“Are you kidding? I don’t go searching for people’s disdain. And everyone cares about what others think about them to some degree.”
He chuckled. “You are quite the mystery, you know?”
NowI laughed. Me? A mystery?
“I mean it,” his warm voice pressed. “One moment you’re banging on a piano, singing your heart out, and thenext you’re shyly ducking your head in a drawer, trying to avoid eye contact. I find your behavior very contradictory.”
I paused, finally glancing back at him. “That’s why you used the line from the poem.”
His charming smile nearly undid me. “Mary, Mary, quite contrary.”
I buried my face into the drawer to hide my heating cheeks. Frank Churchill had a way of making the blood rush to my head.
Where was that blasted false bottom?
He examined the bedroom, taking in the pictures and polo trophies and sighing. “I suppose I should start searching. It’s just this room and her scent.” His face fell. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”
He moved over to the bed. My ghostly feline followed. Duchess? I’d forgotten the name of the cat we’d looked for that day. But by the way she was fawning over Frank and how she’d reacted to his words, that had to be her name. Should I mention something to Frank? But what should I say?Hey, so I think your dead cat is following me around.
Because that wouldn’t make me sound crazy.
Reaching under the bed, he pulled out a small plastic container filled with what looked to be all sorts of bottles and ingredients. My curiosity peaked, but I forced myself to focus on my task.
My fingers hit the crack in the hardwood. Bingo. I pried it up.
The brown leather journal sat at the bottom of the small compartment. Eagerly, I cracked it open.
The first part of it seemed to be a collection of ingredients for medicines and… potions? I peered closer. Yes, some of her concoctions involved potions only witches were able to brew. Was this how Lydia had gotten involved? Even Lydia wouldn’t escape a scolding if Mom found out she was making potions for Isabella to use in her fae remedies.
I flipped farther into the journal, finding the actual diary part. I quickly scanned the pages to reach Isabella’s final week. Everything appeared normal, but I stopped at a passage that I couldn’t tear my eyes from.
I’m brewing a potion for Mr. C to help with an ailment. I can’t wait to see him again and tell him how I havemissed him. Soon he will realize how much he means to me and we can finally be together.
I stared at the line, the butterflies within me dying a swift death.Mr. C…Churchill. Did Isabella and Frank have a relationship? Was that why he’d looked so sad at church? Or did Isabella have unrequited feelings for Frank? He knew her security code. He knew where her bedroom was located. He’d been here before. Was he just desperate to find out what happened to her? I thought he was flirting with me, but perhaps I’d missed what was going on under the surface. I tended to miss those subtleties.
Fank released a frustrated groan. “There’s no wolfsbane potion here.” He sat back, his face twisted in consternation. He glanced over at me. “What did you find?”
I slammed the journal shut and rose. But really, what was I hiding?
“I found this.” I hesitated only a moment before stepping toward him and handing it over. “There are recipes for different concoctions in the front.”
He opened the journal and flipped in a few pages. His gaze lighted. “Here. Her recipe for wolfsbane potion.”He held it, allowing me to see. A list of ingredients and in-depth instructions filled the page.
He brought the book back. “There is a little bit of simple fae magic involved, but most of it requires brewing and witchcraft.”
Brewing and witchcraft.
Everything that I discovered was pointing more and more toward Lydia. If she was assisting Isabella, could she have messed up the brewing? But why might she want to sabotage Frank’s potion?
What if it was all an accident?
“Frank, have you ever actually turned before?”
He frowned. “Once, after I was first bitten.”
“Do you remember what happens when you turn?”
“I’m not in control of myself. No werewolf is. But that doesn’t mean when I change back that I have no recollection of anything.” He shuddered. “That’s what makes it so strange. Usually I can recall every horrible moment.”
