Chapter 39
Archer
All morning, my mind has been focused on one thing—Renata’s soft, pliant body under mine. The way her needy moans poured from her lips so willingly when I had her in my hands. How she curled up in a ball and stayed by my side all night while I read through each journal, some of them twice.
Fine. Technically, there are three things on my mind, but they all revolve around her.
A sick, twisted part of me accepted my fate. I’ve wondered before if ending the curse would result in my death. I never thought it would be the cure though—much less that it would happen at Renata’s hand.
In many ways, Renata’s admission was confirmation for what I already knew. Something I have, unbeknownst to me, been preparing for my entire life.
I meant it when I said I would do anything for her and the coven—especially because it now includes my sister. When it comes to Sybil, her wellbeing will always be placed ahead of mine. Though I have a hard time imagining she will want to stay after my passing.
She deserves to know in advance. I can’t let her walk into that blindly. If I can talk to her, maybe I could convince her to stay with the coven after I’m gone
Petra’s journals are full of details, yet somehow so vague. I need to take notes the next time I read through them so I can piece together her chaotic, fragmented thoughts. One thing I started to suspect is that the curse affected each of the families in the coven.
Maybe not directly—not in the way it has a tight hold on mine and Renata’s fate, but there has to be a reason all five of the families are back at the Dreaming Willow Inn.
I think they tie back to the decisions of the coven members centuries ago. Ones made out of pure desperation and survival after Petra’s death.
All magic has a price though—even the smallest of spells.
Mayumi is the current mayor of Briarhollow, the soul of the town. She’s the reason the town hasn’t disappeared completely. According to Petra’s journals, Mayumi was close with the coven, nearly seen as a member herself. Why didn’t she keep in touch with the families?
The Connors would make the most sense since they never fled but Rhiannon’s close bond with the former wolf pack is a mystery too.
Packs and covens can bind themselves to each other, creating a larger community.
Rowyn hasn’t mentioned any wolf packs in town though, only a few lone omegas. Where did they go?
Unless the end of Vexley Divination Witches is somehow tied to the curse, it could connect Sybil and me to Everly, or maybe even Barrett. That still leaves the Foxgloves and Aguados. Maybe Renata or Esme know more about their family histories, a piece of the puzzle missing.
Shaking my head, I let those thoughts drift off into the oblivion of my mind, finding the memories of last night with Renata much more enjoyable.
Before I can get too lost in my head, the front doors open and the bright sunlight is nearly blinding, silhouetting Gale until they slam behind him.
Sitting in his usual spot, he slides a coffee from the bakery toward me. “How are you today, boy?”
Smiling, I offer a nonchalant shrug. “Can’t complain.”
He gives me a long, assessing onceover before lifting an eyebrow. “You look like the cat that got the cream, if you ask me.”
I bite back a laugh, not wanting to talk about Renata that way. I don’t miss the protective look Gale is wearing. Since the coven is Rowyn’s family, he sees it as his responsibility to care for all of them.
I ask, “How long will you be in today? It’s been slow but I was hoping to go down to the basement. Look through some of those texts again.”
“You’ve read damn near every book down there,” he says.
Rolling my eyes, I slip my hands in my pockets. There are at least three hundred books down there, so I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface.
He waves his hand in the air. “Go on down. Why don’t you bring a few up and I’ll take a look through them again too. Have you learned anything new?”
I consider how much to tell him. “Yeah—or at least something has been confirmed.” He raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to continue. “Barrett was in love with Petra. And she loved him just as much.”
“There’s never been any indication that Petra wasn’t loyal to Nestor,” Gale says.
“She was,” I insist and cross my arms, leaning forward on the counter.
The weight of the unraveling truth is heavier by the day.
“Nestor was missing for over three years. Grief can bring two unlikely people closer.” Looking up and taking a deep breath, I add, “Renata and I went to Edmond’s home. Poppy took her, and we found Jezebel.”
He sits up straighter. “Jezebel? She’s okay?”
“It’s like she was waiting for Renata, and she’s been at the inn since.”
He relaxes and nods.
“While we were there, Renata found something else. A note Cordelia had left for herself.”
