Chapter Nineteen
VIOLET
Three Sisters Bed and Breakfast sits atop Raven Hill like a dark, sentient guardian. A stunning three-story black Victorian with pink gingerbread trim and an obstructed view of the town and the Bay beyond, the house is a federally protected historical landmark—the original home of the Wayward founding family, passed down and lovingly cared for by my aunts—Joslyn, Lorelei, and Althea.
“Wow.” Devlin lets out a low whistle as we head into the foyer and guest check-in area—gorgeous black marble floors, a massive mahogany staircase that leads up to an open balcony area, artwork lining the ruby-red walls. “This place should be a museum.”
“It is, actually. I’ll give you a tour if you’d like. After knitting circle.”
“It’s a date, love.”
Love? My stomach fizzes. I ignore it. Getting to be a thing, these annoying bodily reactions to his mere existence. “It’s an appointment, Devlin. Not a date.”
“As you wish, mushroom.” Devlin tugs on one of my curls, then waltzes straight back to the kitchen, where the warm, doughy scent of Emmie’s fresh-baked magical scones is a beacon to road-weary travelers everywhere.
“Oh my goddess! Devlin!” Emmie, flour-covered and adorable, doesn’t even remove her oven mitts. Just pulls Devlin into a hug and mouths “fucking hot” at me over his shoulder. “Olivy mentioned Violet’s new friend, but she was weirdly tight-lipped about the details. We’ve been waiting forever to meet you!”
“I’m afraid your sister keeps me chained in the basement most days,” he says. “I had to gracelessly invite myself to knitting circle just so I could meet her family. Can you imagine?”
“Goddess, the accent. The sass.” Emmie fans herself. “The aunts are going to love you! Come on. I can’t wait to introduce you.” Grabbing a freshly plated tray of her still-steaming scones, Emmie escorts us to the sunroom beyond the kitchen, where my aunts are already assembled in their respective armchairs, knitting projects and gossip session in full swing.
“Did you hear about Hortense?” Althea’s saying. “She’s closing the fabric store. Landlord sold the building, and she can’t afford the new rent.”
“Happening all over town.” Joslyn shakes her head, knitting needles clacking angrily, the usual gravel in her voice pitching even lower. “Everyone’s caving to that reptile realtor and his banker cronies. He’s been here twice already, wheeling and dealing. Thinks he can convince the town to revoke our historical designation and pressure us to sell. Why? So they can turn our family legacy into a condo complex?”
“Look who’s here, aunties,” Emmie says, ushering us inside.
Their faces light up when we enter, but Althea’s eyes laser in on me fast, narrowing with a scrutiny that makes my skin hot. I shouldn’t be surprised—an expert herbalist and former nurse, she’s always been the caretaker of the bunch. “Violet, are you all right, sweetness? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“That would be my fault,” Devlin says, and all three heads turn to him at once, their eyes twinkling.
Great. The aunts are already enraptured. Five words in, and he’s got the septuagenarian set on lock. Might be a new record.
“I’ve been keeping her up until the wee hours,” he says with a charming wink.
“Now that’s a story I’d like to hear.” Joslyn releases her knitting and waves two fingers, her needles magically continuing to work. Hands free for the moment, she pulls out her ancient pack of clove cigarettes and sticks one in her mouth, unlit. Thanks to a cancer scare in the nineties, she hasn’t smoked in decades, but she kept the oral fixation. Claims it calms her.
“Olivy didn’t fill you in?” Devlin takes the chair between Joslyn and Althea, unpacking his knitting. Yes, the man brought his own balls, just as he said he would. And needles. And a project already partway in the making.
Because of course the Devil knits in his spare time.
“She told us Violet had a handsome visitor staying at the café.” Joslyn shoots me a glare that says we will be discussing this later. Whether she means me having a handsome visitor, me not introducing him, or him being the Devil, I have no idea.
“Guilty as charged,” he says.
Beneath her silver-gray movie-star pin curls, Joslyn—glamor witch and self-proclaimed dame of Wayward Bay community theater—arches a delicate, painted-on eyebrow. “If I’d known the King of Hell was walking among us, I might’ve worn a nicer dress.”
“Your dress is beautiful, Aunt Jos.” I lean in to kiss her cheek, pointedly ignoring the plunging neckline of her black dress, far too formal and scandalous for knitting club or pretty much any occasion ever hosted in Wayward Bay, but Jos wouldn’t get caught dead in anything less.
Devlin laughs. “I try to keep the true identity under wraps. Awkward at parties otherwise. The fire, the brimstone, the torture. Ugh. Lots of stereotypes, as you can imagine.”
“Well, any friend of Violet’s is a friend of ours.” Althea pats his knee. “No matter how many people you’ve flayed and boiled alive.”
“And on that note, I’ll go put on the kettle.” I turn to Devlin and mouth, “Behave yourself.”
Emmie follows me back to the kitchen. “Way to keep a secret, Violet!”
“It’s not a secret! Goddess, you’re as bad as the aunts.” I retrieve the brew I concocted for today—Family Ties, a green tea blend made with blueberry and coconut for protection, a whisper of cinnamon for love—and fill the teapot. “He’s just… consulting.”
“Consulting! Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
“Stop trying to live vicariously through my non-existent sex life. Your non-existent sex life is bound to be highly disappointed.”
“Sorry, but I can’t rely on the other sisters. Darla’s always got her nose in a book, Fiona won’t date because she knows it’s not going to work out before they even kiss, and Olivy hates everyone. So that leaves you.”
“And the aunts. My money’s on Jos.”
