Page 18

Cate

T elling Ciara had left me with even more questions. Mostly the ones she had asked, things I hadn ’ t even considered. I stewed over them while I waited for Lach to return to his quarters at the Avalon. He ’ d sent his sister a single three-word message following this afternoon ’ s eclipse.

Dealing with shit.

She’d seemed relieved that said shit had fallen to him instead of her. I hadn’t dared ask her what he was dealing with exactly. I didn’t have the bandwidth to worry about anything else.

I’d given up waiting when the clock ticked over to a new day. He was avoiding me. I couldn’t blame him. I couldn’t even decide whether to drag myself to his bed or mine. After the point he’d made about putting my clothing into his closet, the expectation was clear, but the longer he stayed away, the more defiant I felt. Until, at last, I trudged to my room at the end of the hall and got ready for bed.

But the bed felt empty as I slipped under the blankets, cold despite the warm fire glowing in the hearth. The last time I’d slept in it, he had been next to me. And this morning I had woken up in his bed. I lay awake, watching the firelight cast dancing shadows on the ceiling. The longer that sleep eluded me, the more annoyed I grew. One fight and he was going to hide? Not exactly proof of a mating bond.

I was screwing up the courage to stomp down the hall to see if he had snuck in, so I could tell him exactly that, when my door cracked open. I rolled to my side, facing the opposite direction, as he stepped into the room. But he didn’t move toward the bed.

“I’ll leave.” An offer. No, a reminder that he would always respect my choice.

I considered for long enough that he reached for the door. “Stay.”

A knot coiled in my stomach as his clothing rustled, and my hands fisted the sheets as the mattress dipped and he slid in next to me. But he didn’t reach for me.

“I’m sorry it’s so late. There was a murder,” he murmured, and I blinked in surprise.

“Murder?” It wasn’t what I’d expected when he’d told us that he was taking care of something. “Why not leave it to the police?”

“It was a witch,” he said in a tight voice. “Execution style. I needed to contain the scene before the news leaked.”

Because the city was split in two—humans on one side and magic on the other—and Lach shouldered the burden of both halves.

“Could Oberon have something…” I trailed away, embarrassed by my paranoia. The Hallow Court prince couldn’t step foot inside the city, but I couldn’t shake the fear that he would find a way.

“It’s doubtful,” he said after a moment.

“But not impossible,” I pointed out. I nearly turned toward him but stopped myself.

“I don’t think he has anything to do with this,” Lach said. Because Lach had plenty of enemies within New Orleans—bona fides spell or no. “This felt more…personal.”

I didn’t ask why. I wasn’t certain I wanted to know the answer.

“Do I dare ask how the meeting with the covens went earlier today?”

Surely, better than finding a dead witch.

“About how I expected,” he said, his voice fading as he remembered. “They fought over the bona fides spell.”

Anxiety fisted my heart. “They aren’t going to undo it?”

“No, but they’re going to make me pay for it,” he said grimly. “The magical outage scared them. It was unexpected. Most of them are drawing off new and more powerful magic than they’re accustomed to using.”

“That sounds like a good problem.”

“Not for us.” He shifted closer in the bed but still didn’t touch me. “They were dependent on us for access to magic before. Now their loyalty…”

…was in question.

I couldn’t accept that. “But they took the oath.”

“An oath is only words, even when it’s magically binding. True allegiance can only be given. Not demanded. Look at MacAlister. If Oberon has someone in the city…”

He fell silent, and it hit me. He was…sharing. Not an excuse to explain his absence. He hadn’t apologized for not being here when he was needed elsewhere, and he didn’t have to. He was just telling me about his day.

Any lingering anger I felt ebbed away as I saw it for what it was: an attempt at normalcy in the midst of absolute freaking absurdity.

It would take some time to get used to the man I loved telling me about witches and spells and magical politics, but he was telling me.

Rawness crept up my throat, and I swallowed. There was only one way this was going to work: if we started sharing instead of shutting each other out. “I told Ciara about the mating bond. I wanted to talk about it with someone.”

He was quiet long enough that I questioned my confession.

“Is she planning our wedding yet?” he asked after a minute. There was no trace of anger in his voice, no resignation. Just a touch of bemusement.

“I’m sure I’ll be trying on dresses soon enough.” The knot inside me loosened a little, and I found myself wanting to share more. “Tomorrow I’m going to find the witch Romy mentioned this morning. Her sister. I want to see if she can help me with my ring… I won’t tell her more than necessary.”

