Page 26 of Creep (Vulture Hollow MC #2)

Angel

I’ve always been good at obtaining information, but whenever I work on people’s hair, skin, and nails, the relaxation of it unlocks something deep inside them.

All of a sudden, I’m their therapist, friend, closest confidant.

The things I’ve been told include everything from shameful family secrets to sexual history and drugs of choice.

And yet, none of the women I’ve had around today made a peep about anything related to the motorcycle club.

Well, with the exception of Mia, who let it slip that she “gathers fungi in the caves” , before telling me to forget she ever said that, then repeating that same sentence when she left me a large tip.

On her way out, she flashed me the patches of one of those Property of vests I’ve seen around Vulture Hollow on a few of the women.

Well, I wouldn’t be the vessel for people’s secrets if I ran my mouth too much, so I didn’t pry and let that fact marinate at the back of my skull.

While out on a walk, I explored the perimeter of the MC clubhouse.

The large wooden building behind the wire fence doesn’t appear menacing, but an armed man always hangs out by the entrance.

This time, it was Rooster, and despite being happy to chat, he came up with a bullshit reason to remain at his post the moment I asked him for help with a broken chair.

Not that I expected an outlaw MC to be dealing with legal business only.

I’ve seen with my own eyes that Creep killed Adam and wasn’t particularly remorseful.

And when I was brought to Prophet tied up, he was annoyed rather than shocked.

I know that I’m in a pit of vipers, I’m not stupid, but with Creep being so innocent when it comes to sex and romance, it’s easy to keep wearing blinders.

I have to be honest with myself, though.

He’s a violent man, most likely committing a crime at this very moment, no matter how sweet he is to me.

Am I really falling for him because he opened up?

Gave me head? Put a muffin on my food tray?

I’m not even looking for a relationship right now, but the way he stopped any eye contact after I didn’t confirm us being an item was pretty telling.

To pass the time until his return, I prepared a cozy space for him under my bed, with extra blankets on top of a yoga mat, a bottle of water, and snacks that don’t come in crinkling wrappers, since he likes to be quiet.

A part of me feels bad accommodating a need that’s so clearly an artificial product of trauma, but if it makes him less distressed, I’ll go with it, for now at least. The monster who raised him is dead, and while I don’t often wish people ill, knowing this puts me at ease. Some people don’t deserve to be alive.

But when hours tick away and the motorcycle club members who set out with Prophet remain absent, a gray aura settles over the village.

Or perhaps it’s just me, because life goes on as normal.

Children are busy in the playground. Teens play in the basketball court I can see from my porch, and while I see three women in leather vests whisper between themselves, then skitter away as soon as I wave at them, this didn’t have to be about the bikers.

Maybe they simply don’t trust me yet, or are working out if one of their boyfriends is cheating with Martina, who’s the new girl in the village and who, according to gossip, is actively on the lookout for a man to take care of her?

Not knowing doesn’t settle the tension in my stomach, and since Rooster is smart enough to keep his mouth shut, despite being so open otherwise, I take the amethyst Creep gifted me and make my way to the person who might soothe the growing anxiety inside me.

Brigid’s thatched home stands by the lake on a series of short, stubby pillars that reinforce the idea that she’s the witch from deep in the woods, complete with her own chicken-legged hut.

The legs are many, and made of wood rather than flesh and bone, but I’m there for the vibes.

The sky is slowly turning pink, and that only reminds me about Creep and the others being gone for hours.

Luna’s on the other side of the house, working the garden in a wide-brimmed hat, but since she can’t see me, I choose not to bother her and go straight for the door.

I’m raising my hand to knock when it occurs to me that I’m empty-handed, and that bringing over something tasty could have played in my favor, but the door opens before I can make my decision and Brigid’s dark, kohl-lined eyes meet mine.

Draped in a macrame shawl and with her wild locks of hair tamed by a large tortoiseshell clip, she really does look like a real-life version of a Tim Burton Character.

I’m borderline envious of how committed to her style she is, but that’s not why I’m here, and when she steps aside, as if she wasn’t about to leave, I walk into the magical world of her hut.