He waits, but I can’t say the words, instead grabbing a notepad and writing it.
Renata? Eye-for-an-eye?
“That was it,” I say. “It says enough.”
The words curdle in the air between us. His brows furrow as the implications begin to settle. Gale’s frustration begins to visibly show.
“Bullshit,” Gale slams his open palm on the counter. “I refuse to believe it’s that simple.”
Crossing my arms, I sarcastically add, “Yeah, because a young witch having to kill her lover, sent to her by the fates, is so simple.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Gale sternly argues. “And you know it.”
“It feels too obvious,” I agree and let out a deep breath. “However, it is one of the oldest forms of retribution between witches. You can’t tell me it isn’t a great possibility.”
He looks at me with sadness, like he’s already grieving me while I stand before him.
“Fine, yes. It’s an option.” He shakes his head and determination reaches his eyes once more. “I’m not ready to accept that yet. It begs the question—where did Nestor go?”
“That’s what I’ve been wondering,” I admit. “The Lost Hero has a few theories, but hardly anything is confirmed. The author’s personal belief is that Nestor left to retrieve everoot.”
“He went to see Calista?” Gale asks in disbelief.
I shrug, frustrated. “It’s not confirmed. He could have, but for what? What could have been so urgent…” I trail off.
Cassia Foxglove.
Nestor cared for her a great deal, especially as he and Petra were growing apart after her mother’s death.
From Petra’s recount, Nestor wasn’t ready for the responsibility of a coven, and his eyes began to wander.
When he didn’t return, Petra grew closer to Cassia, mourning her husband and her friend.
When Nestor didn’t return, Cassia’s fate was sealed.
“Oh my Gods,” I mutter and clumsily sit on the stool.
“What?” Gale asks, coming around the corner. “Are you okay?”
My mind is reeling. “I think Nestor did go to Calista. What took so long is anyone’s guess, but Cassia Foxglove was sick with decay fever, and they were… Well, they were close.”
It takes a moment for realization to dawn on him. He mutters, “I didn’t realize how dysfunctional the great coven was.”
I huff out a breath. “They were so young.” He gives me a look like, you’re too young. “Petra was only eighteen when she took over the coven. I think they made a lot of mistakes, but perhaps they did their best.”
“Is that enough of a reason to sacrifice your own life?” he asks earnestly.
Thinking it over, I say, “Maybe. I hope so.”
With a sigh, he waves his arm toward the back of the atrium. “Go bring some of those books up here. Let your magic lead you to the answers, Archer.”
Nodding, I turn on my heel and do my best to listen to the elderly witch, and my magic.
After a few minutes, I make my way back upstairs with five books that seem unassuming enough, but they call to my magic with every step I take away from the basement.
The Founders of Briarhollow, 1700
Herbs for Any Infliction, Infection, and Illness, 1788
The Story of an Exiled Succubus, 1798
Ancient Rituals of the Heart, 1809
Forgotten Tales of Briarhollow’s Infamous Coven, 1952
When I drop the pile on the desk, Gale tentatively grabs Ancient Rituals of the Heart and flips through it, a meaningful expression tugging on his weathered features.
“Not sure if this one is a clue,” he says with amusement, “or a sign.”
Furrowing my brows, I look at him as he turns the book around and passes it to me.
Grabbing another book, he settles in his seat and lets the words of long-dead witches consume him. My eyes drop to the open book that Gale pushed toward me, and my heart stops.
The Soul Tie Bond.
Renata—as my Chosen.
The thought teases me, just out of reach of my reality.
It’s hard to daydream about what a future with Renata would look like without becoming consumed by it.
Maybe we would make the Soul Tie Bond and settle down at the inn.
We could restore it, travel around the world, and have a family.
There are an endless amount of possibilities that make me want to throw everything else to the wind.
It passes quickly, but maybe Gale’s right—no one is ready to accept my fate yet.
If there’s a small chance I can be with Renata in this life, not whatever realm our souls travel to next, I want that.
If I can’t have that life with her, I want to guarantee our spirits will always find each other so that maybe in another timeline, we get to choose our fates together.
