Page 39 of Unhinged Magic (Cutters Cove Witches #2)

Skye

I glared suspiciously at Scar sitting opposite me in a booth at Jinxed.

Her long fingernails were painted black now, wound around the stem of a wine glass, turning it slowly in a clockwise motion.

For the entire hour we had been here, she had been eyeballing Reid, who took drink orders at the bar.

My bet was he had something to do with the reason she hauled my ass down here on a whim.

She liked him, that much was obvious. But it seemed he was oblivious to the fact his smoking hot friend had one banger of a crush on him.

“You like him,” I said, nodding in his direction.

Scar bristled for mere seconds before a careful mask muted her features again. “Who, Reid?” She made a show of acting like she had no clue what I was talking about.

“Yeah, Reid,” I said simply, unable to stop the smile on my face. “Admit it.”

She leaned against the back of the booth, folding her arms across her chest, daring a look in his direction. She not-so-subtly pulled her gaze away as he lifted his chin in acknowledgement.

I sweetly gave him a wave instead.

A brow arched, he lifted his hand in return.

I let out a light laugh, directing my attention back to my best friend. “Not subtle at all. Why don’t you just ask him out?”

Scar huffed, taking a long drink of her wine. “You don’t screw the crew, you of all people know that. Besides, Reid doesn’t date.”

I laughed inwardly at her comment. I did know about that. In fact, I was the best example of why you don’t 'screw the crew'.

“Unless you’re fated mates, of course.” She lifted a finger pointedly. “That’s different.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, well, we all know how that’s worked out for me so far.”

“About that…” She dug into her handbag, pulling out the photo from the house. Her elbow rested on the table as she held the photo between her middle and index finger, wiggling it in the air. “That’s why I brought you here.”

Both confusion and apprehension hit me at once. “Wow, must be good news if you need to liquor me up first.” I took a long drink of my vodka soda. “Hit me with it. What did you find out?”

She pushed the photo across the table, the couple staring back at me. “That,” she said, pausing for a moment, waiting until I looked up at her again. “Is Edward and Iris Moldsworth, the original owners of the manor.”

“Okay...?”

Scar dipped her head to the side, her lips pursing before she spoke. “I asked the Elders to look into it for me. They seem to think Iris contracted a nasty virus that ultimately caused her death. Sadly, Edward passed away a year later.”

I stared at the photo, their somber story still no help. “That’s bittersweet. Maybe what they say is true. You can actually die of a broken heart.”

I imagined what a love like that would feel like.

To lose a loved one that you cared so much for that it caused your own heart to want to join them on the other side.

It was beautiful, yet devastatingly tragic.

I picked up the photo, studying it closely.

There didn’t seem to be any obvious size difference like that of a werewolf or starved of the sun like a vampire.

“Do you know if they were human?” I asked.

“Witches,” she confirmed, taking another drink of her wine. “Rumor is the manor’s haunted. That every person who has brought the property since has sold it again just as quickly.”

That didn’t surprise me.

I stared at the photo. “Evidence at its best.”

“My thoughts exactly,” she agreed, shrugging. “Maybe it’s all connected, maybe not. I really don’t know.”

Tipping my glass back, I emptied its contents, the last bite of vodka scratching at my tastebuds.

“I guess that answers the question about the photo. Whether it’s all linked or not is beyond me.

” I slipped it into the pocket of my jacket, eyeing the pool tables off to one side where two guys I hadn’t seen before chalked pool cues.

“I’m going to the ladies' room. Don’t wait around for me if you get a better offer.” I winked, giving her a knowing look, nodding in Reid’s direction.

Scar followed my line of sight to where he flashed a blond woman behind the bar his stellar grin. Blondie tossed her hair over her shoulders, sticking out her chest as if he hadn’t already noticed her generous breasts spilling over her low-cut top.

Scar rolled her eyes, discarding the thought. I grinned, making my way through the bar to the ladies' room.

When the door shut behind me, I gripped what I assumed was the hand basin.

The slab of timber beneath the tap looked as if it would spill water everywhere rather than send it down the discrete drain tucked in close to the wall.

This had to be some smart-ass invention of Reid’s.

I bet there was just enough slant on this thing to send the water exactly where it needed to go.

It seemed fitting for this bar: rustic, quirky.

Even the simple white rose sitting in the vase off to one side seemed to just fit.

I stared at myself in the mirror, smoothing my hair behind my ears. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this photo.

What was I missing?

I pulled it from my pocket, staring at it for what felt like the tenth time. Wesley’s ghost, the death notice, the mansion, the photo. Like it could speak to me, I willed it to answer.

What are you trying to tell me?

As if my questions were considered, a thought burned in my mind.

Had Landon’s ghost ever introduced himself to me? Ever stated his name? He may look like Wesley’s brother, but what if… I paced the ladies' room, trying to remember his words. What exactly he had said to me. It was minimal.

I screwed up my face, pressing my arm to my forehead in thought. I was certain he had never stated his name. Not directly.

Suddenly, one word hit the forefront of my mind.

Darling.

I looked down at the photo, drawing my gaze back up to myself in the mirror.

The way he’d said it.

It meant something to him.

Why would a spirit that passed away at the age of four call me that?

Holy shit.

If hearts really could break the living, could the dead possess another soul?

It was hard to comprehend. The why, the how? If this had the slightest chance of being the reason the fated bond between Wes and me was not right, I needed to explore it. But how would I speak to a ghost that refused to comply?

It dawned on me then.

If this ghost wouldn’t talk to me, maybe I needed to go to him.