Page 21 of How Not to Hex a Gentleman (Witches of Edinburgh)

Chapter Twenty-One

BENNETT

I take her through The Writer's Museum courtyard, and the way her eyes light up looking around brings me immense joy. I make a mental note to come back and actually show her around the museum. It's small, but it feels very appropriate for anyone who likes books.

When we step out into the Royal Mile, the streets are busy. The Royal Mile is lined with shops and restaurants, so people are meandering in and out as Kennedy and I turn to the right and head uphill. I open my mouth to speak but then stop myself. She opened up a little bit to me, and I know that was a lot for her, so now I'm afraid I'll break this teetering partnership with some dump quip. This is not a good look on me.

"What?" she says and I glance at her only to find her watching me.

"What what?" I reply.

She tries to hide her amusement, but there's a little of it in her eyes. "Were you going to deliver an impressive fact about how the mile is not actually a mile?"

I stop in my tracks because that's exactly what I was going to say. Kennedy gives me a small smile as she turns to glance at me over her shoulder. "How did you know?"

"It seems a very 'you' thing to say is all." She shrugs as I fall into step beside her again.

I don't know what to say to that, because I'm both surprised and elated that she knows this about me.

"Well, go on. Tell me. You'll feel better." She surprises me yet again and I can't tell if she's serious or not. She looks at me and gives me a firm nod.

I grin. "The Royal Mile is actually a Scots mile, which hasn't been used since the 18th century. The length is 1.13 miles, but the name stuck."

Kennedy is right, I do feel better. She listens to me as if she doesn't already know this information and if I wasn't a goner for her before, I am so much worse off now.

"You knew all that, didn't you?" I ask, because I have to know.

"Yes, but I still like hearing it. You have a way—a passion when it comes to history that I appreciate."

I think I've died and gone to heaven. Why is that the greatest compliment I have ever received? Suddenly, my whole vocabulary is gone and I have no idea how to respond, so I simply lead her around the groups of people toward the memorial and walk up to the castle esplanade, heading toward the Tartan Weaving Mill wall. Stepping around the building, one would miss it if they didn't know it was there. Right on the wall is an iron drinking fountain with a plaque placed above it. The drinking fountain was put there as a memorial for all the witches burned in this promenade.

The plaque features a bronze relief of witches' heads entangled with a snake. The Foxglove plant in it—which is mostly withered from the cold and barely hanging onto life— is highlighted with the head of Aesculapius and his daughter Hygeia intertwined with it. In mythology, Aesculapius is the god of medicine, and his daughter is the goddess of health. There's a hole below the snake's head that once had water flowing out of it, but now the fountain is used as a planter. Kennedy stops when we reach the wall, a tiny gasp escaping her lips. She places a hand to her throat, her breaths becoming shallow.

"Kennedy?" I'm at her side immediately and when I step around to look at her face I see tears there.

"It's so sad," she says, her voice small. "So many lives lost, innocent lives lost for nothing but foolish notions of people in power. I can feel so many emotions—" She stops as she tries to put into words what's happening, but doesn't seem to be able to.

A single tear escapes and I don't find the impulse when I move toward her. She steps into my arms willingly, wrapping her arms around my middle as I hold her close. I already knew she'd fit perfectly, but this feels even more so somehow. The need to protect her from all the sadness in the world arises in me and I squeeze her just a tad tighter, to make sure she knows I'm here. I'm rewarded by a tight squeeze back before she moves out of my arms.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—I don't know what came over me." She wipes at her tears and I reach into my pocket to produce a handkerchief. She stares at the piece of cloth as if she's never seen one before. "You carry a handkerchief in your pocket?"

"Like a proper gentleman," I reply, and she takes it with a shaky thanks. After dabbing at her face, she turns toward the fountain once more.

"I don't understand what came over me," she whispers, almost to herself. "There were so many emotions…" She stops talking and takes another deep breath. I watch her study the fountain, looking over the intricate design and the words written on the plague.

"Foxglove," she says, stepping closer to study the plant etched on the plaque, "used medicinally but it can also be poisonous."

"You know your plants."

"It comes with the territory. This is one part of my…well, it is something I could study without any problems. I love plants." She shrugs, continuing to study the fountain. I have no idea what she's looking for or how this will be helpful, but I'm putting all of my bets on her—and her magic. If stories are to be believed—and they should be considering magic is real—then many of these places will hold significant power or meaning to the witches.

"There's something here," Kennedy says, and then she reaches out, placing a hand against the protruding head of the snake. She gasps when her hand makes contact and then I watch her close her eyes against whatever she is feeling or seeing.

"The good and the evil, two sides to every story," Kennedy says, opening her eyes and taking a step back. She beams, looking down, and I follow her gaze only to watch the nearly dead plant spring to life. New leaves unfurl, the color green and vibrant—a striking contrast to the gloomy cold surrounding us.

"Wow."

