Chapter 10
TEN
While I’d slept for a few hours, I woke up groggy and drained of energy. I dragged myself to the coffee pot the next morning, grunting at Edmund when he gave me a cheery greeting.
My head pounded and my mouth felt dry. I felt weird. Off somehow.
I poured double the amount of coffee and sank into one of the kitchen chairs.
“Rough night?” Edmund asked.
“Had a tough time sleeping.” My voice was huskier than normal. I cleared my throat and sipped my coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste. Had I put too many grounds into the filter last night?
“Did you message the Prime’s staff?”
My fingers tightened around the mug. “Not yet. If Beckett showed up to his Nest with the smell of witch blood on him, it’s possible they already took care of him.”
Edmund’s soft snort told me what he thought about that. “Regardless, you should tell them what happened. Anonymously.”
“I’ll message later today,” I promised. My VPN was uncompromisable, keeping my identity safe. Whether there’d be consequences for Beckett was an entirely different question.
“Good. Let me know what happens.”
“I’m going to unwrap my bandages today. The skin is no longer stretching, so I’ll be able to get a closer look at the damage.
The witches, or whoever they were, used poultices, and those herbs disguised the severity of my injuries.
I won’t know how bad it is until I remove them and wash away the debris. ”
“You could always call Gertrude.”
“No,” I snapped. The absolute last thing I needed was my mom’s nosy friend over here asking too many questions. I liked Gertrude, but she was best taken in small doses.
Very small doses.
Since Mom went missing, I had a standing monthly lunch with her.
Gertie pried way too much and had tried multiple times to invite herself over, but I’d demurred every single time.
The woman could be a barnacle sometimes, impossible to remove without using extreme force.
I kept her at arm’s length as much as possible.
Mom always said she meant well, but there was something about the older witch that rubbed me the wrong way.
I wasn’t nosy. Life was too short to be nosy. I was curious, a trait that could be just as dangerous, but I wasn’t interested in people. I was curious about subjects—new spells, new recipes, pop culture, upcoming movies, and especially new books.
It was not possible for me to care any less about what Gertrude or anyone else did on a daily basis. I had no idea where she lived and only had a vague notion of where her crystal shop was.
Maybe this is why I have no friends, a voice in the back of my head whispered.
“She’s a witch. She’d have answers for you,” Edmund reminded me.
“Yes, but at what cost?” I groaned and got up to refill my mug. On my way to the coffee pot, I peeked into the mud room, relieved to see the colored tubs empty of packages. At least one thing had gone right.
I hadn’t checked my email since the day before yesterday. Heavens knew how many orders had come in during my little adventure.
“She’s quite knowledgeable.”
I stilled and glanced up at the ceiling, squinting with suspicion. “How do you know?” I’d vented to Edmund about the woman but never went into much detail.
Edmund sighed. “Honestly. Must you question everything? These days you can find all kinds of information about someone just by accessing the internet.” He scoffed. “It’s not like I could invite her over for a tea party and a gab session. You really are the most paranoid person I know.”
I rolled my eyes and fixed another cup of coffee. “I’m the only person you know.”
“Gertrude has a podcast.”
The spoon I held clattered to the counter. “She has a what?”
“A podcast,” Edmund enunciated very slowly, like I was a toddler learning how to read. “She and her other witch friends discuss current politics, witchcraft, and pop culture. It’s quite entertaining. You should give it a listen sometime.”
I rubbed my forehead, wishing I could will the headache away. “I’ll pass.”
“Podcasts are a wonderful way to keep up with what’s going on in the supernatural world.”
“I’m aware,” I said dryly. Edmund must have known I preferred true crime podcasts over ones speaking on current events.
I listened to them every time I cleaned the house or when I was crafting.
Nothing like a little murder to put you in a relaxed mood.
Though I shunned current news cycles and was careful about media I consumed, there was something about true crime that made it worth a thorough sageing afterward.
I skipped over cases involving children and unsolved crimes.
I wanted straightforward cases with guilty verdicts at the end. If justice is served, count me in.
“And a good way to make friends you have something in common with,” Edmund continued.
“Don’t make me unplug the Wi-Fi,” I warned.
Edmund meant well, but his gentle nudging to have more company over at the house was getting on my nerves.
“You need more people in your life than me,” he said softly.
I flicked my fingers at him. “Things are perfectly fine.”
“Uh huh. You running into the house after being attacked and kidnapped is totally normal.”
“That has only happened once,” I said primly. Another sip of coffee and I wrinkled my nose. What the hell was wrong with this brew? It tasted terrible.
“Did you switch the coffee?” I realized how ridiculous the question was as soon as I asked it.
“Yes, with all two of my hands, and ability to drive a vehicle to the grocery store to get new coffee. Easy peasy.”
