Page 22 of Bewitched By the Djinn (The Bewitching Hour #8)

Chapter

Sixteen

Following the lanterns, we circle behind the giant tree where a stout wooden cabin sits, surrounded by trees.

I stop in my tracks. “That wasn’t there before, right?”

Bennet steps up beside me, his expression unreadable. “No.”

It’s small, barely more than a shack, its wooden boards warped with age and moss creeping up the sides.

The porch is so frail it might collapse under the weight of a strong breeze, and the whole thing leans slightly to the left, as if tired of standing upright.

A single window glows with warm, golden light, almost inviting.

We approach slowly, our steps creaking as we navigate the steps and porch.

The door swings open on its own, a slow, creaking motion that sets every nerve in my body on edge.

I glance at Bennet. “That’s not ominous at all.”

But he’s already stepping inside.

The interior is simple. One single room. A fireplace crackles, casting flickering radiance over the space. A narrow wooden table runs along one wall, holding a tray of bread, cheese, and a carafe of water with copper cups. There’s no couch. No chairs.

The center of the space is dominated by the bed.

It’s raised on a platform, draped in a thin, white net, the material shifting gently in the breeze from the open door. The mattress is decent enough, plush with thick blankets folded at the end.

One bed.

Bennet crosses his arms. “I can take the floor?”

“This floor?” I stomp on the hard wood. “I mean, we’re adults. Adults who have now brought each other to orgasm twice. We can—” I wave a hand at the bed like that somehow makes it less of an issue. “We can stay on our own sides. Avoid magic. That kind of thing.”

Do not think about the mind-boggling, earth-shattering orgasms.

Do not think about the way his mouth moved against mine alternately hungry and tender, like he was starving for the connection.

Do not think about all the fun things we could get up to in a bed that’s way more comfortable than a dusty basement or the dirty ground.

Nope. Not thinking about it.

This is all temporary anyway.

I clear my throat. “I’m going to use the facilities.”

The bathroom is about the size of an airplane lavatory, just big enough to turn in without hitting the walls. The mirror above the sink is old and warped, stretching my reflection in odd places. I splash cold water on my face, gripping the edges of the sink to steady myself.

It’s only one night.

It’s fine. I can do this.

When I step back into the main room, Bennet is already on the bed, partially obscured by the netting. He glances up as I enter but says nothing, reaching for a piece of bread from the tray.

I tilt my head, eyeing the net. Lovebug season is over. “I wonder why?—?”

A skittering echoes across the floor and I give a strangled cry. It’s definitely not a scream, but it is also definitely not dignified. In one completely instinctual motion, I launch myself onto the bed, shoving my way inside the net.

Bennet snaps upright, body tense. “What happened?”

“Bug,” I gasp, heart hammering.

His brows dip. “A bug?”

I nod. “It was huge.” So I didn’t actually get a look at it, but he doesn’t need to know that. The skittering sounded big enough.

He blinks. “Where?”

I point to the floor. A tiny, barely visible insect sits there, unmoving.

Bennet stares at it. Then at me. Then back at it.

“That?” he asks flatly.

I nod, still breathless. “Did you see the gleam in its eyes?”

He tilts his head. “It has eyes?”

“I’m sure it does. And I’m sure they have a wicked gleam in them.”

He leans forward slightly, moving the net to study it. “It’s half the size of your pinky nail. I can’t even tell if it has a face.”

When all else fails, double down. “Well, it does. And it’s full of malice. It could be poisonous.”

There’s a pause. A slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I’m sure you’re correct.”

I glare at him. “This is not funny.”

His amusement presses against my senses like a warm pulse.

And then, despite myself and my cursed pride, I laugh. It bubbles out unexpectedly, half exhausted, half hysterical, and then he’s laughing too. A quiet, breathy chuckle.

“I hate you.”

He smirks. “No, you don’t.”

I kick my shoes off and dump them over the side of the bed, wiping off a few bits of dirt I brought with me when I leaped inside the net.

He puts the tray between us, breaking off a piece of bread and handing it to me. We sit side by side, sharing food under the glow of the fire.

“I’m sorry about your mother’s ring.” I pick up one of the copper cups he’s already filled with water.

He’s looking down at the hunk of bread in his hands. “It’s okay. It’s just an object. Helen is more important.”