When the sun has fully set and the library has been closed for over an hour, I clear my throat, drawing his attention. Gale’s head tilts, and he realizes how late it is, too. In a silent agreement, we start cleaning and closing up shop for the night.
Both of us made it through a book and a half, but I plan to scour each one myself. Gale offers to help me close down the library since it was technically his shift today. I usher him out and promise I don’t mind.
My reasons are selfish, having nothing to do with wanting to make sure the older witch can get the rest he needs. Without his watchful eyes, I slip one of the grimoires into my bag, knowing Gale would have my neck for taking any of these books out of the safety of the library.
It’s well past dinner time when I get back to the inn, so I decide to make a quick stop in the kitchen before I shower and hunt down Renata.
After last night, I’m not giving her excessive space anymore.
It doesn’t benefit either of us, and it feels impossible now that I know what it’s like to have her pressed against me.
A soft smile blooms when I step into the kitchen and realize the savory scent drawing me closer is from a plate Rowyn left on the stove to stay warm, not the lingering fragrance of the dinner I missed.
I couldn’t have picked a better coven for my sister.
Despite everything else, it is impossible to carry any regret for coming to Briarhollow and getting tangled up with the gorgeous blonde witch I would willingly follow to death’s door.
Taking the plate and a glass of water upstairs, I figure I can scarf the food down before I shower and go find the temptress herself. When I open my bedroom door, I don’t expect to find her sitting on the rug, reading through another one of Petra’s journals.
My lips start to lift at the sight of her, waiting for me in her silky little nightgown. It’s short-lived elation once her eyes meet mine, and all I see is anger.
Quickly setting the plate and glass down, I slowly stride over to her and drop to my knees.
“Renata,” I murmur and brush my fingers along her cheek. “What’s wrong?”
“You left,” she spits out.
Confused, I shake my head and try to pull her to me. I’m almost convinced she’s hallucinating until she places a hand on my chest, pushing me away.
“You promised you wouldn’t do that again, and after last night…” She says, her words trailing off in embarrassment as she looks to the fireplace.
Tilting my head, trying to catch her eye, I say, “I wasn’t abandoning you, Little Wisp.” She crosses her arms and refuses to look at me. The pink painting her cheeks is proof of her discomfort at her own outburst.
I cup her jaw and turn her face to look at me. “I went to open the library. I’m always the first one in on Saturdays.”
“You left,” she says again. Her voice is smaller, more raw and vulnerable.
“I did,” I agree and slide her body closer to mine. “But I didn’t abandon you. There’s a difference.”
She bites her lip as a tear slides down. “It felt like you might.”
I let out a dry laugh and wipe under her eye. “I would be a stupid man to leave you.”
“Or maybe a smarter one,” she whispers. Her eyes are wide as she stares up at me, waiting for the blow that isn’t going to come.
“Intelligence has nothing to do with our fate,” I remind her. “ For the first time in my life, I have something to truly live for—no matter how long that may be.”
Silent tears fall down her cheeks and she wraps her arms around my chest, holding me close until her anxiety begins to fade. She begins to pull away, but I stop her.
“I’ll wake you up next time,” I promise her. “ If I’m going to be home late, I’ll ca—”
She chuckles when I cut myself off. “Yeah, it’s pretty old-school around here. Did you know they were still using dial-up until it was officially canceled?”
Leaning back on the bed frame, I keep her close and laugh. “No, I didn’t. I can send Whisper next time I stay late.”
Nodding, she lays her head on my chest and watches the fireplace. “That would be good,” she agrees. “We probably should get landlines or something here at some point.”
I want to tell her that we will make sure the Dreaming Willow Inn is everything the coven hopes for it to be, but I might not be a part of it in a few weeks.
They will make it happen.
From the way Renata’s body begins to lock up again, she’s realizing the same thing.
“Hey,” I murmur against her neck and place a kiss there. “Let’s take a shower and finish my dinner.”
It takes her a few moments, but she slowly stands, leading us to the connected bathroom.
Neither of us push the physical boundaries while we shower, reveling in the simple intimacy of the moment.
When we crawl into bed, we spend the next few hours lost in each other again.
We share our bodies and explore each other in more ways than just sexual, and I silently curse the fates for their cruelty.