Lach drew a deep breath, and a moment later, his hand settled on my hip. I nudged a little closer, still keeping our bodies apart. “I shouldn’t have asked you to keep it a secret. If you need to tell—”

“No.” Despite my annoyance with him earlier, I couldn’t argue with his logic. “It’s not worth the risk. Oberon already wants the ring. If he found out…”

The hand on my hip gripped it, the weight grounding me—a reminder that he was here. I shimmied my body the final bit of distance between us, and Lach’s arms surrounded me. His cedar-and-spice scent hit me, and some invisible force called to me from a place that felt as deep as my soul. It was everything I could do to not turn and kiss him.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“You better.”

His soft laugh whispered across my shoulder, and I gave in to that need tugging me toward him. Turning in his arms, I offered him my lips, and when he captured them, the kiss was as fragile and unbreakable as the bond between us.

…

I’d never been to this part of the city—I’d never even heard of it. And if it weren’t for the careful directions Lach had detailed to me this morning, I doubt I would have found the Quartier Enchanté. The phone he’d given me had only gotten me as far as Jackson Square. From there, I’d been forced to park his Mercedes and continue on foot.

Lach had promised to explain later, as he was running late to meet with Roark to discuss how to handle the murder—a conversation I was relieved to be left out of. I would hear plenty about it later, since his tardiness was due to our inability to keep our clothes on. It seemed there was truth to that part of the mating bond. There was horny and then there was this, and whatever this was combined with his fae stamina made it rather hard to pass up when he got a certain hungry look in his eyes.

It was nearly noon when I found La Belle Dame Teahouse tucked into a row of squat, single-story shops in a quiet pocket of the French Quarter. I studied the shop’s weathered facade from the safety of the cobblestone sidewalk. The sun-faded shutters hinted at having once been a vibrant royal blue, but their age matched the leaded glass windows that obscured any peek at what lay within. A sign on the door dangled on its side, reading neither open nor closed, as if it couldn’t decide itself. The only indication of life was the chaotic masses of tulips blooming in the window boxes. I checked the address Romy had given me one more time. It matched the one on the door.

A bell jingled softly as I stepped into a cramped tea shop, and the faint hip-hop playing from somewhere in the back cut off. But no one appeared as I continued inside. Dust wafted through the air along with the rich aroma of cloves and cinnamon and Ceylon tea. A half dozen tables clad in mismatched linens peppered the space, each of their chairs empty. I nearly tripped on a basket filled with small handmade dolls, managing to catch myself by grabbing the back of a nearby chair before I tumbled into a display of incense. Wooden shelves crammed with glass jars lined one wall, antique cabinets the other. I walked slowly, reading their labels as I moved deeper into the shop. Or I tried to. They were all written in French. I reached for one and unscrewed the lid.

A voice stopped me as I leaned to smell its contents. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

I nearly dropped the jar as a woman dressed in leopard-print satin pajamas emerged from behind the glass-bead curtain that separated the back of the house. Platinum-blond stripes streaked her blunt black bob like rivers of moonlight, and her shrewd eyes assessed me swiftly. It had to be Willow Broussard.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” The melodic hint of an accent clung to her words, but I couldn’t place its origin as she wove through the clustered tables with a practiced ease.

I placed the jar back on the shelf quickly. “Is what’s inside dangerous?”

“Dangerous?” Laughter burst out of her, the sound so full of life after the last harrowing week that I found myself smiling. “Not exactly. It’s black pepper.”

“Oh.” I cringed, imagining what would have happened if I’d inhaled. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Of course.” Willow tapped her pursed lips, and I caught sight of a tattoo on the back of her wrist—the triple moon the other devout witches bore. “But I’m guessing that you didn’t come here for ingredients.”

Something held me back from telling her why I’d sought her out. “Ingredients?”

“To make tea.” She gestured to the china cabinets overflowing with porcelain teacups. “So, are you here for a reading or a gris-gris?”

I blinked, wishing I’d taken French in school. “A gris-gris?”

“Spell. Enchantment. I have effigies for blessings and protection.” She grabbed a tiny doll, like the ones I’d nearly tripped over, from a basket on the counter and held it up. “But I don’t do curses. If you’re looking to hex an ex, there’s a shop a few blocks away. Go down to Bourbon and—”

“No,” I stopped her. “I’m here for a reading, I guess. Romy told me that you might be able to help.”

This piqued her interest. “How do you know Romy?”

“I’m…dating Lachlan Gage.”

Willow’s thin eyebrow arched. “So, you’re the one everyone is talking about.”

I managed a tight smile. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Secrecy was paramount. We couldn’t risk people finding out about the ring, not until we knew more. “On second thought…”

“Look, I hear what everyone’s saying, but that doesn’t mean I talk,” she said, displaying an uncanny knack for knowing what I was thinking. “Whatever your reading reveals stays between us.”

