Chapter 6
Home. I was so desperately glad to be back at my quiet house in my peaceful village. I parked my car in the driveway and strolled up the walkway, keys in hand. To my surprise, Agatha was sitting on one of the wicker chairs on my front porch.
“I was just about to give up and go home,” she said.
“How long have you been waiting?” I asked.
“About an hour.”
“I hope you weren’t bored.”
She held up a paperback novel. “Not a bit.”
I smiled. Agatha always had a book on hand, sometimes two in case she finished one and didn’t want to be caught without. I climbed the steps, and she rose from her seat and held a paper grocery sack out to me. “Dinner.”
“You brought me Twinkies?” I teased.
She snorted. “Lasagna. I suspected today was going to be a long one. How did it go? Were they able to help you?”
“Unfortunately, not with the book,” I said.
I unlocked the front door and led the way inside.
Agatha followed and I offered her a cup of tea.
She accepted and slid onto a stool at the kitchen counter while I fixed the tea, plated some store-bought cookies, and told her all about my meeting, including the blood oath, my supposed family of necromancers, and the job offer.
By the time I finished telling her everything, I was seated on the stool beside hers and we were almost done with the tea and cookies.
“When are you handing in your resignation?” she asked.
“I’m not.” I looked at her as if she’d suggested I burn my house down. “I turned them down, obviously.”
“You refused a position at the Museum of Literature?” She set her teacup down with a precision that told me she was striving to control her emotions.
“Zoe, no one gets offered a job at the museum and never in the Books of Dubious Origin collection. The only reason you were even allowed in there was because I vetted you. Do you have any idea what you’ve refused? ”
“Yes. I’m not working in a place where books are cats or cats are books.” I picked up our empty cups and deposited them in the sink.
“Huh?” she asked.
“Miles called her Freya,” I said. “It’s a book on Norse mythology that looks like a cat.”
“Oh, right.” Agatha chuckled. “Freya’s very affectionate once you get to know her.”
I started in surprise. “You’ve seen the book…er…cat? You’ve been in the BODO?”
“Well, I am the BODO liaison on the museum board.” She studied me for a moment and said, “I think you could do great things there, Zoe.”
“I do great things here,” I countered.
“You do, but you have so much untapped potential. Don’t you want to use it?” Her voice was measured, as if she was trying very hard not to offend me.
“You know why I can’t.”
She pressed her lips together as if to keep herself from protesting. I knew Agatha had my best interests at heart. She always did, but I wasn’t convinced that embracing the family gift of witchcraft or taking a job at the BODO was right for me.
“You know change isn’t easy for me, and all this has come out of nowhere. Plus, it’s more than breaking my promise to Mom. The stuff they were saying about Mamie…”
“Is this about the necromancy?”
“You knew about that?” I was incredulous.
“Your mother and I were friends for decades.” She squeezed my arm in reassurance. “Of course I knew.”
“But you never said anything.” I couldn’t keep the hurt out of my voice. I had thought Agatha was my person and that I was hers.
“Juliet asked me not to and as time went by and I saw how you felt about witchcraft and magic, I decided not to mention it, knowing you would reject it.” Her gaze was sharp but sympathetic. She was right. I would have absolutely spurned hearing about any of this.
Agatha had been in my life as a child like a long-distance favorite auntie, but she’d been there for me every single day of my life since my mom had dropped me off at the Wessex boarding school when I was fourteen.
Agatha was the one I’d spent all my holidays with.
She’d helped me pick my dress for prom, attended my graduation, moved me into my dorm, eaten copious amounts of Ben this is hiding from life. There’s a difference,” Agatha challenged me.
She was probably right, she usually was, but I wasn’t ready to admit it yet. We were at an impasse and we both knew it. Agatha sighed and hugged me. “Just think about it, kiddo.”
“I will, but don’t get your hopes up.”
She pushed the bag she’d brought across the counter. “Reheat the lasagna in the oven, three hundred fifty degrees for thirty minutes. Do not eat it cold.”
I laughed because I had absolutely planned to eat it without warming it. “Fine, I’ll use the microwave.”
She shook her head, her white ringlets bobbing against her shoulders. She refastened her coat and said, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I stood on the porch, watching until she drove off.
Again, I had the tingly, uncomfortable sensation of being watched.
I scanned the area and gasped. Perched on my mailbox at the end of the driveway was a raven and, again, it was staring at me.
I popped back inside and shut the door. It had to be a coincidence, I told myself, even though I didn’t believe in coincidences.
The October evening was cool, so I lit a fire in the fireplace and made myself a hot cup of cocoa.
I put on my blue-and-black-plaid flannel pajama bottoms with the matching black thermal top and draped my gray chenille throw over my legs as I hunkered into my favorite reading chair and opened my current book. It didn’t go well.