Chapter 9
I sat and read Creatures of the Dark, my internship research on how religious observances had changed over time discarded off to the side.
Seven days had passed since we started brewing, and I’d been meeting with Frank every other day to develop the potion.
His powers were also necessary to add to the concoction in small amounts.
On the days that he came, I dedicated more time to reading about magical maladies.
It became a mystery in and of itself to parse out what was the bias of the writer and what might be fact.
It dominated my thinking, making it difficult to focus on other research during my work hours.
I reviewed my notes on blood lust.
-One of the worst afflictions of the creatures of the dark, specifically werewolves in their transformed state and vampires, especially newly turned ones.
If George Wickham had blood lust, he showed no signs when we met.
I’d tried to contact Lizzy the past couple of days to get more information about him, but she’d dodged my calls.
And as for Pastor Collins, well, he didn’t seem to want to discuss Isabella outside his sermons either, and usually just ordered me back to work.
I needed to surprise him or shift the setting so he wouldn’t be able to give me orders.
Since then, I’d been stuck with my research, combing through the journal for clues, and the occasional chat with Isabella.
But I focused most of my time on perfecting the potion.
When finished, I could investigate George Wickham and Pastor Collins further.
The writing was small, and I moved my desk lamp closer to make out the words among the elaborate scrawl. A curse called Magic of Doom at the end of the page made me smile. The old writers definitely had a doomsday attitude. Then again, when that curse claimed lives, it probably felt like that.
Beware the Magic of Doom. The fading curse, brought on by the silver mark on the chest.
I froze, the words burrowing their way into my brain.
The fading curse… silver mark… that bore a strong resemblance to Dad’s curse.
The name Moonrot was only a misnomer. It didn’t really have anything to do with the moon that we knew of.
It was called that because of the spiral silver mark on the chests of those that were struck by it.
Could it be the same curse? I wrote the symptoms on the list, determined to investigate it further at another time.
Duchess leapt onto the book and stuck her face in mine, large yellow eyes peering up at me. I scooted back with a little cry of surprise. The silly cat. Ghost or not, I didn’t need her giving me a heart attack. She sprang off the desk and headed toward the stairs, glancing back at me expectantly.
I checked my phone and closed the book. It was time to meet Frank. I shut my laptop and followed Duchess through the stacks and up the steps, unsure if I was grateful to have a ghost cat to keep me punctual.
I’d researched the symptoms afflicting the creatures of the dark, and they were disturbing.
Perhaps the fae did have good reason to be wary of us.
Even so, it wasn’t as if I had a choice in being a medium or having my witch powers.
Frank didn’t have a choice in becoming a werewolf.
Did it justify condemning those who battled their inner demons by prohibiting all methods of treatment?
Did no part of us merit preservation? Isabella, a fae, lacked the ability to make the wolfsbane potion without a witch’s power to brew it.
I pushed open the large double doors and moved down the steps into the brisk air. Frank leaned against the side of the chapel, his arms folded. He wore his long pea coat with a turned-up collar, giving him a decidedly Edward Cullen appearance. Hex, he looked handsome.
An enormous grin spread over his face as I approached and stopped right in front of him.
“Good afternoon, Mary,” a voice behind me said. I spun around in shock. Brexton was walking to the church. How did I miss his approach?
“Brexton.” I stiffened. “What are you doing here?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I work here.”
“You’re usually off visiting people at this time.”
“Collins wanted me to examine some financial documents.” His gaze shifted. “Frank.” He nodded in greeting.
“Brexton,” Frank said.
“Do you meet Mary here often? In the bushes?” the assistant pastor asked.
Realization hit me of how this must look. Five years ago, during my time in high school, this was a common make-out spot—actually, if I listened to Lydia, it still was.
“Of course, weren’t you aware?” Frank’s hand wrapped around mine. “Mary and I are dating.”
My gaze whipped to his. His expression told me to play along. I smiled at Brexton, striving not to seem awkward.
“Oh.” Brexton’s confused eyes shifted to me. “I didn’t know that.”
“I planned to show Frank around the stacks today. That’s because he’s never seen them before.” I flinched. Was that worse than a meeting amongst the bushes? Plus, now I was lying to Brexton, one of my only friends.
“Nice.” Forced cheeriness marked Brexton’s tone. He touched his neck with a strained smile. “Should we go inside?”
The three of us walked into the church, the doors shutting behind us with their customary snap that somehow sounded louder than usual, trapping me within and cutting off my route to escape.
Collins waited in the chapel, sitting on a pew. When we entered, he turned and leapt to his feet. “Mr. Churchill! So glad to see you! What brings you here today?”
“Mary, my girlfriend, is showing me around. She only says the most wonderful things about her internship here.”
Collins’s eyes widened, and I tucked a little closer to Frank’s side. Here it came, the lecture about bringing men into my workspace.
“Well, that is splendid! And can I say how delightful it is to see the nephew of the most skilled perfume creator in the glorious state of Maine? I, in fact, keep a bottle of Men’s Spice on my desk and on occasion spray it into the air so that I may smell its wondrous scent.
Yes, show him around,” Collins said. “Patrons such as the Churchills are always welcome in this holy place.”
Patrons. And then I understood. The Churchills, like Lady Catherine, gave a good amount of money to the church. Not to mention Frank was a high fae.