“Still. It sucks.” I would be absolutely devastated to lose something of value that belonged to either of my parents.

“Yes. It does.”

“Maybe we can find a way to get it back, once all this is over.”

His eyes lift to mine. “That would be nice.”

He turns back to his food and we eat for a few minutes in silence.

“What do you think they meant when they said, ‘the ones you seek have crossed the veil’?” He wipes a crumb from his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You heard that?”

He nods. “Though it felt like they were speaking to you. I don’t think it was about Helen and Delores. They are still in the mortal world.” He rubs the back of his head. “Do you think they were speaking of your parents?”

A bite of cheese lodges in my throat and I cough. “My parents? You think that’s what they were talking about?” How could they still be alive? Crossed the veil but not to Hades... cryptic much? I force words out over a suddenly bitter tongue. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

I’ve spent years clinging to the idea that my parents will walk through the door, or I will be handed a neat explanation and a happy ending.

I’ve longed for the day when Jackie will suddenly wake up better. When life will make sense again.

But hope, when it’s unanswered, starts to hollow you out.

Miracles don’t happen. Not to me.

His gaze sharpens. There’s a beat of silence before he asks, “Will you tell me what happened to them?”

“They went missing.” My voice is flat. I stare down at the food tray.

“I don’t know where they are, if they’re alive or dead or what.

We’ll probably never know. We tried everything.

We went to the cops. I used my magic, but that went nowhere.

I asked Richard for help, but even he couldn’t do anything.

Kevin asked his ghost friends. We thought maybe they.

..” I trail off, unable to finish the sentence.

They have not met Hades. The witches’ words echo in my mind.

“We put flyers up all over town,” I continue. “Even got the news to report on it. No one had seen them. They disappeared into thin air.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice softer now. “The authorities were unable to find any hints at all?”

“The cops were useless,” I mutter. “They didn’t say it outright, but they thought my parents bailed on us. Thousands of people go missing every year. Some end up dead, some are never found. Some don’t want to be found.”

Silence stretches between us. The bread in my hands has turned to dust in my mouth, dry and tasteless. I set it down and take a sip of water, but it does little to ease the tightness in my throat.

After a moment, Bennet asks, “Did they have magic? Your parents?”

I take a sip. “Mom was a spellbreaker. Magic didn’t affect her. She could block anything tossed her way, and she could break any ward or negate any spell even directed at people around her. I think that’s why Richard liked her, or was fascinated by her. He couldn’t affect her like everyone else.”

Bennet listens intently. “And your father?”

“His power was similar to mine.”

“A seeker then?”

“Yes. He was more in tune with people though, and their vibrations. I can kind of sense people but it’s more natural for me to feel objects.

Kevin wandered off once when we were at a carnival.

He got into a game booth and was hiding behind one of the giant stuffed prizes.

I have no idea how he even managed to get in there, but Dad found him no problem. He could find us anywhere.”

Bennet studies me for a long moment, then gestures toward my half-eaten bread. “Are you finished?”

I nod, and he slips out from under the netting, crossing the small space to set the tray back on the table. I lean back against the pillows, letting my eyes drift shut.

There’s the quiet clink of him adjusting the tray, the soft shuffle of his footsteps as he stirs the fire. Then, a moment later, the mattress dips again.

I open my eyes. He’s sitting on the bed, watching me, his dark gaze steady in the dim glow of the firelight.

“They disappeared before Jackie’s illness began?” he asks.

“No.” I frown slightly, thinking back. “Just after. Maybe a year or so after it started.”

“Hmmm.” His brow furrows. “And then you stepped in to care for your siblings.”

“Yeah.”

There’s no pity in his expression. He nods, like he’s fitting the pieces together.

“What were you doing before they disappeared?” he asks.

“Nothing much.” I let out a small, humorless laugh. “I had just graduated from college. I was about to start my master’s degree in art history.”

His brow furrows. “Art history?”

“Yeah.” I smile a little at his confusion. “It’s the study of art through different cultures and time periods. Understanding techniques, symbolism, how movements evolved. Basically, a deep dive into the stories people have told through art.”

He nods slowly, considering it. “That sounds significant.”

I snort. “Not really. It’s not like there’s a huge job market for it.”

“Still. You had to put it on hold for your family.”

