For Gray.The implication was clear: Ronan would not be admitted.
It wasn't unexpected, just disappointing. In most circles, witches and demons didn't mix. My relationship with Ronan was no secret—just another thing that had, in their eyes, made meother.
Ronan placed a hand on the small of my back and leaned in close, whispering reassurances I didn't realize I needed. “If things go south, text me. I’ll be back here in a flash.”
“Only if they goreallysouth,” I whispered back. “Argentina south.”
“I was thinking Florida.”
“I can handle this.”
“I know, Gray.” Ronan gave me half a smile, then turned his back and headed down the porch stairs, crossing the street toward Bloodstone Park.
“Come in, Gray,” Norah said. “Please.”
I felt the brief resistance of the wards as I stepped into the foyer, the guardian magic like a giant soap bubble that popped on my skin, then reformed behind me, sealing out anyone who intended to do harm.
Or maybe just sealing mein.
As I had last night, I wondered whether she’d done enough to shield her inside magical practices from outside eyes—namely, hunters. Norah was an experienced witch, but no one was perfect.
“You all remember Gray Desario,” Norah said. “Sophie's friend."
Everyone was gathered in the living room at the front of the house, warm and dry, huddled together on sofas and chairs, sipping tea and nibbling on cut fruit and pastries, blotting their lips with floral print napkins. Standing on the gleaming wood floors of the foyer, dripping wet, I felt like a feral cat who’d just washed up onto their pretty little tea party.
“Bestfriend,” I corrected.
The women stiffened, and I swear the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
To me, Norah said, “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get you some hot tea. I know Sophie’s allergic to cinnamon, but what about you? Any allergies?”
I shook my head, trying to hide the fact that her comment about Sophie pissed me off. I didn’t like these people knowing personal things about my best friend.
“Okay,” Norah said, her smile still a little too tight. “Be right back.”
I took the chair closest to the fireplace. It was the only open seat in the room, and for the briefest second, it felt as if they’d all been waiting for me.
I perched on the very edge of the uncomfortably fancy chair, hoping I wouldn’t soak the upholstery.
No one spoke. No one even looked at me. When Reva returned with a towel, she kept her eyes averted as she handed it over. I rubbed my hair and wrapped it around my shoulders, but still, the witches didn't say a word.
Death did terrible things to the people left behind—I knew that. It robbed us of the right words, of gentle smiles, of those simple kindnesses, because death was neither simple nor kind—especially not when it took a young person. I understood how it felt when words and hugs seem inadequate in the face of such cruelty.
I could forgive the witches for that.
But what was going on here had nothing to do with death, and everything to do with me.
“Look, we all know I’m not your friend," I finally said. “But Sophie cared about you guys, and you obviously felt the same about her. Can we just put everything else aside for now and talk? For Sophie’s sake?”
They room seemed to let out a collective sigh. A few of the women nodded at me, finally making eye contact.
“Sophie told me she was planning to meet you here last night,” I said.
“She never showed,” one of them said. “I texted her a few times, but she—”
“Wendy.” Haley—the one I thought Sophie was closest to—shot Wendy a warning glare.
Wendy’s cheeks flushed.
