Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
There’s kindness in her eyes, and something familiar, but I cannot place where I would have seen this woman before. She’s not a hunter, and has an ethereal sort of vibe emanating from her but I also know, for some insane reason, she’s not a woman I would want to piss off.
“Hello, Florence,” she says, brown eyes meeting mine. In that instant, whatever I was sensing becomes familiar: she’s a witch. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Chapter
Twelve
“Hi,” I reply shortly, mind bouncing back and forth between logic and going off what I’m feeling. It’s not crazy for people to recognize me and know who I am. Xavier is trending on social media, which means people are more than aware of his wife. But this woman is a witch.
I can feel it.
“Who are you?” I ask, cutting to the chase.
“Marie,” she tells me as the wind blows her braids back. “Named after my great-something grandmother.” She inches closer and I drop my mental shield a bit, trying to get a good sense of what she wants. I’m not sensing anything bad—at all. Her accent makes me think she’s not from Charlotte but maybe from somewhere else nearby.
“Cool.” I take my eyes off of her for a half second, glancing around. It’s hot today and lots of people are out and about, enjoying the sun while simultaneously complaining about the heat. There’s an overall sense of apprehension from a lot of people in the city today, which makes sense after what just happened. But it’s the daytime and people are choosing to believe the attacks are only going to happen after dark—which makes me really glad they all have.
Xavier can’t rescue me when the sun is shining.
Marie laughs. “Sorry, that wasn’t much to go on. I’m just shocked you look exactly how you appeared to me.”
I raise one eyebrow in question. “Appeared to you?”
“In a dream,” she goes on. “Like you, I’m a witch. The gift of premonition has always been strong in my family but it can be hard to follow the visions given sometimes.” A group of middle-aged moms walks past us, talking and laughing. We step to the side and Marie motions to the bench she was sitting on. “Want to move out of the way?”
“Sure,” I say, careful not to give anything away or ask questions that could accidentally be leading. I need to hear what she came here to tell me. This could very well be a trap, but my gut is telling me to talk to this woman.
“Turns out you’re pretty well known,” she starts as we sit on the bench. “Which is what made me question my own power.” She laughs. “I’ve seen you on the news and on TikTok. You seem to follow in your family’s footsteps by not following the rules.”
“My family?” I ask, unable to help myself.
“You are from the Blackwood line, are you not?” She tips her head and closes her eyes for a second, like she’s getting a read on my energy. “Or possibly the Larsons? I was able to narrow down your lineage to the east coast and you look similar to Fiona Blackwood.”
My jaw tenses and I know my heartbeat is picking up speed. She knows my family?
“I do have ties to the East Coast,” I answer, knowing I have to give her something.
“You don’t belong to a coven,” she starts. “Not the one here and not any coven, from what I was able to gather.” Her brows push together. “I made quite a few calls and it doesn’t seem like the local witches even knew you were a witch, possibly because you are married to Xavier Malus.” Her eyes go to my engagement ring.
Now I’m sensing her curiosity, but it’s out of a place of genuine wonder. She—and whoever else she’s talked to—really do want to know how a witch with no coven ended up here.
“I’ve never belonged to one,” I admit, knowing it’s not a secret. Obviously, covens have phone lines and they talk to each other. “I was actually raised as a member of the Order of the Mystic Realm.”
“I did not see that coming, and I’m psychic,” she says with a laugh. Despite the lack of negative energy, she’s still hard to get a read on. “How did that happen?”
“It’s a complicated story, and the one I was told was that demons killed my parents and the hunter who took me in as a baby didn’t know I was a witch.”
She tips her head to the side, studying me. “And yet they kept you. The Order is not kind to witches,” she says and it doesn’t take my spidey-sense to see that she's trying to feel out if I still have any sense of loyalty to the Order.
“They’re not. And they were not very kind to me, even though having powers made me a superior hunter.”