Chapter 6 #2
He swung his leg over the seat, started that big, growly engine, then motioned me forward.
He held out his hand, and I took it and slid on the back.
I wasn’t sure where to put my hands, but then he reached back with both of his and pulled my arms around his waist. Oh!
I’d seen other females travel like this.
Now I knew why they liked it. Fender was so warm and strong under my hands.
A thrill raced through me. Pressed close to his big, muscled body like this, every nerve ending inside me seemed to burst into life, as if part of me had been dormant until this moment.
Maybe it was silly, but that’s how it felt.
Brick opened the gate for us as we rolled toward it.
The engine roared, and Fender tore out onto the street.
Adrenaline spiked through me, stealing my breath.
Tightening my hold on him, I threw my head back and laughed, unable to contain myself.
I felt more than heard Fender’s deep chuckle. That was wonderful as well.
He steered the big machine effortlessly, and I never wanted it to end, but it didn’t take long to get to our destination.
When we finally hit the city, I clung a little tighter to him as we turned onto my street.
He pulled up outside All the Herbs and shut off the engine.
One of his hands reached back again, taking one of mine, giving me something to hold myself steady as I slid off the bike.
He swung off after me and taking my hand again—he’d been doing that a lot today—we headed for the short alleyway that would lead to my door.
Oh dear. “I’m fine, you can just drop me here.”
What if he asked to come inside?
He didn’t stop, he kept walking until we were right outside my fake apartment door. He stared down at me, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t read him.
“Thanks for the pies,” he said. “And for your help with this weapon hunt.”
That was nice. “No problem. I love to bake. Almost as much as I love to solve puzzles, and finding those weapons is a big one.”
That amber stare grew a deeper shade. “It is. I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything. I had fun tonight, well, until Raiden…but if we ignore that part,” I rushed on, “I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun.” And I meant it. Honestly, I didn’t want tonight to end. It had to though.
He shook his head. “I had a good time, too, and I definitely owe you. If you ever want or need something, Temp, anything at all, just ask and it’s yours.”
“Oh…well, thank you, but you don’t have to—”
“Anything, Temp.”
I blinked up at him. He really was a good male. I smiled. “Well, thank you again. That’s very kind of you.”
His nostrils flared. “So, you don’t have anything you’d like to ask me?”
“I can’t think of anything.”
He blew out a rough breath, an odd look on his face, his jaw all tight, his eyes intense. He silently stared at me for several long seconds. “Well, if you do think of something, how about you give me a call.”
“Okay.” Was I missing something again? “Have I done something wrong?”
There had been tension in his big frame, and I could see it slip away. “No, not at all.”
He said he’d tell me if I did, so I would take him at his word.
Then he just stood there.
“Was there something else?” I said.
“Waiting for you to go inside, babe.”
Crap. Thankfully, I’d worked out a contingency plan in case something like this happened.
“I actually have to head into the store before I go to my place. June, the owner, asked me to water some of her herbs.” I’d gotten a spare key off her just in case.
Fender nodded and waited while I rummaged around in my bag and found the key.
He stayed there as I unlocked the door and opened it.
“Right, I’ll just head in. Thanks again for tonight,” I said since he still made no move to leave.
Shoot. I waved and shut the door.
I stood there, but he still hadn’t left. Seconds ticked by. As quietly as I could, I peeked through the peephole.
“Waiting for you to lock the door, Tempest,” he said.
I jumped and quickly slammed the lock across, only then did I hear him walk away.
I blew out a breath when his bike roared off down the street a few minutes later. If Fender wasn’t a client and we weren’t such good friends now, he might have made a good candidate for a lover. Oh well, someone else would come along.
The sun streaked through the cottage window, and Glinda had sprawled out, basking at the end of the couch, while I sat at the table sipping tea and flipping through a book.
The Matildas had been collecting books and adding to our sacred grimoire for centuries.
We had a substantial library of our own now.
I’d been looking for information on the three priestesses, or Brigid after her sisters had been murdered. I couldn’t find any mention of what became of her. Had she sought her revenge? And if so, had she succeeded or failed?
Sliding another open book toward me, I scanned the pages.
This was from the older section of the library.
This particular tome had been added to the collection in 1525.
Matilda the Marked had written her name inside the front cover.
She’d been a fierce and relentless Matilda and to this day held the record for the most saves.
She was the longest lived as well, dying on her hundred and twenty-eighth birthday.
We lived as long as we were needed. There always needed to be one of us in existence, which meant we weren’t easy to kill, thanks to Agattealia Pontella, an ancient and thought-to-be-extinct plant that only flowered once every ten years, a plant we fiercely guarded.
We even went as far as hiding it and leaving treasure maps or clues for our successors to find and hide again.
It was what we took once our apprenticeship was finished, to ensure we wouldn’t die before our replacement was found.
I slid my fingers over Matilda M’s strong, sloped signature.
She’d always fascinated me, and I loved finding any information about her that I could.
Whenever we added something, not just to the library but to the cottage as well, we added our moniker to it, so those after us would know where everything came from.
It was a way of being connected, I suppose.
Matilda the Marked had added quite a few things in her long life, and her presence was more visceral whenever I used one of those items. Probably because I felt a strong connection to her.
She always took the lead guiding me and talked the loudest when I worked.
Nibbling a piece of sourdough with my homemade blueberry preserve, I carefully turned the page. There. This section mentioned Brigid’s name. I knew it was here somewhere. I kept reading. This was the book Matilda W would read to me when I was young, well, at least parts of it.
I hadn’t opened it in years. I read up to where she always stopped, at Brigid’s scream of rage and vow of revenge.
It was a good place to stop. I’d always felt empowered by it.
I hadn’t thought about the story until last night when I was helping Fender.
Finally, I was able to read what came next, the part W always omitted.
My stomach clenched painfully.
Brigid was never able to avenge her sisters. After realizing she’d failed, she’d walked into the forest and was never seen again, living out the rest of her life in hiding.
My heart broke for her. How she must have suffered. Missing her sisters, feeling powerless, living all by herself. I could relate. That was how I would spend the majority of my life, until I found the next of us, the witch chosen to take my place.
I’d only been a child when I’d been chosen, but we all had different stories of how it happened. Matildas apprenticed at all ages. This was more than a calling; it was a destiny. It was fate, and fate decided when it would intervene.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I looked back at the page.
Brigid walked into the forest, where the blue cliffs rose above the trees. The river swirled and churned from her rage as she passed, the forest closing behind her, claiming her for its own. Never to be seen again.
The blue cliffs and churning river?
I read it again and sat up straighter. “Holy crap.”
Swiping up my phone, I scrolled to Fender’s number and quickly sent him a text.
I think I know where to look next.
His reply came seconds later.
Fender: On my way.