It was the right thing to say, but could I trust her? “You’re Willow, then?” I waited until she confirmed, bobbing her head. “Romy said you were sisters.”

Her smile widened. “Don’t see the resemblance?” She fluffed her bob with her palm. “About the only thing Romy and I share—other than following the Belle Mère—is that we’re pretty much personae non gratae as far as First Parish is concerned.”

“Oh?”

“Dad was from Hong Kong. My mother hailed from one of the oldest families in France,” she explained. “Let’s just say that First Parish is suspicious of eastern magic. The coven wanted him to denounce his ancestral magic, but he refused.” There was pride in her voice that made me smile. “The local coven basically banished my mother for marrying him.”

“But you live here?” I asked. Now I understood what she meant by having something in common with Romy.

“They kicked her out of the coven, but they couldn’t make them leave New Orleans. Mom was stubborn. I take after her.” She winked at me. “It’s not as bad as it used to be. I’ve found my own people who accept me. First Parish tolerates my existence, and I ignore theirs. But it’s not just First Parish talking about you.”

I rolled my eyes. “I know.”

“So, did I pass your test?” she asked.

For a second, I considered playing dumb, but I thought better of it. “Sure.”

She tapped her chin. “Thought so.” Her gaze flicked across my face, her thick lashes moving like brushstrokes as she studied me. “Okay, got it.” She nodded toward a nearby table. “Please have a seat.”

I chose one close to the door, where I could see the quiet street outside and make a break for it if things got weird. She bypassed the jars and walked to the china, taking her time as she selected a porcelain cup with painted ivy ringing its rim. Returning to the ingredients, she piled a half dozen jars in her arms and carried them to the table. She hummed as she opened each, pinching a bit of this and that, dropping each directly into the teacup. She then placed it in front of me. “Just a moment.”

As soon as she was behind the beaded curtain, I took a suspicious sniff of the loose mixture of curled leaves, citrus peel, and silver-tipped buds as slender as a needle.

“Don’t worry. I try to refrain from poisoning customers,” she called as she returned from the back room, a steaming pot in her hands. “When you kill ’em, they never come back.”

“Just…curious.” I set the teacup back on its matching saucer.

She tutted a bit as she poured the boiling water onto the mixture. “But it’s not curiosity that brought you here, is it?”

I considered for a moment. “Not exactly.” I wouldn’t label it curiosity. Part of me didn’t want to seek answers at all. “It’s more necessity.”

“Necessity?” She nodded rapidly like the music was still playing. “ All right . Let’s not waste time, then.” She circled a finger over the cup, and the liquid swirled. Pulling away after a few seconds, she tilted her head. “You can drink now. Don’t worry—it won’t burn you.”

Burning me was the least of my worries, even if she claimed she didn’t poison her patrons. I raised the cup to my lips, sipping a small amount. The tea was slightly sweet with a hint of tartness that settled into a deep, comforting warmth that traveled down my throat and spread through my body.

“Not only Romy sent you.” Not quite a question. She waved her finger for me to continue drinking.

“Yes,” I murmured and took a longer drink.

“One of my other sisters.” Her brows drew together, one of her eyes twitching. “No, more than one of them.”

I drained the cup before answering with a slower, “Yes.”

“Their essence lingers with you.” She delivered this information like juicy gossip.

“Romy sent me to you, but others directed me to seek your coven.”

“And these others weren’t from New Orleans?”

“No,” I admitted. But I didn’t tell her more. Not when I wanted to see how much she could guess.

“Ireland.” Her nose wrinkled. “Smells Irish.”

My eyebrows shot up, waiting for her to stun me again, but she reached for the empty cup instead, studying the dregs left behind. “You’re at a crossroads,” she told me, her eyes widening slightly before she let out a low whistle. “But it’s not a simple choice before you. It’s a matter of life and death. Rough .”

“Yes,” I said, my mouth suddenly dry. “I—”

But Willow held up a finger to pause me. “Magic surrounds you. Light and shadow and…” I hung on her every word until she smiled sadly at me. “You ask questions but fear the answers.”

“Tell me something I don’t fucking know.” My shoulders slumped as I settled into the chair. “But I don’t really have a choice.”

She reached out and patted my hand. “Yeah, that is the shitty thing about life-and-death situations. The truth can be a dangerous thing. But you already know that…” She paused, a question on her face. “Sorry, this is more of a vibes thing. I can’t actually read your mind or anything.”

“Cate.” That was one question I could answer. For now.

“Cate.” She said it like she was turning it over and trying it on for size. “I was wondering when you would show up.”

I sat up straighter, and she smiled.

“My leaves told me to expect someone a few weeks ago,” she explained.

“They predict the future?” What else did she see in that cup?

