Chapter 42
Archer
There’s a tense, stale air in the room over dinner the following evening. Everyone is on high alert after Renata almost fell off the balcony last night.
More like she was about to throw herself off.
Just thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach.
Rowyn has been keeping a close eye on Renata all day—insisting that she needed help baking a few dozen loaves of the bread she likes to take to some of the elderly town members.
Sybil was with them most of the day and insisted that they haven’t broached the subject of last night, but she’s been giving me a strange, assessing look since I got home.
Clementine is complaining about the “old, snotty” Green Witch who is the head of the garden committee; Rowyn dignifies her claim that Mr. Oleander really is the worst.
Clover is watching her sister and glances toward Renata every few minutes. Esme is watching Clover with concern but she, too, is worried about what happened last night.
Renata is quiet—more so than usual. She typically enjoys sparring with Esme and always has excitement saved for Clementine. Tonight, she’s sitting in the chair next to me, picking at her food.
Toward the end of the meal, Clementine’s words trail off, and she seems nervous at her inability to continue filling the silence. We all look around at each other, except for Renata who is staring at her plate.
Opening my mouth, I try to think of something to say but it closes after a few seconds.
I’m not brave enough to say the words yet—not when Renata’s sad eyes are peeking at me through her lashes, or when my sister’s expression looks distraught.
She doesn’t have an idea about what’s to come, but she knows something isn’t right.
Letting out a breath, Renata does her best to straighten her shoulders. When it doesn’t feel good enough, she leans back in her chair and wraps an arm around her stomach.
“So, about last night…” She starts.
After a few silent seconds, Esme does what she does best—brings light to any conversation. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one a few times.”
Renata lets out a small chuckle, and it’s the most lively sound I’ve heard from her today. Looking a little more relaxed, she starts from the beginning, telling us details I haven’t heard yet.
“I was waiting for Archer in my room,” she says, and her cheeks warm.
This time, none of the other witches tease her, and I offer them a quick, appreciative glance.
“I couldn’t sleep, and I was restless. I went down to the conservatory.
At first, things were normal, but I blinked and then… I was there with them.”
She quickly works through every moment she can recall before she closes her eyes and shakes her head, the memories of Petra’s emotions lingering. “Archer found me before the reunion happened.”
She offers me a faint smile and grabs my hand, setting them in my lap.
I try to hide my surprised satisfaction. She was openly clinging to me last night. In the light of day, I wasn’t sure whether she would retreat back to the feigned secrecy we’ve kept.
Giving her a squeeze, I say to the table, “I think I know where Nestor went—or where he was trying to go. I’m not sure if he ever made it.”
With everyone’s eyes on me, I tell them about The Lost Hero and Nestor’s possible search for everoot. The travel time would have been a bit slower compared to today, but it shouldn’t have taken him three and half years to return.
“Why did he go?” Clementine asks.
I open my mouth to explain but with a gentle voice, Renata cuts in. “Petra mentioned one of the witches in the coven was sick—decay fever. She and Nestor were… close friends.”
Esme and Clover’s eyes meet, a warning look from the Green Witch.
Rowyn mutters, “Another affair, dear Gods.”
“It sounds like it was more of a crush, but she never said where he went–only that he left. It was complicated,” I add.
“It was Cassia, wasn’t it?” Clementine asks.
Nodding, Renata leans forward, trying to catch her eye. “It was. She—she didn’t make it. However, we have a small jar of everoot, and we won’t let anything happen to you.” Her gaze moves to the older Foxglove sister. “Neither of you.”
“He was trying to tell us,” Rowyn says suddenly. “Nestor—that morning we found the everoot and he knocked it off the counter.”
“He took me to the cabinet before showing me where Petra hid the rest of her journals too,” I say, forgetting that in the chaos of everything else.
“Nestor wanted us to know where he was when they betrayed him,” Rowyn adds.
Renata sits up a little straighter, and her hold on my hand tightens. “They thought he was dead, Rowyn. It wasn’t some affair behind his back.”
She holds up her hands in a surrender. “I didn’t mean to offend them, or you. But he was trying to tell us something.”
Renata doesn’t argue, instead agreeing to Nestor’s intentions. He’s still nowhere to be seen.
“I’m going to go see Calista,” I suddenly cut in, looking up to avoid the fear in each of their expressions. “We need answers—to find out if Nestor ever got that far.”
