Chapter 8
JAMIE
It’s just past noon on Saturday, and I’m standing on the deck, enjoying my fourth shot of espresso while counting down the hours until I get to see Blaire again.
I walk inside and grab my phone that’s face down on the counter.
There are a few unread messages from Patterson, checking in with me to see how I am.
I didn’t tell him I booked the witch for ten hours or that it cost me a hefty fifty thousand dollars.
I’ve decided to keep that information to myself for now.
At six, I shower, dress in nice clothes like I’m going on a date, and grab my jacket. Before I go down the mountain, I put down the top of the Mustang. Leaves rustle across the road as I hug the curves on the scenic drive.
When I arrive at the shop, there’s a note taped to the door. My name is written on the outside. I pull it off and read her neat handwriting.
J,
Please meet me at the manor. Intuition called. Slight change of plans.
BW
I grin and tuck the note into my pocket, then drive a few blocks to her place. A couple lingers on the sidewalk across the street with their phones out, posing in front. It’s a historic home, a tourist attraction, and I’ve seen postcards of it at the grocery store.
Once the coast is clear, I get out of the car and move through the gate, then stroll down the sidewalk leading to the porch. The amount of pumpkins, lanterns, and plastic bats has doubled since last week.
I climb the porch steps two at a time. As I lift my hand to knock, the door opens.
Blaire stands before me, wearing leather boots to her knees, a black miniskirt, and a sweater. Her dark hair is down and curly at the ends. A smile touches her lips as she looks me over from head to toe.
“Hi,” she says. “I see you found my note.”
“I did. But had you texted me, I’d have been here sooner.”
“No need. The message was delivered. How are you?”
I’m staring, completely mesmerized by how fucking gorgeous she is.
“Better now,” I say, meaning it.
She laughs and leads me into the front room. The door gently closes, and then seconds later, it flies open.
We both turn.
“Charlie,” Blaire says as a fat orange cat struts inside. He must weigh close to twenty pounds.
“This is Charlie?” I’ve been jealous of this ball of fur since Blaire mentioned the name. I bend down and hold out my hand. He leans into my touch, and I scratch under his chin, which he pushes further into. “Oh, you’re such a big, chonky boy. And your coat is so soft.”
“Sir Charles!” Blaire moves toward him, and he immediately sprints away like she’s got cooties.
The stairs creak as he climbs them to the top.
“Seriously!” She shuts the door until it clicks.
Blaire turns to me, scowling.
“He’s handsome. Total boyfriend material. You have to watch out for those orange cats though. Mischievous.” I smile.
“I can’t believe he let you pet him.”
I lick my lips. “What can I say? Animals and children love me.”
She tilts her head and narrows her eyes. “Charlie is particular.”
I smirk. “Just like his owner.”
She walks past me. “How have things been since our last session?”
“I’m starting to feel like my old self again.”
It’s an honest answer that pleases her.
“That’s wonderful news. It confirms what I already decided. Tonight will be our last meeting.”
My brows rise. “Tonight?”
I don’t want things to end now.
“The moon sets right after midnight. We have to get started immediately.” She crosses to the cabinet against the far wall, the same one she pulled the anointing oil from last week.
“Can I book more hours?” I ask.
“There’s no need. After tonight, you won’t need me anymore.”
“How do you know that?” I ask, wanting to tell her she’s wrong.
I’ll be in Pine Haven for six more weeks, and I want to see her until I return to the city. Once my private sessions are finished, I’ll have no other excuse to be with her.
“Because I’m a witch. I know things. My intuition is never wrong.”
Blaire reaches past a row of jars and pulls out a tall bottle. The wax seal is cracked at the edges. She carries it to the table with the banker’s lamp and spins it around. The liquid is emerald with a gold shimmer, and it seems to have a life of its own.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Wormwood, anise, fennel. And other ingredients.”
The label on the front is faded and unreadable.
“Absinthe?”
“My kind used this centuries before the Europeans put it in a bottle and monetized it. My aunt always called it witches’ brew. It strips down layers.”
Her heartbeat pulses steadily in the side of her neck.
“Are you sure about this?”
“It must be done. You can’t go on this journey alone. Unfortunately.” She sets the bottle on the table and returns to the cabinet.
“Apologies, I guess?”
Blaire comes back with a slotted silver spoon, two small glasses, a bowl of raw sugar cubes, and a ceramic pitcher. She lays everything out with the same care she used when reading my cup.
“It’s not personal. I don’t like being vulnerable around someone I don’t know,” she explains.