“You were unaware of their relationship, Pastor?” Brexton said, glancing between me and Frank.
“It’s a recent development,” I muttered under my breath.
“It must be.” Brexton gaze stopped on me, flashing in the lowlight. For a moment, it felt as if he possessed the power to see right through me.
“Well, we should get going. There’s much to observe,” I said with a high-pitched laugh. Hex, why was I laughing? Nobody had said anything funny. I pulled Frank to the rear of the church, where we headed down to the stacks.
When we reached the bottom of the steps, I dropped his hand. “You can’t say things like that.”
“I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. “It was only the way it appeared… you and me meeting in the bushes next to the church…”
I adjusted my glasses, not looking at him. “I’m sure you’ve encountered many girls there.”
“Everyone met there when we were younger.”
“Not me.”
He fell silent. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
I forced myself to take a calming breath. “You can’t make up lies about you and me. They will get out and people… they won’t believe it.” I stared at my hands. “And they’d be right. It’s not even true.”
“I’d like it to be true,” he said so quietly that I almost misheard it.
I looked up at him. I tended to miss things when it came to social interactions, but the way he was looking at me made me feel as if I might actually be worth his time. “What are you saying?”
“I’m asking you to be my girlfriend.”
“Why would you ask me that?”
His brows drew together. “You’re a horrible piano player.”
I blinked. “What?”
“But you knew that before sitting down at that piano. Didn’t you?”
I shifted. “I don’t see what that has to do with—”
“You played for me. To distract Lydia from making her announcement. Plus, you remembered the name of my girlfriend in high school.”
My cheeks heated. “Everyone was aware of who you were dating.”
He stepped closer and my heart began to pound. “You act flustered whenever I touch you.” The side of his knuckle grazed across my cheek. “I think, Mary Bennet, that you like me.”
A tingle spread through my body, and I couldn’t avert my gaze from his dark eyes that seemed to burn in the basement’s lighting.
“And that’s very fortunate,” he said gently. “Because I like you.”
I had no choice but to lean into his touch, to lean into him. Again he stroked my cheek, watching me with his deep, consuming gaze.
“Isn’t that reason enough to ask you to be my girlfriend?” he asked softly.
I stared up at him. For so long, I’d watched him from afar, crushed on him without even knowing the real Frank Churchill. What drove the man deep inside? But now I knew. We’d grown close over the last seven days. His presence was comforting and warm, like a cozy blanket in winter.
“I—I, we can’t.”
His hand fell away from my face, and he nodded, disappointment shining in his eyes.
I took a slow breath. “We can’t be boyfriend and girlfriend if we haven’t kissed.”
He frowned. “But we have kissed.”
“Not for real.”
A small smile pulled at his lips and he drew near, his hand returning to my cheek, cupping it. “Count this as a real kiss, Mary.”
He leaned in, his face inches from mine, and I sensed the warmth of his breath against my mouth.
Our lips finally touched, soft at first, as if we both tested the waters, unsure yet eager.
His lips were gentle, almost tentative, and I responded in kind, letting the world outside fade away.
The kiss deepened slightly, his hand caressing my cheek, urging me closer, and I let myself get lost in the moment.
Every touch was perfect—slow and sweet, like a promise whispered in the dark.
I never wanted it to end. It was full of something fragile, something new.
Suddenly, he stepped back, a look of horror on his face. “I just had a thought. That time outside the shop wasn’t your first kiss, was it?”
I gave him an awkward smile. “It made for a nice first kiss.”
He shook his head in consternation. “I’m sorry, sometimes I can be so… you deserved better than that.”
I shrugged. “It didn’t bother me.”
“But it bothers me. Now that I…” He ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s work on the potion, and then I should go before I get you in trouble.”
“What if I don’t care if I get into trouble?”
That wonderful smile spread over his face, and he stepped forward and brushed another tantalizingly slow kiss against my mouth before withdrawing. His warm fingers traced the outline of my lips. “Mary, Mary, quite contrary.”
I was melting. All I wanted was for him to stay and kiss me more.
Instead, he took my hand and tugged me into the back room with the potion. “I need to make this up to you. I’ll pick you up tomorrow night.”
I swallowed. Suddenly, everything felt more real. “You’re asking me on an official date?”
“Well, we are official, aren’t we?”
“We are.” I couldn’t believe those words left my mouth. Frank and I, official. I pinched myself to confirm I wasn’t dreaming.
“Then it’s a date?”
I couldn’t stop smiling. “It’s a date.”
When we finished brewing for the day, Frank escorted me upstairs, hand in hand. Duchess advanced ahead, pouncing from step to step, stopping occasionally to bat at a dust particle or an old cobweb. We walked through the barrier into the chapel and nearly ran right into Brexton.
“Mary, I was coming to tell you. Have you heard the latest on Isabella’s death? It’s all over the local news,” he said, holding his phone in his hand.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my grip tightening around Frank’s hand. “What is it?
“It seems the DNA test has come in.”
Magical DNA tests needed more time, as magic proved more elusive and difficult to analyze than standard biological DNA. For some reason, the expression on Brexton’s face caused a tightness in my stomach. “What did they find?”
Brexton glanced from me to Frank. “They are still uncertain as to the perpetrator’s identity, but the killer of the woman was undoubtedly a werewolf.”