“No need to get pissy.” I poured the rest of the coffee down the drain. “It tastes weird today.”
There was a pause. “Are you alright, Alex?”
“I’m fine. Just having an off day, I guess.” Shaking my head, I pulled out the brew in question to check the expiration date.
Good for a year. Weird. “Huh. Maybe it turned before its time.”
“Or you should call someone to examine you.”
“I’m fine. Something going bad before its expiration date happens all the time.”
Edmund grunted. “Maybe you should go lie down.”
Not a bad idea, but I had stuff to do. “Let me check the apothecary orders first. Plus, I need to get these bandages off.” I eyed the fridge, suddenly ravenous. “Steak sounds good for tonight, doesn’t it?” I rubbed my stomach.
“You don’t eat steak.” Edmund sniffed. “As a matter of fact, neither do I.”
I scoffed. “Of course I do. Not often, but there are few things better than a nice, rare steak with a glass of red wine.”
What the hell was I talking about? Rare steak? I gagged every time I saw someone eating something that bled all over their plate. While I did occasionally eat steak, it wasn’t more than a couple of times a year. Most hedge and green witches didn’t eat red meat.
But I had a craving I couldn’t shake. “I’m going to set up a grocery delivery order,” I mumbled, hurrying to the bedroom to place one in time for the day’s cut-off.
When I closed the door behind me, I went straight to the bathroom and peered at my eyes in the mirror. I still felt off. Combined with the craving for a bloody steak, I realized I might need to call Gertrude, after all.
My eyes looked normal, still a little bruised underneath, but otherwise no issues. My teeth: normal. No claws sprouted from my fingertips. I shook the thought away. That was impossible and not worth even thinking about.
Vampires and wolves couldn’t turn witches. The fact had been demonstrated repeatedly. There had never been a single report of a witch turning, even when the vampire or wolf made an effort. Something in our blood wasn’t compatible.
So that couldn’t be it. Maybe losing so much blood had made me temporarily anemic. I’d get a good steak tonight and should feel better tomorrow. I hoped.
Sighing, I shifted to the side so I could see the bandages in the mirror.
Ever so slowly, I unwrapped my arm, wincing as the tape pulled away from my skin.
When that was done, I wet a washcloth with warm water and gently wiped away what was left of the poultice.
Expecting to see a horrific scar or other deformity, I squinted when the skin appeared smooth and unmarred.
I stared at my bare arm for a long moment before shaking my head and turning the faucet on. A quick rinse washed the rest of the herbs away and revealed totally clear skin.
My arm looked like I’d never been attacked.
“What the hell?” I whispered. Witches were above average healers. Not as fast as a vampire or shifter, but well above a human’s capabilities. Nevertheless, at minimum, I should have a wicked scar—something to denote the seriousness of what I’d gone through.
I reached for a towel and wiped all the water away. Still nothing.
Except… I hopped up on the edge of the sink and moved my arm closer to the mirror. At the back of my elbow, where my implant rested, a faint red glow pulsed, a fine line of pain beginning to run around the edges.
That could not be good. Mom never fully explained the implant’s purpose beyond a vague warning about my power levels, nor had she told me what might happen if it were damaged. Could that explain my odd steak craving or the headaches I’d been having?
I rummaged around in the cabinet and pulled out a blue bandage, carefully securing it across the pulsing light.
I’d have to wear dark clothing until I secured an appointment to have it looked at, but that should keep Edmund from asking questions.
He had no idea what I carried under my skin, and I had no plans to tell him.
Mom was clear from the start: share no information about your implant.
If they don’t know, they won’t ask questions.
Maybe one day, I would trust Edmund enough, but he and I weren’t exactly friends yet.
Could one ever be friends with a disembodied entity? Regardless, we definitely weren’t at the sharing traumatic personal stories part of our relationship either.
Once I’d cleaned up all the arm bandages, I took care of the ones on my leg sustained during my frantic run through city streets, once again revealing smooth and unblemished skin.
If I could market this strange new healing ability, I’d be a rich woman.
I took a closer look in the mirror, turning my leg to and fro.
Not even a tiny scar. Looking at me now, no one would guess I had been at death’s door less than forty-eight hours ago.
I dressed in a pair of brown Ponte pants, a pullover boat-neck cream sweater, and pulled on a pair of leather flats. A quick twist of my hair, some tinted sunscreen, and a few swipes of blush and mascara, and I was ready for a day of doing absolutely nothing.
I ordered groceries, including a massive pack of steaks and a bottle of nice red wine, checked the apothecary emails, and settled into a streaming television marathon.
In a different world, I would be feeling great, but that faint, burning pulse around my elbow sent a shiver of foreboding down my spine.