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Chapter Fifteen

W hit maneuvered the ring in his hand so it caught the light of the flickering flames from his parlor hearth.

He’d pulled it from the display case at his shop earlier that evening after Clover had left.

It was a rectangular amethyst with gilded flowers etched into it—two tiny diamonds at the center of their petals. From what he could tell, it had to be over a hundred and fifty years old. It had seen much joy and hardship, but it had always been given in happiness.

Will she like it? He hoped she would.

After the initial shock of Clover actually agreeing to his proposal, his emotions settled within him. This was not what he’d planned for his life, but he could handle it.

She’d agreed to it with such ease—even acknowledging that they didn’t have feelings for each other. He couldn’t believe his good luck. He didn’t know a woman like her existed.

As gratitude had filled his heart, he’d thought he should give her something nice as a thank you. He would inherit the house like he’d always wanted, and no one would ever nag him again about his relationship status. She’d saved him, and he would be able to maintain his calm life because of her.

What better gift for his fiancée than a ring? The gold flowers and purple hue of the stone spoke of warm summer twilights. It was perfect for her.

Not long after he’d returned home, he received her promised text, asking him to meet her tomorrow during lunch to pick up the license and Friday evening for the ceremony.

I should prepare the guest room for her . It had been a while since someone had slept there. And though he cleaned it with the rest of the house, the bed would need fresh sheets. Maybe I’ll put the camellias in there on the dresser. It will be her room from now on. I should make her feel welcome.

Sticking the ring into its velvet-lined box, he put it on the table beside him and rose from the armchair he sat in. She may effectively only be his housemate from now on, but a little effort on his part could make all the difference in making her comfortable and preserving the peaceful atmosphere he tried to cultivate.

He had one foot on the stairs when he heard a knock on the front door. He tilted his head at the sound. Who could that possibly be?

Whit turned and walked down the front hall to the door. After opening it, he blinked in surprise upon finding his mother on the front steps.

Her salt-and-pepper hair fluttered around her in the wind. Her dark eyes were sharp this evening, and he knew he was in for it.

As he stepped back into the hall, she entered, bringing her barely restrained disapproval and the slightest hint of what Whit recognized as his father’s magic. He could hardly remember his father; he’d been so young when he’d died that he remembered his spiritual presence more than what he was actually like in life. His father’s spirit wasn’t always with his mother, but he was there pretty often when she was upset, especially at this time of year when the veil was thin.

“Good evening, Mom,” Whit said cheerfully, knowing that greeting her with a serious tone would only make things worse for him.

“ Is it a good evening, Whittaker Crawford? I hope you’re having one, at least, because I most certainly am not.” Her tone was biting as she took off her coat, folded it over her arm, and strode into the parlor.

Ah, so she’ll be here for a while. Whit followed after her, choosing to stand near the fire as she plopped into the armchair he’d so recently vacated.

“I’m sorry to hear you aren’t having a good day,” he said, trying to ignore the ring box not a foot from her. “What happened?”

She flattened her lips into a line, little wrinkles appearing at the edges. “You know very well. Why weren’t you at the ritual last night? You know how important it is to pay homage to our ancestors and greet the winter.”

As a younger man, Whit would have just shrugged and let her rage at him until she was exhausted. But lately, he’d learned she really did just want an explanation.

“I had some bad news yesterday, and I wasn’t up for being with the family,” he replied honestly.

His mother’s irritation hesitated—teetering between the lecture she’d planned and her urge to comfort her son’s hurt. “What bad news?” she asked.

He turned his profile toward her, directing his gaze into the fire. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve taken care of it.”

Mom’s eyebrows scrunched. Whit could tell she wanted to know what had happened.

He met her eyes seriously. “Mom, you trust me, right?”

She blinked at his question. “Of course, I do.”

“So you’ll hear me out if I do something you might not agree with?”

She squinted ever so slightly, and her tone became hesitant. “Such as…?”

Whit shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I just want to know you’ll support whatever decisions I make.”

She gave him a reassuring smile. “You’re a good sorcerer, Whit, and a good person. I’m sure any choice you make will be the right one.”

Whit’s heart warmed at his mother’s words. This whole thing might have been way too spontaneous for his liking, but given the circumstance, it seemed like the best option. “Thanks, Mom.”

She opened her mouth to speak but then closed it again without a word. He knew she wanted to ask what was going on but thought better of it.

“So how was the ritual?” He changed the subject.

Mom sighed heavily. “The ritual was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. But I can’t tell you how glad I am that when Alexandre took the apprenticeship with me, he also moved into your old bedroom.”

“Why is that?”

She frowned seriously. “Last night, after everyone left the cemetery, I heard a commotion outside. I thought it was just Alexandre coming home late, but it turns out some summer sorcerers came onto the grounds and vandalized a few of the graves.”

Whit flinched. “What? Vandalized the graves? Are you sure?”

Mom nodded slowly. “According to Alexandre, they were out there making flowers grow on the graves. I heard Alexandre shouting at them—that was the commotion. He said he hit one of them with a frostbite spell.”

Whit clenched his jaw while trying to keep a neutral expression. This reminder of the feud between the factions couldn’t have come at a worse time.

It doesn’t matter, he told himself as doubt crept into his mind yet again.