Chapter 44
Archer
Taking a deep breath, I lean against a tree and relax in the shade for a few minutes. Renata doesn’t believe I’m an outdoorsy person, but she’s never been to Junimere. Everyone is outdoorsy, regardless of how much they enjoy it. However, this hike is much more rigorous than I expected.
The merchant hasn’t ever visited Calista, but he has taken a few passengers here before. On the way, he offered me a bit of lore that he’s picked up over the years. It was mostly everything I was able to piece together from the books about her and Nestor, as well as everything Renata knows.
Even the thought of her has me ready to turn back around and throw it all to hell.
A day is too long without her, and weeks have been torture.
The time difference isn’t too drastic, so I’ve been able to spend every night with her.
Who knows how long it will be until I see her again now that I’m approaching Calista’s cottage?
Hopefully it’s not an extended stay because I’ve become addicted to Renata. Her soft, blonde hair that tickles my chest when she’s sleeping. Those faint freckles that are only visible if you’re inches from her. The sweet, musky scent of her tea and perfume.
My great undoing, indeed.
We share an intimacy that’s deeper than sex every time we find ourselves back in that meadow.
It’s one that is mental—spiritual—but takes form in the shape of our bodies tangled together in our dream state.
It’s different than actually being inside of her—the touch of her body and sweet scent of her perfume is a whisper of reality.
It feeds something in my soul—a deep, primal part of myself that no one else would ever have access to. It sparks an ancient well of magic in my heart that I’ve never had a reason to reach for.
I’ve begun to think I might have one now if she agrees when I’m back with her.
Whisper quietly yelps from beside me, encouraging me to keep going. He’s been restless since we left—worried about Sybil and Renata. I tried to get him to stay for his own safety but knew it was a losing battle.
Taking another breath, I push off the tree and walk the last mile to Calista’s cottage. Staying in the shadows, I stare at the small stone house. It’s located thousands of miles away from any civilization, but the home looks normal. Nearly ancient, but inconspicuous.
The wooden door opens, and a youthful woman steps out into the small courtyard, sweeping fallen leaves and dirt off the edge.
She’s pretty—beautiful even. Her golden, sun-kissed skin, hints at a life spent outside.
Her black hair is pinned half up and flows down her back.
I can’t see much else from this distance, only that she’s short with a full figure and appears to have three large hogs as her companions.
Despite the attractiveness, I don’t find myself tempted by her. It makes me miss Renata’s sharp features that soften under my body. The soft glow of her white hair under the moonlight, and the golden tint it takes on when the sun is rising as we’re still tangled in bed.
I shift on my feet, looking around the rest of her quaint property, and a twig breaks. My heart stops with it, and Whisper has switched from companion to predator.
Her head snaps up, looking straight in my direction. A wolfish grin tugs at her lips as she points at me, then crooks that finger in a come hither motion.
Whisper growls quietly, placing his body in front of mine. Swallowing down the dread, I pat his back and step out of the tree line, but stay at the edge of the clearing.
Her head tilts to the side, and she looks at me like I’m her prey for the afternoon. One she would very much like to play with before eating.
“Who are you?” she asks. Her voice is smooth and rich, floating through the air and wrapping around me like a siren’s song. “I’ve seen you before…” She sniffs the air. “But I’ve never met you.”
My eyebrows scrunch in confusion, knowing for certain I’ve never seen her before.
Unless she means my face, not me.
Shaking off the magic that tickles along my consciousness, trying to probe my brain, I say in a strong voice, “Archer. I have some questions about someone who came to see you.” Her brows crinkle in curiosity. “Nestor Blackthorn was looking for everoot a hundred years ago.”
Pausing in surprise, she looks at me and tilts her head, assessing me in a new light. She lets out a loud, screeching cackle—a stark contrast to her voice from moments ago.
“What is your last name, Archer?” she teases and steps forward, letting the broom fall behind her. “You look exactly like a Vexley witch, if I’ve ever seen one.”
My face scrunches, so many questions whipping through my mind. The first one: Did she know Barrett?
How would that be possible? Would that mean she knows Petra?
She lets a saccharine smile slip across her lips as she teases, “Oh yes, dear, I know all about my former lover’s wife and best friend.”
