Page 129 of Black Willow Witch
‘How can it not—’ Cutting himself off, he shook his head. ‘I don’t understand this house sometimes.’ It seemed alive to some degree. And it was definitely haunted.
Honest to God, he’d opened a particular door upstairs when taking a wrong turn looking for the bathroom a few weeks back and that door had slammed in his face while someone – or something – inside the room had hissed in warning.
When he’d told Emberlyn, she’d simply said, ‘Yeah, you don’t want to go in that room. Best to pretend it’s not even there.’ Then she’d gone back to sipping her tea while reading a book . . . like it was no biggie that not only was she clearly not alone in this house, but the entities weren’t all harmless.
Right then, having fished a pair of snips out of the drawer, she began making her way to the window.
That easily, his irritation leached away because . . . ‘I swear, watching you walk is straight-up porn.’
Emberlyn blinked, stilling. ‘That’s one I haven’t heard before.’
‘Only because no guy has dared say it out loud.’ They’d all been thinking it – he’d put money on it.
She shot him a playfully prim look and snipped a leaf of a potted plant on the windowsill. ‘You do a lot of things other men haven’t dared do when it comes to me.’
‘You like that, though.’
She huffed but didn’t deny it. As she returned to the altar, she held her hands above the cauldron and rubbed her palms together, letting tiny bits of crushed leaf fall into the brew.
He walked to the altar and sniffed. ‘What are you making?’
‘Potions for insomnia.’
‘You making them for the Founders’ Fair?’ The event took place the last weekend of May every year to celebrate the anniversary of the date Chilgrave was founded. ‘You usually have a market stall, don’t you?’
‘I do. And yes, I’ll be selling these at the market – along with a dozen other kinds of potions.’ She peered down at the old text again and then chanted low. Magick dust in colors of teal blue, black and silver coasted down into the cauldron. The water there fizzed and gurgled for a few seconds.
‘Are you going to let any of the witches who attacked you buy anything from you?’
‘Nope.’ She stirred the brewing potion with her athame. ‘I meant what I said to them. I’ll never lift a magickal finger for any of them again.’ She set her blade down on the altar. ‘They can go swivel.’
A smile warmed his chest. ‘So ruthless and unforgiving.’
‘You say that as if it pleases you.’
‘It does. I like that you take no one’s shit. Fact is you shouldn’t have to.’ He wouldn’t want her to be any different.
A knock came at the front door.
She pulled a face, clearly annoyed by the interruption.
‘I’ll get it.’ He left the room and walked to the front door. Opening it, he found Kerr standing on the porch wearing aWe gotta talklook. Ripper sighed, his hand clenching the edge of the door. ‘We need to make it a law in the clan that no shit is permitted to happen on a Sunday. It isn’t unreasonable to want at least one day per week where there’s pure peace.’
‘I hear you,’ Kerr muttered.
‘Whatever this is can’t wait until tomorrow?’
‘Depends. I’m not sure how much worse it will get in the hours between now and then, so I thought it best to check. Also, it could be that CeCe’s wrong anyway.’
Feeling his jaw harden, Ripper stepped aside and waved his friend into the manor. ‘Wrong about what?’
‘She came to me with a . . . complaint. She would have gone straight to you, but she knows you’re pissed at her.’
‘What kind of complaint?’ Ripper released the door, and it closed by itself.
Kerr grimaced. ‘She believes that Emberlyn has used magick on her somehow.’
‘What? Why?’