“Not exactly. Vibes, remember? Plus, the future is a nebulous thing. There are hundreds of paths we can take, and the future shifts with every decision we make. I just knew you were a stranger, and thank the goddess, because for a minute I thought my auntie from Hong Kong was going to make good on her threat to visit,” she admitted, propping her elbow on the table. “You’ve been showing up in my readings ever since, so I figured it was decisions you were making putting you on my path, because things have been quiet around here.”

“So, this doesn’t tell me what’s going to happen?” I pointed to the cup, not quite relieved.

“Nope. You make a decision, and the future changes. The decision becomes the past, which is a lot easier for most of us to navigate because we can see behind us. I mean really, there’s no such thing as the future. Maybe that will make it less scary for you.”

“It certainly makes me feel more confused.”

She snorted. “Fair enough. But you’re going to have to make a decision if you want me to help you, Cate.”

I sucked in a deep breath, the air burning in my lungs as I held it. Lach hadn’t renewed his objection to me seeking help with the ring, but he had reminded me that no one else needed to know its origins. That made playing show-and-tell with a stranger a little more difficult.

“This ring was my mother’s.” I held out my hand. “I recently discovered I can’t take it off. It’s not stuck,” I added quickly. “It fits like it always has, but when I try to remove it…something shocks me. Something…magical.”

Well, that didn’t sound absurd at all.

Her brows lifted. “May I?”

I nodded, bracing for a shock as her fingers brushed the stone.

Nothing.

“I didn’t feel anything.”

“I’m not trying to remove it.” Willow’s lips curved as she continued to inspect it, lifting my hand in half a dozen angles to see it from every side. “Spells are delicate things. Intentions are always a crucial ingredient.” She released my hand and stared me down. “Quick question—do you want to remove it?”

“I…don’t…know.”

“Um-hmmm.” Something about the way she said it suggested she didn’t even need it confirmed—just exactly how much could she tell already? She drummed the tabletop lightly. “And why is that?”

“Remember those answers that I fear?” I couldn’t tell her more without revealing too much.

“Is there someone who could help you decide?” I opened my mouth to suggest Lach, but she raised a finger. “Not the dark one who walks beside you. That’s not his job.”

“What is his job?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“I think you already know that.” She smiled at me. “Someone gave you this ring.”

“My mother. It passed to me when she died.”

But Willow shook her head. “It wasn’t a gift, then. It’s more like someone allowed you to wear it.” She raised her brow. “Does that make sense to you?”

My throat swelled painfully. “The woman who took me in. Gran.”

“Yes.” She snapped her fingers with a flourish. “She’s the one who can help you make peace with the ring.”

“She’s gone, too.” Willow’s words dashed any hope I felt. So much for finding answers.

But she waved off this information like it was no big deal. “No one is ever truly gone. We can work with that. We just needed to know the right person to ask.”

Between the tea and the roller coaster of a conversation, my head was beginning to swim. I started to stand, reaching for my purse to pay her. “Thank you for the help.” I took out my wallet. “What do I owe you?”

“Leaving would be another decision.” She cocked her head. “A bad one.”

Frustration picked at my fraying nerves. “Well, I can’t ask a dead woman about my magic ring.”

God, I missed when life felt normal .

“Why can’t you?” She blinked. “The harvest season draws to a close in a few days, and the veil will thin on All Hallow’s Eve to allow spirits to visit us for Samhain.”

Yeah, normal life had exited the building.

“Do you mean Halloween?”

She grinned. “Sure. I guess that is what someone who was raised human would call it.”

“So, I can talk to dead people that day?” I asked slowly.

“With help.” She pointed at herself. Rising, she shrugged as she collected my teacup. “Just think about it, Cate. Come around midnight on the first, and let’s see if Gran wants to chat.”

I stared at her. “Alone?”

“Your dark guy can come along.” She leaned closer. “It might take some convincing, but he has dead of his own who might want a word.”

I couldn’t wait to pitch that idea to Lach. “I’ll think about it.”

She started toward the back, pausing at the beaded curtain’s threshold. “Look, the truth sucks, but you can’t avoid it. Trust me, it’s better to face answers on your terms than have them meet you on theirs.”

I managed a nod, and she disappeared into the back.

Crisp air soothed me as I left the shop, my mind churning from the strange afternoon. Everything about the witch, from her satin pajamas to her blunt insights, had been unexpected. I replayed everything as I drove the few blocks to Waverly. It wasn’t until I turned onto it that I recalled something strange that Willow had said.

I guess that is what someone who was raised human would call it.

Her choice of words plagued me as I parked in front of the hotel, the questions it provoked chasing me up the Avalon’s steps. But there was one that kept circling back.

What the hell did she mean by that?

I was afraid I already knew the answer.