“Who is it?” I murmur, stomach twisted with dread.
“It’s a man.”
I inch toward the door, knife raised. “What does he look like?”
“Brown hair. Black coat. Drives a silver Audi.”
I let the knife fall to my side. “Fuck. It’s my fiancé.”
My pulse thuds at my temples as I wrench open the door.
Dark brown eyes meet mine. “Surprise.”
“Lachlan, hi,” I squeak.
My mortal fiancé has a couple of inches on me, and I gape at his fancy coat, jacket, shirt, and black tie. He was supposed to be at a work function tonight, not here. He came to see me instead? That’s not like him at all.
I wish he had texted ahead and given me time to prepare, to build the polished version of myself he expects.
Caught red-handed in Mabel’s world of runes and spells, I feel exposed. Bare. Like he’s seeing the girl I used to be, the teenage witch I’ve buried under years of hard work and poise.
Sundown creeps closer, and my heart starts to race.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Aren’t you going to invite me inside?” he finally asks, his brows knitting together.
“Yes, of course. Come in.” I step aside for him to enter, blood flooding my neck.
“Hey, gorgeous.” He plants a heavy kiss on my lips. “Are you cooking something?”
My gaze drops to the knife still in my hand. “No. Just washing dishes.” I close the door behind him and dart to the kitchen, sliding the knife back into the butcher block.
“I took the train home early—missed you too much.” He shrugs out of his coat and slings it over the back of a kitchen chair. “Blimey. Were you solving a murder?”
He strides toward the kitchen island, but I move faster, sweeping up the paper runes. I bunch everything together, straighten the stacks, and shove it all into the largest grimoire before snapping the leather cover shut.
“I was going through Mabel’s scrapbooks for a recipe,” I say, forcing a light tone that still trembles. “And lost track of time.”
His eyes narrow. “Scrapbooks?”
I wave dismissively. “She collects eclectic things. Her best recipes are hidden in there.”
I remember the days when I still tried to bring friends home, tried to explain away the gardens, the warded mirror, the overabundance of herbs and teacups so they wouldn’t think less of me. But I never wanted my fiancé to see this. The spellbooks, the curio cabinet, the rune drawings… It’s too close to the truth.
Lachlan steps closer and threads his fingers through my hair. His touch is familiar, but it feels as though he’s handling a stranger’s body. “You look different,” he says.
“I’m wearing slacks instead of scrubs.”
“That must be it.”
He tilts my chin up. “I missed you.”
“Missed you, too.”
The words taste strange on my tongue. It’s been such a short time and yet… It feels like I've lived and mourned nine lives since we last saw each other.
Our combined shadows move across the floor, long in the fading light. He bends down for a kiss, and I try to let myself be carried by the gesture, by the safety of routine, but the sun is setting, and monsters will be monstering soon. My worlds collide. The life I built for myself outside these walls goes on without me while I translate Fae runes and cower inside my magic house with a ghost.
