I stared at him, the words ricocheting through my skull.
Guardian.Gate.Worst nightmares.Me.
My stomach cramped so sharply I folded in half, bracing my elbows on my thighs and dropping my head between my knees.
“You okay, Piper?”Owen’s hand landed between my shoulder blades, warm and steady.
“I’m in a lot of trouble,” I muttered.Then I jerked my head up and glared at him.“You knew and didn’t tell me, didn’t you?That’s why you freaked out when I said Alice left me everything.”
He had the decency to look guilty.“I knew… some.I didn’t know what you knew, and I didn’t want to be the one to tell you.”He winced.“Sorry I was the one to tell you.”
I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead.“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Get her some water, son,” Dougal said.
Owen slipped out, leaving me alone with his father.
“Piper,” Dougal said gently, “I think there was a reason Alice left you her estate.I don’t know what it is yet.”
“You don’t know,” I said, “or you can’t tell me?”
His gaze flickered, something unreadable moving there.“I don’t know.Alice was a smart woman.She never did anything without a plan.She’d been keeping that gate at the hickory tree for a long time.”
“How long?”I asked.
“Years.”Dougal pushed away from the desk and moved to stand in front of me.He crouched until we were eye to eye.Up close, I could see the worry carved into the lines around his mouth.“Owen doesn’t know this part, but I was helping her keep some artifacts.”
My skin prickled.“What sort of artifacts?”
“Magical ones,” he said simply.“I don’t know where she got them.I didn’t ask.She told me the antique shop would be the perfect place to keep them.So I agreed.”
Because of course the place across from Enchanted Blossoms doubled as a magical storage facility.Why wouldn’t it.
“Where are these things now?”I asked.
“In the storeroom.Locked up in crates like she wanted.”Dougal straightened and paced the cramped office.“Also, Piper… your aunt was a witch.”
My mouth went dry.For a second, I thought I’d misheard him.
Alice, with her gentle hands and dirt-smudged gloves.Alice, who told stories about other realms like they were half-remembered dreams.A witch.
Something strange flickered there again when he saidyour aunt, like the words didn’t sit right in his mouth.It slid down my spine like a tiny shard of ice.
I might have laughed if Owen hadn’t reappeared with a paper cup of water.Dougal fell silent while I gulped the cool liquid down in one go.I pressed the empty cup into Owen’s hand.
“Another, please,” I croaked.
Owen shot his father a look and slipped out again.
“You can’t be serious,” I said as soon as the door shut.“Witches are born, not made.”
“Sometimes,” Dougal said.His tone stayed calm, careful.“And sometimes people grow into what they already are.Or learn how tousethings they didn’t know they had.”His gaze flicked to the door, then back to me.“Owen doesn’t know.”
Owen returned and handed me another cup.I drained it, grateful for the coolness against my raw throat and knotted stomach.Then I crushed the cup in my fist and stood.
“Well.Thank you for your time, Mr.McAllister.”
He smiled faintly.“Let me know if I can be of further help.”
