so fond of, but his close proximity is enough to light my veins on fire.
I clear my throat and walk inside, momentarily surprised by how cute the quaint house is.
It’s not large, but it’s spacious and cozy.
We’re in a small foyer between the pastel orange-painted kitchen and a sun-lit reading room.
From here, I can see a den tucked behind the bright, cozy room.
There’s a staircase and another door in front of us.
“Rowyn mentioned he was a Hearth Witch,” I tell Archer, my voice as low as his was. Turning my head, I whisper the words over my shoulder.
“Makes sense,” he says. “What are you looking for?”
My mouth twists to the side, thinking it over. “I’m not sure. There could be clues about our families, possibly, I’m not sure.”
He watches me and asks, “But that’s not what you’re here for?”
Divination powers can manifest in a multitude of ways, and I have an inkling that Archer’s lean toward perception.
When we’re dreaming, I can pick up on his emotions without seeing him.
That’s not an ability that comes naturally to me.
It’s similar to my connection with Petra, but that connection has always been clear, at least since I saw a photo of her.
Now, he can read me like an open book. He’s too keen on every shift in my demeanor.
I don’t mind it. I’m not great at articulating my emotions, so it’s nice he can figure it out on his own.
“No,” I answer. “I just want to get to know her. I would have loved to meet her.”
He pauses in the middle of the foyer, waiting for my next move.