Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47894 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47894 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
“Yes,” she said through her tears.
I took hold of her hand. “You deserve better.”
“You don’t even know me. I could be horrible.”
I squinted at her. “You came out of your way to visit the family of your friend who passed away. That says a lot.”
“I could have come earlier.”
“You’re here now.”
She took a breath. “And maybe I’ll stay a bit longer.”
“I think James and Cass would love that.”
She hugged me one last time as Lorne and I were walking out the door. James and Cass said they would be over soon, and I was really glad that no one saw the mirror. That would have kept them up, and the beautiful piece of glass in its gilded frame would probably be put out on the curb. And unlike the earrings, it was not a cursed item, and could never again be used as a portal. Honestly, the earrings were good now too. Hard to imagine how many things over the centuries had been uncursed but were then thrown on a garbage heap anyway. It was kind of sad to think about.
In the Jeep with Lorne, I noted his furrowed brows.
“We will figure everything out when we—”
“I was still hungry,” he grumbled. “I had one serving, and that was it.”
Leave it to him to bring up something mundane when I was trying to figure out magic. “We have lots of bread at home and wild-mushroom soup, or I could make you a grilled cheese with tomato bisque?”
“Yes. That’s the one,” he rushed out. “Please.”
I smiled at him. “Yes, my lord.”
“Oh damn, I like that.”
I was laughing as he pulled away from the curb, and just that much normal sloughed the fear and dread right off me. Love was so very powerful, and I saw it at work between us every single day.
“The snow is crazy,” Lorne commented as he drove us slowly home. “You can’t even see the road anymore.”
He was right. It was coming down again, covering everything. Once we were in front of the cottage, he parked and we both got out fast, on our way toward the door, when he put a hand out to stop me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Where are the wind chimes?”
It was strange to look toward the front door and not see them. I had so many out there, lining almost the entire porch, and to not see a single one was not only odd, but the first thing that truly frightened me. Much worse was when the door opened and a man stepped out.
“Oh, what the fuck,” Lorne said under his breath.
The man gestured for us, and when we moved, as fast as we could in the deepening snow, down the cobblestone path to the steps, he told us to hurry so we didn’t freeze.
Once on the porch, we both stood there, staring.
“What were you two about on a night like this?” he said, sounding concerned.
“We drove home from my brother’s house and—”
“Drove?” He appeared confused.
When Lorne turned to gesture at the Jeep, it was gone. “Oh…kay,” he said to me, taking a deep breath. “I’m getting a bit freaked out again.”
A gross understatement, judging by his face, so I reached out and gave him a gentle pat of reassurance.
“You’ll both catch your death,” the man said. “Come inside.”
Stepping into the cottage we had left two hours before was crazy, because the only thing that was the same was the hearth in the kitchen and the fireplace in the living room. The kitchen was not painted a lovely green, and there was a tiny sink where water needed to be pumped, not a porcelain farmhouse one with running water. There was a small table and four chairs, and a heavy rug in front of the fire. No kitchen window, no sunroom, no attached greenhouse, instead simply a wall where the cottage now ended.
We stood there, huddled by the front door as he gently closed it. I noted the sliding lock and the bolt. There were no witch bells for protection, which for me, was the biggest change of all. When had the cottage ever had a physical lock?
“Take off your coats and go sit by the fire. I’ll bring you some blankets.”
Shedding our jackets, finding no place to hang them, we left them on the chairs, and then in our socks, darted toward the fireplace and sat next to one another.
In moments, the man returned, and we were bundled up in heavy, warm cotton blankets, not wool, which surprised me.
“Thank you,” Lorne said, standing to offer the man his hand. “I’m Lorne MacBain, and this is Xander.”
“A pleasure,” the man said with a smile, and now that I was entirely focused on him, I saw that he was handsome, with dark auburn hair and green eyes. He took Lorne’s hand firmly in his. “I have not met many Scotsmen, but those I have met have been fine workers and honest to a fault.”