“Do you think there are answers there?” Rowyn asks. “Maybe something to change your fate?”
Sybil sits up straight and snaps, “What does that mean?” She’s been a silent observer until now.
“Bil, I only have one theory of what could end the curse right now,” I gently say.
All of the other witches look at me, surprised that I’m taking the blame for this theory.
My sister looks around the table with wide eyes. “Why do they all know, then?”
“They figured it out, but I wanted to be the one to tell you.”
She blinks a few times and lifts her chin in a stubborn manner. “Well, go on then.”
“All signs point to Barrett murdering Petra and Nestor. You realize what that means, Bil.”
She holds that defiant look for a few seconds, before realization dawns on her. Her mouth drops open and she lets out a ragged breath. “No.”
“Sybil—”
“I said no, Archer,” she says and stands, pointing a finger at the table. “We did not come here so you could offer yourself up as some sort of sacrificial lamb for a murder that happened a century ago.”
Giving her a somber look, I say, “That might be exactly why I came here.”
“No,” she murmurs and shakes her head frantically. “No, no, no.”
“Hey,” I say and walk around the table to her.
Her hands go to her head, and she looks around the room, but from the unfocused look in her eyes, she’s becoming a prisoner of her mind.
She’s playing back every vision she had from the moment she stormed into my room that fateful morning to this very second, blaming herself for bringing us here.
Grabbing onto her shoulders, I shake her and make her look at me. “It was always going to happen. It didn’t matter if you were with me or not, but I think you are meant to be here, Sybil. So you have to stay. After.”
Tears are streaming down her cheeks, and she tries to stop them by pressing her palms into her eyes.
“No—there won’t be any after. That’s not—no.
That’s not how this is supposed to go.” Looking at me with crazed eyes, she insists, “I know it. Because I have to—I would have to know if you were going to die. I thought it would be me. I always thought…”
She trails off, and I don’t try to make sense of her words right now. She’s in a frantic state, one I haven’t seen since we were twelve and her magic was growing stronger.
Wrapping an arm around her, I look at the table. “I’m going to take her to bed. She’ll be okay… She gets overwhelmed sometimes, not able to differentiate between reality and her visions.”
“You’re sure?” Renata asks, clearly worried that Sybil is experiencing the same hallucinations she does.
“I’m sure,” I promise. When I look around the room, I see Rowyn’s brows scrunched in concern. So, I tell the Hearth Witch, “Tea would be great. She likes pepperm—”
“Peppermint with lemon balm and a drop of honey,” she says, already rushing to the kitchen.
“I’ll meet you in your room?” Renata says before looking around, embarrassed.
Nodding, I turn Sybil out of the room and I hear Esme let out a teasing, “Ooohh.”
“Don’t be a child,” Renata snaps, but it’s playful.
An hour and a half later, Sybil has calmed down, and is sleeping.
She refused to look at me, so Rowyn stayed in the room with us until she finally closed her eyes and let exhaustion pull her under. I left our friend in there, knowing Rowyn needs to feel useful in these situations.
I need to find Renata.
I’m fighting my own lids from closing, but the sight of her sitting in my room with Ancient Rituals of the Heart open on her lap has me perking up.
It’s funny how the sight of her can instantly turn my mood around—and how desperately I want to stay right here with her. Forever.
She didn’t look surprised when I mentioned my plan, so she sees the importance in it. It’s not that either of us expect it to make a difference in the grand scheme of things, but we both want answers at this point.
“Interesting nighttime reading,” she muses and holds the book up. “It only felt fair I dug around your room.”
Huffing out a laugh, I shrug and walk toward the bathroom. “You’re welcome to look through anything—or ask me like a normal person.”
She lets out a hum. “Can’t say that fits me.”
Stopping outside the bathroom door, I smirk and pull my shirt off. With a dip of my head, I motion for the shower, and she follows me.
Pulling the door shut, I quickly turn on the water, knowing she likes it nearly scalding.
From the corner of my eye, Renata’s smooth porcelain skin gets my attention.
She’s stripping out of her pretty little outfit.
The dark red corset top hugs her waist and lifts her small breasts like a lover’s caress.
I’ve tried not to let myself stare, sensing that she isn’t fully better yet.
Looking at me through the mirror, she smirks and slips the top down her arms, leaving her top half bare.
Her nipples pebble as I take in her milky skin, and let out a low whistle of appreciation.