Chapter 5
FIVE
Home had always been my sanctuary, no matter if I lived in an apartment or a trailer or a house.
I nested wherever I went. My space reflected me.
But as I walked into the familiar, dark academia-inspired space I loved so much, my thoughts went to Beckett, and I wondered if I should put more lights in.
Maybe motion lights outside. And cameras.
Maybe hire a team of hellhounds and boobytrap all the entrances.
My hands shook as I dropped the keys into the bowl beside the front door. I hung my purse on the hook and kicked my shoes off, then shrugged the vest off to hang beside my bag.
The vest’s familiar clink did little to settle my nerves, so I went straight to the kitchen and poured myself a cup of honey mead, a gift from the local fae when I’d helped them figure out a particularly vexing pest issue.
They rarely parted with their special brew, and as such I only allowed myself a small glass on special occasions.
Or occasions where I was worried about a vampire draining me dry.
My kitchen cabinets were a dark forest green with burnished gold pulls in the shape of cherry branches.
The flooring was taken from an old carriage house during a building remodel—a pretty, deep burgundy brick with strange veins of gold coursing throughout.
At the same time, I’d chosen to install heated flooring, a little more complicated with brick and not a common choice in Texas, but doable once I found a clever contractor.
My kitchen island was painted the same forest green, and I’d topped it with a labradorite slab, heavy in green and gold flash.
I’d color-drenched the room in a pretty coppery brown paint and installed incandescent lighting that cast a comforting glow over the kitchen, lending a relaxing, old-world air to the space.
I opened one of the island drawers and took the key to the liquor cabinet out. Having the cabinet locked when I lived alone was a little overkill, but sometimes loneliness lent itself to destructive habits. Knowing there were a few steps required to unlock the booze gave me time to reconsider.
The pale turquoise mead gleamed inside the crystal bottle, a faint hum making the liquid shimmer and dance under the low light.
I took the bottle and a small crystal rocks glass, setting them on the counter before pouring myself exactly four ounces of mead.
Half a cup—enough to numb the fear clawing at the back of my mind and help me focus enough to go down to the basement and pack some orders.
Any more and I’d pass out on the couch. Any less, and I knew Beckett’s chilling words would haunt me for the rest of the night.
After carefully replacing the bottle and locking everything back up, I went to the living room and sank onto the couch, releasing a shaky, pent-up breath.
“Edmund, play Amos Lee.”
A click of the tongue and a dry voice rang through the speaker system. “Really, Alex? Did something happen for you to make such a sad choice?”
I sighed. Edmund was… Edmund. How could one describe something that both existed and yet did not? He was sentient, I supposed, a spirit that came with the house, though he’d waited until I’d signed on the dotted line at the mortgage office before announcing his presence.
He’d learned his lesson after announcing himself to the last almost-owners a little too soon. They reacted as most people would: by fleeing the house in stark terror and filing a lawsuit against the former owners that had gone absolutely nowhere.
Apparently, not disclosing the presence of house spirits or whatever the hell Edmund was didn’t violate any current laws. I found the house through sheer accident after someone mentioned a “creepy historical property” that just wouldn’t sell.
I bought the house for a dream price with money my mother had stashed away for me and met Edmund the next day, when he revealed himself to me right in the middle of shaving my legs.
Still had the scar on my calf.
Edmund was a spirit, kind of. He was like Siri, if Siri had an attitude and made cracks about your life choices.
We had to set a lot of boundaries when I moved in, but things were pretty good now.
Being confined to the house made him grumpy sometimes, but we were dealing with that as we both settled into new norms.
“An encounter with a vampire,” I said, the feeling of Beckett’s energy lingering on my skin in the same way the smell follows you home from a fried chicken joint.
The snarky house spirit had quite the repertoire of knowledge about the supernatural population and might be able to help me.
I once asked him how he knew so much, but he clammed up every time I tried to engage him about his past. My house spirit had a background he wasn’t ready to share yet, and since he was helping me, I wouldn’t press him. At least not right now.
I’d pay a little extra for the electricity and Wi-Fi he needed as long as he used the knowledge for good, in other words to benefit me.
Edmund sucked in whatever passed for breath. “You appear to be unscathed.”