Despite the windows being relatively small, somehow it’s bright inside, as if the cottage was built to let in sunlight, and the space above the wooden beams is filled with strings of dried herbs, which make the space smell like the most soothing of infusions.

It’s as if she’s read my mind, because a moment later, a kettle is on the gas stove, and she’s tapping a small glass jar to pour some of the herbs inside it into a teapot painted with the symbols of different zodiac signs.

“I was wondering when you would come to see me again,” she says with a mysterious smile. I can’t help but be drawn in by her energy. It’s as if she holds all the answers, not just those to my immediate questions about where the bikers went and when to expect them back.

“I planned to wait for an invitation but figured it would be rude to keep to myself any longer.” It’s not quite a lie, but definitely not the reason for my visit either.

I can only hope she doesn’t notice. The woven blanket draped over the chair she points out depicts the Fool card of Tarot’s major arcana, which is rather fitting, considering that this is the very start of my new journey.

If I treat this meeting as a reading, that would make her the High Priestess, or perhaps the Empress.

Which one is it?

“I wanted to give you time to settle in. I know you’ve had a turbulent arrival,” Brigid says, standing next to the kettle with the golden light hitting her face. She’s kind of iconic for how she lives as the village witch and doesn’t give a fuck. I wish I could be like her when I grow up.

I clear my throat as she places a little plate with uneven homemade cookies in front of me, then steps back to the stove when the kettle starts an elongated whistle.

“I heard you make jewelry. Creep gave me this beautiful amethyst, and I wish to have it made into a necklace,” I say and place the tissue-wrapped crystal on the coffee table.

Was there ever a better excuse to visit an all-knowing witch?

Not only does it explain why I’m here but also offers a very good reason to talk about the person I desperately want to ask about.

“That’s a lovely piece, I should be able to do that,” she says without looking at the table as she pours water over the tea leaves.

“It’s very sweet that you want to keep it on you, I’m sure Creep will be moved even if it can be hard to tell what he thinks at times. I hope you two are getting on well?”

I didn’t expect to blush, but heat burns my cheeks, and I give an awkward laugh, because the truth is that my relationship with Creep is very new and fragile.

I don’t want to throw myself in too deep too fast, in case things turn sour in the future, as they often did with my exes, but I can’t help the emotions he is making me feel.

“It’s still fresh. I don’t want to jump the gun, but we do have a good connection. ”

Brigid strolls over to me and puts a cup of steaming tea on the table, then picks up my crystal and rolls it between her long-nailed fingers. “Is this what you really came to discuss? I’d be happy to do a reading, or go deeper into both your birth charts.”

I won’t be able to hide anything from her, so maybe I should give up now and avoid striking her as dishonest?

My shoulders drop, and I pick up one of the cookies before sinking into my chair.

“I’m confused and worried,” I say, capturing her gaze as she settles across from me and pours tea from the steaming pot.

When she crosses her legs, and rests both arms on the pillows at the sides of her armchair, I feel as though I’m facing the incarnation of a goddess, who has somehow agreed to an audience with me by inhabiting Brigid’s body.

Her eyes are dark with all the knowledge I wish to possess someday, and when she reaches for my hand, I offer it to her without thinking.

She has pleasant hands, cool and dry to the touch, and when she’s holding me like this, speaking becomes a bit easier somehow. “I’ve been through some really bad relationships. I’m worried about once again making the wrong choice.”

Brigid nods with a little frown. “Ah. The crossroads. You’ve already been forced out of your home by fate, but now you’re in freefall between several unknowns. It’s not an easy position to be in. What do you fear most as an outcome?”

I laugh, despite not feeling amused at all. “Death, you know, the usual. Serious injury. Pain.” My hands have found each other and are now clasped together so tightly they both ache when I pull them apart. “He’s been nice so far, but I no longer believe my first impression.”

Brigid hums and leans back in her armchair with a cookie of her own.

“I understand. Creep poses no threat to you. He’s saturnine, but more like…

a spider. He is more afraid of you than you are of him.

But if you tie your fate to him, you tie it to Vulture Hollow, and living here is not without its dangers.

Drink, so we can look at the dregs together. ”