“Then why are you?”
The silence takes over for a few seconds.
“I trust you,” she finally says, and those three words almost undo me. Before I can speak, she continues, “Maybe animals and children are onto something. Now, before we get started, do you consent?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitating, trusting her too.
“Please sit.”
I take the chair in front of her as she cracks the wax on the bottle. She whispers something unintelligible while pouring.
Is it Latin?
She balances the spoon across the glass with a sugar cube on top, then tips the pitcher. Water hits the sugar in a slow stream, dissolving it, and the green below looks like it’s glowing. She pours the second glass. The scent is a combination of licorice and earth.
“Fair warning.” She picks up her glass. “The last time I drank this, I ended up dancing under the full moon, naked, at two in the morning.”
“I’ll try to remember to leave my clothes on,” I say with a smirk.
She grins. “That would probably be for the best.”
I pick up the glass in front of me, and she does the same.
“I’m trusting you too.”
“Together,” she says, and we tap the edges, then down them in several gulps.
It slides down my throat and warms me from the inside out. It’s not like whiskey or anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s sweet and herbal, but it feels alive, like it’s swimming in my bloodstream. The sensation takes me under and makes my head dizzy.
Blaire reaches her hand forward. “Doing okay?”
“Yeah. Is this flying sensation normal?” I ask.
“Yes. We’ll wait five minutes, then take another.”
“Another?”
“I have to strip you bare.”
“Please don’t tempt me with a good time.”
“Energetically.” She playfully turns the empty glass in her fingers. “Are you always like this?”
“Be more specific.”
“Flirty. Charismatic. Confident.”
“It’s just who I am. Who I’ve always been.” I lean back in the chair. The sweetness stays on my tongue.
Her eyes flick to the clock on the wall, and then she reaches for the bottle and pours the second round. I look at the spoon, sugar, the slow stream of water, and then the green glowing brighter. She slides my glass across the table, then lifts her own, and we drink without a word.
The second one goes down sweeter.
I lean forward and rest my forearms on the table. “You’re so pretty.”
Blaire tries to fight a smile and loses. “Come with me.”
I want to reach for her hand and grab her fingers in mine, but I don’t.
Instead, we walk down the hallway to the opposite end of the large home.
The walls are tall, and I feel like I’m being watched.
At the end, there’s a door, and soon, she’s guiding me out of it.
We walk beside each other down a path that leads to a cemetery.
“I didn’t know you lived next door to a graveyard.” I almost laugh because it’s too perfect.
“This was one of many family homes of the settlement that came here before Pine Haven was established. The cemetery is just as old.”
The moon hangs low above the tree line, half full. Every headstone turns silver under it.
She takes me to a memorial garden. In the center, on the grass, are blankets, surrounded by mason jar candles.
“Romantic,” I say, lifting my brows.
“Ritualistic,” she corrects as we move closer.
“Is that a radio?” I ask, noticing a small black box with a dial and a stubby antenna.
She leans down to click it on. “It’s a spirit box.”
“Oh,” I say, like I know what the hell that is.
Static fills the cemetery. It sounds like it’s cycling through seconds of a.m. radio shows. A half second of country guitar, then white noise, followed by a voice.
“Old souls rest here. Sometimes, they talk. Sometimes, they don’t.”
She sits on the blanket and pats the spot next to her, and I don’t hesitate to be close. The wool blanket under me is warm, and the candlelight creates a dreamy ambience.
“I’m glad I met you,” I say, staring up at the moon.
She guides me down until my back is resting on the ground, then joins me. Our arms touch as the darkness surrounds us.
“Most people think I’m weird.”
“I think the proper word is eccentric. I find it adorable.”
She chews on the edge of her lip, then turns her head to look at me.
The spirit box spits a burst of static and a clipped syllable that sounds like a woman’s voice. “Welcome.”
We both look at it.
“Hi, spirits,” Blaire says, then encourages me.
“Hello, spirits.” I play along.
Static rolls out of the box and breaks into another half-syllable, but it’s unintelligible. Then it transforms into a low hiss.
She props herself up on one elbow. The breeze blows through her hair as she pulls the second blanket across her lap. “Tell me something no one would guess about you.”
“I’ve been in Pine Haven for weeks, and it’s felt like a punishment. Until now.”
“Why? Why?!” the box screeches out.
Blaire points at it. “They asked, not me. But please feel free to answer.”
Because of you.
“I’ve been getting out more. Doing things I wouldn’t usually do,” I admit. It’s the truth.