I took a sip of my mead and sighed. The cool honey flavor exploded over my taste buds. “Have I ever mentioned how weird it is that you can see me with no eyes?”
“Only a few hundred times.”
I shifted in my seat and thought about Beckett and the unnerving feeling he gave me each encounter. “He’s creepy, Edmund. Dangerous.”
And I couldn’t wait to wash away the encounter. My fingers tapped against my glass impatiently. As much as I wanted to soak in a bath, Edmund was a good source of info and might be able to give me more insight.
“Tell me everything.”
I went through both encounters with him, and when I was finished, Edmund stayed uncharacteristically silent.
“I screwed up, didn’t I?”
“No.” His voice was adamant. “You did nothing wrong. Vampires, as you must already know, are intense. It’s always risky to be the object of their obsession, no matter if they’re good or bad. Even in human and witch kind, obsession can go too far. Vampires are far worse.”
“He said he wants to unwrap me like a gift.” I scrubbed my hand over my face. “Addy gave me the week off when she noticed how attentive he was. She told me to lie low.”
“Wise advice. There is plenty to keep you busy here, and I will keep an eye out for any threats coming from the outside.”
“Thanks.”
“You are welcome, Alex. I created a mood playlist for you. Let me know when you’d like a bath, and I’ll run one for you.”
“You’re the best. I have someone coming out next week to upgrade the Wi-Fi for you.”
“Excellent.”
Edmund was powered by magic and electricity but had issues communicating when the Wi-Fi got spotty.
Odd, and he wouldn’t explain why, but he had asked for some very specific upgrades to the house.
Since he was usually more helpful than snarky, I was happy to oblige.
It cost a bundle, but Edmund assured me it would pay off in the long run. Whatever that meant.
“I will leave you now. You only have to shout if you need something.”
His presence faded away, leaving me alone with my mead and thoughts.
Most witchcraft required a clean heart, a clean mind, and a clean body.
I had two out of three. Settling the mind proved difficult, thanks to Beckett.
After a long bath that turned me pruny, I oiled my thick hair with a special formulation of rose and honeysuckle, diffused my curls into something a little more manageable than normal, and dressed in a floral-printed silk robe.
No makeup, no artificial fragrances or polish on my fingers or toes. I went to the earth like I’d arrived, lacking artifice.
Before I began my spellwork, I sank to my knees and fished underneath the bed, pulling out a worn wooden box with a childish triskele symbol burned crookedly onto the top.
The sight never failed to make me smile.
One of the few things my aunt allowed me to keep before she’d sold our house and dragged me to Texas, the box was a reminder of where I’d come from—a home filled with love and laughter, magic and hope.
Under Mom’s supervision and guiding hand while I used the wood burning tool, I’d carved the symbol of the Maiden, Mother, and Crone carefully on top of the box she had once stored lavender inside. Now, staring down at the still-fragrant wood, a bottomless chasm of grief opened up inside me.
I wanted to look for her so badly, had gone so far as to pack a small suitcase and have one leg out the window when my aunt caught me, sadness and disapproval burning in her gaze.
She’d guided me back inside, taken the clothes out of my suitcase, and made us ice cream sundaes—one of the few times she’d shown true empathy.
As I picked at my ice cream, she’d taken a folded piece of paper from her apron and slid it across the table.
I’d recognize my mother’s handwriting anywhere. The note was short and to the point.
If you’re reading this, know I had no choice. Do not look for me, Alex. Stay with your aunt and wait. All will be revealed soon.
Her scrawled final line read: Never doubt how much I love you.
The note had killed any thoughts of running after her.
She’d left on purpose and might never come back, and I knew my mother well enough to realize there was very little that could keep her from my side.
If Mom wasn’t dead, she was trapped or worse, and there was nothing I could do about it.
The trail had long grown cold, if she’d even left one in the first place.
Hot tears burned the backs of my eyes, and I wished so badly she were here with me; I could almost feel the phantom touch of her fingers ruffling my hair. I opened the box, the scent of lavender drifting up to tickle my nose, and pulled out the small stack of photographs and notes.
Mom used to stick notes on my school lunch, and none of them were profound or earth-shaking, just the sometimes silly, sometimes loving scribble of a mother who loved her daughter more than life.