I shrug, trying to play it off. “Eh. It’s not like I was walking into a high-paying job or anything. My options were basically become a professor or work in a museum gift shop. Although it has helped me get jobs finding antiques for people, along with my magic.”

His expression turns thoughtful. “Do you miss it? School?”

I hesitate, then admit, “Yeah. Sometimes. I loved what I was studying because looking at art from the past is like a way to see the world through another’s eyes long after they’re gone.

It’s a moment in time, preserved. A glimpse into how someone thought, how they felt, what they feared or hoped for, centuries ago.

It’s not just history, it’s like a memory made visible. ”

The fire crackles. I stare at the flicker of flames through the net, unable to meet the weight of Bennet’s stare. “You are not what I expected.”

I look over at him. “What do you mean?”

His fingers spread over the blanket between us. “Uncle always says mortals tend to be selfish creatures, obsessed with wealth and their own comfort.”

“Well. He’s not wrong.” I sink down further into the bed. “A lot of people are like that.”

His lips purse. “Hmmm.”

I take a deep breath and for a second allow myself to enjoy Bennet’s solid presence beside me, the warmth of the little room, the comfort of the space between conversation and silence.

I turn toward him. “Did you go to school? In Aetheria?”

His head dips. “I had tutors.”

“What did you study?”

“Magic, languages, politics, mathematics, courtship,” he waves a hand, “things useful to a second son.”

My brows shoot up into my hairline. “Courtship? They have tutors for that?”

He leans back against the pillow, shifting until he’s reclined on one elbow on his side, facing me. “I am expected to make a good match, after Helen gets married, of course.”

Jealousy slides through my veins, hot, burning, and intense. My jaw clenches. This is ridiculous. Bennet isn’t mine. I cannot possibly be murderous toward some vague woman I’ve never met and may not even exist.

I take a breath before speaking, so my voice won’t emerge as a screech. “Are you... engaged?”

“No. I’ve met a few potential candidates at balls and feasts with other kingdoms, but,” he rubs his chin, “it’s never sat well with me.”

I’ll ignore the relief that rolls through me at learning he’s not engaged. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “I don’t like feeling out of control of my own destiny. I would rather pick a partner I love, rather than be matched for political advantage.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Yes, for you and your world. In my world, that is not the way of things.”

“There was never some fair maiden that caught your eye?”

I want to roll my eyes at myself. Fair maiden ?

But Bennet doesn’t notice my internal berating.

He rubs an invisible spot on the pillowcase. “No. They were nice enough, but there was no spark.”

Our gazes clash and hold. The irrational jealousy over the nameless, faceless maidens morphs into another kind of heat entirely. There is no lack of sparks here.

The fire has mellowed into burning embers, darkening the room.

In the thickening gloom my eyes track over his figure, his broad shoulders filling the space on his side of the bed, and the tapering of his waist. He’s less than a foot away. So close.

No.

No no no.

He’s going back to his djinn life and his fair maidens. I’m going back to my simple mortal life. This wouldn’t be anything more than a night of pleasure.

Arousal blooms, spreading through my limbs. Would that be so bad? Only one night?

Yes. It would be bad. We still have to work together and find Helen and anything more will just complicate matters further. This can’t be anything more than just magic sex between us. I can’t risk him catching feelings. Or me.

It’s simple attraction and shared emotions. Nothing more, nothing less. He’s not even human. Once we break this curse, he’s going back to Aetheria, a whole different dimension.

I mean, there’s wanting what you can’t have and then there’s this .

“Um. We should get some rest.” Lord only knows what’s going to happen tomorrow. I force a yawn and shift, slipping under the covers.

“Right. Yes. Of course.” Bennet settles in next to me, staying on top of the covers.

It’s for the best.

I’m staring up at the netting when he murmurs, “You’re sure you’re safe?”

I frown, turning my head to face him. “What?”

He props himself up on one elbow, his expression completely serious. “I wouldn’t want you to wake up with one of your wicked-eyed friends crawling across your pillow.”

I groan, smacking his arm. “Oh my God, don’t say that. Now I’m going to be paranoid all night.”

He stifles his laugh. “I could always stand watch.”

“You’re not funny.” I tug the blanket higher like that’ll protect me from potential creepy-crawlies.

The rumble of his laughter brushes against my senses like a soft feather.

And damn it, I laugh too.