“You’re filthy. You know that, right?”
“Learned it from watching you!”
Laughing, the two of us catch up on our various news—Emmie, learning how to make wedding cakes, her next frontier. Me, insisting the shop is doing just fine—while we wait for the tea to steep, then assemble the tray and head back to the sunroom.
Aunt Lorelei, a weather witch who’s more comfortable talking to trees and storms than people and saves up all her words until she’s got a bomb to drop, smiles as Emmie and I settle in. “Tell me, Devlin,” she says in her sweet, somewhat warbly tone. “How long have you and Violet been fornicating?”
“Oh, we aren’t fornicating at present,” he says casually, as if she asked him whether he’s got any food allergies or dinner plans. Emmie’s laughing her ass off—meanwhile, I’m just sitting here choking on my tea and bursting into flames, don’t mind me!
“At present…” Lorelei’s eyes light up. “So, you’re saying there’s hope?”
“No!” I blurt out.
Devlin grins at me, his eyes glittering, clearly enjoying this. “Violet and I are… We’re… business associates, really.”
“He’s consulting,” Emmie says, making air quotes around the word.
“I didn’t know you had associates, sweetness,” Althea says.
“I don’t have associates! Just… just the one. Devlin’s helping me with some things for the café.”
“What things?” Joslyn taps her unlit cigarette into the ashtray at her side, lips rounding into an O and miming an exhale so perfect I can almost see the smoke. “I didn’t realize Kettle and Cauldron needed help. Why didn’t you mention it?”
“It doesn’t need help,” I say. “Not help help, I mean. We’re just… trying some new marketing tactics. Getting ahead of the trends. Devlin’s in the… entertainment business now.”
“You’re a male escort?” Lorelei sets her knitting in her lap and looks at him, no judgments, just curious.
“Not that kind of entertainment,” I say, at the same time Devlin blurts out, “Not anymore.”
I shoot him a death-glare, but of course this only encourages him.
“Don’t be so judgmental, Violet. Sex is perfectly natural, in all its many forms. With a partner or multiples, paid or otherwise.” He winks at me over his knitting. “Or with oneself, as the case may be. Battery-assisted, perhaps.”
Yes, I’m still here, still bursting into flames!
Goddess, I knew I should’ve canceled today. What was I thinking?
“Sex work is a legitimate business endeavor,” Althea adds.
“The oldest one in the book.” This, from Joslyn, who’s finished her non-cigarette and is now wrestling with her own magic to regain control of her knitting needles.
“I’m not judging sex with anyone, paid or otherwise!” I widen my eyes at Devlin, like please please pretty please, shut the hell up! “I’m just saying that it’s… not the job I hired you for.”
“As I recall, you didn’t hire me for anything. We’re bound to—”
“To work together really, really closely until we see some measurable results. More tea, anyone?”
“I’ve got a few functions coming up,” Jos says, patting down her curls and shimmying her shoulders like she’s sixteen instead of sixty-eight. “I usually fly solo, but I’d love to bring a manpanion for a change. What do you charge?”
“I’m flattered, Joslyn, but I’m no longer in that line of work. However, I’d be happy to attend as your date—unpaid, of course—if you’re interested in—”
“She’s not.” I set down my teacup and saucer, harder than I intend to. “I mean, you’re not. Available, that is. You’re not available because we have a thing that night.”
“But I haven’t said which nights,” Jos says.
“I’m sure I could get away for a few hours,” Devlin says, knitting away like this is just something we do every month, the knitting and the tea and the conversation with my aunts.
“I’m sure you can’t.” I smile, my jaw aching from clenching so hard. “You and I are stuck together, I’m afraid! Really, really stuck.” I sigh through my nose and glare at him again, like, throw me a lifeline, buddy!
Because there’s no way I’m playing third wheel while he gallivants around town, living out his twisted senior citizen fetishes with the aunts. Goddess, what is wrong with this man?
“No need to get jealous, mushroom.” He reaches over and pats my leg. “Devlin Pierce is nothing if not a crowd pleaser, and there’s plenty of me to go ‘round. And round again, if I’m being honest.”
“I do love a man with stamina,” Jos says, peering over at Devlin’s knitting. “What a clever pattern, Devlin. They look like little snakes wearing halos.”
“Put your glasses on, Jos.” Lorelei laughs. “Those aren’t snakes. They’re dicks with cock rings in the end.”
“Very astute, Lorelei. I’m making a tea cozy.” Giving me a wink, Devlin sets the X-rated knitting project on a side table and reaches for his cup and saucer, balancing it on his knee like he always does, casual yet elegant. “I was just thinking, Violet. Maybe we should host a post-Halloween soiree at Kettle and Cauldron? Nothing ostentatious, of course. Just something to show off the new product line.”
“No,” I snap.
“There’s a new line?” Jos again.
“What new line?” Althea.
“Ooh! I’ll make cupcakes!” Emmie, who’s definitely going on my shit list now. “Great idea!”
“I thought so too,” Devlin says, “but Violet looks as though she might dismiss it on principle.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, the principle being that we don’t have a new product line.”
“Because you pooh-poohed that idea too, even though my Devil’s brew had merit.” He clucks his tongue. “Which is kind of a theme with you, Violet. A reluctance to take risks.”
There’s nothing malicious coming through his energy. Just a genuine playfulness. But I can’t for the life of me figure out what he’s up to.
So what the hell games are you playing, Devlin Pierce?
“Can I see you for a moment?” I ask through my plastered-on smile, jerking my head toward the front of the house. “In private?”