"Wow is right," Kennedy says, moving back again to stand beside me. She places a hand to her forehead for a moment, as if feeling lightheaded, and I'm ready to catch her if need be. She seems to shake it off and then moves just a tiny bit closer. Her arm is pressed against mine and I don't dare move, lest she break the contact.

"The memorial was erected to remind people that it's important to stay informed and to stay open-minded. Magic was believed to be evil, but in reality, it's the people who make that decision every time." Kennedy speaks in a soft voice, seeming like she's somewhere far away—maybe even in the past. It's almost like someone is giving her this information. She speaks the words as if she knows the truth behind them and I have no idea what she saw when she touched the fountain.

I don't dare ask.

"Most of those killed in the name of witchcraft were innocent people who simply stood up for what they believed in, but it didn't matter. People fear what they do not understand; that has been the basis of humanity since the beginning."

There's more to this than her words—a hurt brewing underneath it all. I wonder who placed it there. Maybe one day she'll be keen to share. I don't want to push right now, but her reluctance would make sense when it pertains to magic. Fear, I understand, but hurt would drive that reluctance so much deeper. She's fought the magic every step of the way and I didn't understand until now. Looking at the sadness in her eyes, the way she seems to fold in on herself—I fight the urge to reach out and take her into my arms again, but as if she heard me, she straightens her spine, rolling back her shoulders and looks at me.

"I feel the power here, but it's not one that will give us any answers. My"—she lowers her voice, leaning closer for a moment—"magic doesn't feel like it did at The Ross Fountain."

I'm slightly distracted by her proximity and the scent of flowers she carries with her before I realize she's waiting for me to say something.

"Right. We didn't know how these places would affect your magic." I clear my throat, trying to focus on the reason we're here and not the enticing way Kennedy smells. When she sighs and pouts a little, my brain short-circuits again. The need to fix this for her is blinding.

"But we'll keep looking. The books talked about artifacts having memories; that's why we're looking for these places, right?"

Kennedy nods before she raises her arm and pulls back the sweater and jacket from her wrist. The thistle tattoo is still there, just as intricate and beautiful as the first time I saw it. Maybe it's not something Kennedy wants to hear, but it suits her. She pulls the fabric back into place and then turns to me with a little smile on her lips. If she asked me to go to the moon right now, I'd find a way.

"Okay, we keep looking."

After our little outing, I have no idea how to act. I feel like she opened up to me more than she ever has before. It feels special, and I want to nurture that, but I don't want to push. We spoke at the Black Cat once, texted links of various websites back and forth, and haven't seen each other in four days. I've reached the point where I'm counting hours and minutes, but I can't admit that out loud lest I lose all respect. Or something. It's scary for me to think that I'm this attached already. That old wound of being left rises, but I squelch it down. It's been years since I let myself dwell on that.

When my phone rings, I'm much too eager to answer it, which probably means I have already lost whatever respect there was to lose. I'm a mess. However, it's not Kennedy.

"Professor Stewart," I greet him, slightly confused, "to what do I owe the pleasure?" He doesn't typically do phone calls unless something is wrong, so I instantly push away my laptop and notebook to focus my attention on him.

"I was wondering if you have a progress report for your project."

Now I'm even more confused. "The first part of the outline is due next week; did you want to see it early?"

"If you have it finished."

"I don't."

I'm not exactly sure why he's hovering this much over this project. One thing I've heard about him is that he stays pretty hands-off during the whole process, and I like that. I have the due dates in my diary and on my phone calendar, so I'm up to date on that, but he's emailed me twice since we met last and seems to want weekly updates now.

"When will that be finished?"

"End of next week, by the due date."

There's a moment of silence and I push the hair back as I lean on the table in front of me to wait him out.

"I was hoping you had more initiative than that," Professor Stewart finally says and I sit up straighter.

"I believe that I have shown exemplary work since the beginning of my studies here and I have never missed a deadline. I have plenty of information, but I want a chance to organize it properly and double-check everything before it is presented to you."

"You're right, you're right." He sighs and I have the urge to say something else, but I hold myself back. "I'm very interested in your study, that is all."

We hang up after I promise I'll have everything on time, and I lean back, completely confused. Sure, he could be interested in the project, but I've never heard of him being this interested before. Maybe this is an area he's been wanting to study but hasn't had a chance because of his schedule. After all, he did mention the Witches Stone—which I haven't mentioned to the girls yet. So he must still be doing research on the side.

I shake my head and get back to my laptop. I'm deep into forums about magic, specifically anything relating to magic and tattoo correlation. There is a lot to go through, but so much of it seems made up, and because I'm not the one who possesses magic, I can only pick out the information and take notes to present to the girls.

My eye catches on a forum’s title and I click to open it, marveling at the 347 comments under it. People really got into it. I start reading, amazed at the ways people speak about magic.

When I'm halfway through the comments, I start to perk up. I write it all out and grab my phone. I think it's time Kennedy and I met up.