Chapter 21 #2
At least once a day, Mrs. Leimberger texted Ingrid dates and times that Adrian would be waiting at the curb in front of the Loeffler house in the family’s gleaming black Rolls-Royce to pick her up and ferry her to luxurious mansions or five-star hotels, or once, even a gated compound at the far eastern end of Tybee Island, to do readings for their friends.
Clemmie Fairburn, her sister Lulu Hawkes, Devlin McIntyre, Josephine Penski, and several others all clamored for Ingrid’s time.
Ingrid quickly learned she was expected to be on call at all times.
Her time may not have been her own any longer, but the trade-off was worth it.
Every Friday, she got an alert from First Chatham Bank that the exact amount of one thousand dollars had been quietly deposited into her checking account.
She marveled every time it happened, even more so because she didn’t actually need the cash.
She wasn’t spending any money to speak of.
She ate most every meal at the house or out with Sailor.
And Sailor was constantly offering to pay for things.
As a result, her bank account was growing by leaps and bounds.
Thankfully, Sailor seemed to have forgotten the whole CEO spell issue—or at least she’d decided to respect Ingrid’s reluctance to interfere—and was satisfied with the meditations, moon rituals, and wedding-related spell work that Ingrid led her through.
Miles checked in regularly with a variety of problems such as Litha’s loneliness and imaginary illnesses, but they all seemed like inventions to get her attention.
Ingrid called him as often as she could, always reminding him that it had been his idea for her to move to the Loefflers’ and she’d be home before they knew it.
He usually calmed down, but she was getting tired of having to coddle him.
She finally called him one day so she could address the situation head-on. “Miles,” she said gently, “I need you to understand that me being here with the Loefflers is part of a bigger plan.”
“How so?” He sounded doubtful.
She took a deep breath. “I think it has something to do with the thing Edie asked me to do before she died. Remember? She said I needed to right the balance.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “I thought you said it was the cancer talking. That she didn’t make any sense at the end.”
“I did,” she said. “But I think I might’ve been wrong. Maybe it’s nothing, but I feel like Edie wants me here. And if she does, if this is a chance for me to fix things, that will be good for you, too.”
That shut him up. He might be jealous of her new position and friendship with Sailor, but he understood Ingrid’s loyalty was to Edie first, and he would never interfere with that.
Her love life was substantially different now, too. Boney sent the occasional text that would hint around for one of their “get-togethers,” and one afternoon when Sailor had appointments, she did meet him at his apartment for a brief half hour. Most times, though, she gave him the brush-off.
The texts from her secret admirer, her “sinner,” were now taking up all the space in her brain. After she’d been living at the Loefflers for just under a month, a new string of messages hit her phone. She’d been getting ready for bed, washing her face in the small bathroom adjoined to her room.
I sin every day because of you, he’d written.
She paused, her face covered in foamy bubbles. Was it Cas, locked away in his bedroom on the second floor? If so, they were so close. Close enough to actually meet in one of their rooms.
Fingers trembling, she replied. Then you and I should keep our distance. Not that she wanted that. She wanted the opposite. She wanted Cas Loeffler to come up to her room and take her in his arms.
That won’t help. No matter where you are, you surround me.
It was the perfect response, pure poetry, and the words left her breathless. She hopped into bed, hastily propping up pillows behind her. When her phone vibrated with another text, she felt her stomach flip deliciously.
Ingrid. It means Fair, beautiful goddess of fertility.
She waited, holding her breath. A message in another thread dinged, and she checked it.
Come over
Ugh. Boney.
She composed a quick excuse—I’m in my luteal phase—and sent it back. Almost immediately her phone dinged again.
What the fuck is that
My period. Go read a book, Boney. Improve your mind.
I want to improve my dick
No.
Her phone chimed again. Her sinner.
My devotion to you is an act of blasphemy.
She couldn’t resist a triumphant smile. She nestled back into the large down pillows, thought for a moment, then typed out a reply. She stared at it a few seconds, not sending it, remembering how quickly Finley had been excised from Sailor’s life for texting someone she shouldn’t have.
But she wouldn’t send pictures of herself. This wasn’t that. This was different. This was something so real and deep, it transcended the normal ways people communicated.
She pressed the blue arrow, sending her reply.
Punish yourself then. Punish yourself for me.