My mouth drops open.
Former lover.
That’s impossible.
I land on one theory—the only one that makes sense: she compelled him to stay with her.
It’s her fault that Cassia Foxglove died and Nestor was missing for three years.
Petra had to raise their young child without him, and then he came back to the heartbreaking realization that his wife was in love with his best friend.
“Are you here for the plant, or information?” she probes. Her smug expression tells me she knows the answer.
“Uh, information,” I mutter.
I don’t risk taking my eyes off of her, but my attention isn’t fully in the present moment either.
“Come inside then,” she singsongs and waves me forward. “We can talk over tea—though I must mention, everything comes with a price here.”
Nodding, I follow her inside and hold onto the only thing I’m certain of anymore—Renata.
Walking toward the door, I glance around quickly, trying to get a sense of my surroundings. The sight of her garden makes my steps falter. The soil is a peculiar shade of light brown with a murky, greasy glint to it. I’ve only seen that once before… At the Dreaming Willow Inn.
“The mutt can come in, if he’s potty-trained,” Calista says when I pause outside the front door too long.
Whisper curls around my legs and snarls at her. His protectiveness and unease begins to course through me, and I have to tamp it down to keep my own head on straight.
“He goes where I go,” I say with conviction, waiting on the other side of the threshold from her main room.
“Let’s go then,” she says with a roll of her eyes and waves us inside. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today.”
When she isn’t looking, I take another look at the everoot garden, and then take the first step inside.
Looking around her main room, I’m not sure what to make of it.
It’s not modern by any means, but there are a variety of luxuries from different time periods spread across the room.
An iron and crystal tea table, a large velvet chaise where one of her large hogs is currently lying, and knick-knacks from all around the world.
Taking a seat at her small table, I wryly say, “He must be potty trained, I assume.”
She looks at me over her shoulder and follows my gaze.
Chuckling, she says, “Thankfully he came to me house-trained. In his former body.”
My brows raise, but I bite my tongue. Whisper is looking at the animal and whimpering. He isn’t scared but sad—confused.
“A little shapeshifting might be outside of a witch’s ability, but demons do not follow the same rules.”
Swallowing, I take the teapot she pushes toward me.
Every survival instinct inside of me is telling me to throw the entire thing out the window, but the look she is giving me discourages that thought.
I’ve never heard anything about demons and hospitality norms, but offending her wouldn’t do me any favors.
I pour myself a cup, add a few drops of honey, and take a sip.
The hot liquid slides down my throat, leaving the familiar warmth that reminds me of home—of Renata. It fades just as quickly. In its wake, the slimy texture of a truth serum sticks like tar.
With wide eyes, I stare at her. She smirks, making sure I don’t spit it up.
Accepting it’s useless, I try swallowing past the sticky sensation.
My mother used to administer the serums when we were teenagers.
Nothing nearly as strong as this, just enough to get us to admit where we were sneaking off to, or why a curfew was missed.
Sybil always jokes that the stickiness was there to catch all the lies before we could say them.
“Good boy,” she coos and pours herself a glass before chugging it down. “Now it’s fair.”
“Fair?” I ask.
The scale is completely tipped in her favor.
“We both have questions,” she says. Assessing me, she adds, “You are either very brave, or very stupid to come here.”
“Probably both,” I say.
She laughs and leans back in her chair, making me relax a little. I haven’t forgotten that she could kill me in half a second, or that she’d be able to hold my soul here for as long as she wants, keeping me from Renata. There are moments when she seems so normal, if not a little bitter.
“Catch me up on what has been going on at the Dreaming Willow Inn for the last century, then I will answer three questions.”
“That’s it?” I ask incredulously. “That’s the price?”
“For three questions, yes,” she says. She looks impressed that I thought to clarify, and I wonder how much trouble people quickly find themselves in when she’s around. “Be very careful what you ask.”
Nodding, I quickly tell her everything I know about the Dreaming Willow Inn, from a century ago to today.
The disbandment of the coven, the fall of the Blackthorn Gray Witches, how Sybil and I are the first Divination Witches in the Vexley line since then, and how the five families have come back together to restore the inn.