“Basically,” Mal said.
“I can’t afford that,” Cece said.
“Pro bono, remember?”
Shit. Her plan to avoid Briggs wouldn’t work if he were living in her house. Feeling a bit panicky, she said, “My house is, like, really cold, so -”
“That’s perfect for Briggs. He’s a polar bear shifter,” Willow said.
“I’m not sure that… ” Cece couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
“Honey, this is for your safety, okay?” Willow said earnestly. “Your aunt is so worried about you.”
Cece sighed and relented at the mention of her aunt. “Yeah, okay.”
“Good,” Mal said. “Briggs will provide security coverage while we work on a solution to the problem.”
“Sorry, why are you doing this? Helping me, I mean,” Cece said. “You don’t even know me.”
“We can help, so why wouldn’t we?” Willow squeezed her hand.
Her throat suddenly too tight to speak and blinking back hot tears, Cece just nodded. Willow handed her a tissue as Mal said, “All right, we have a plan. Let’s get to work.”
The little witch’s house was a large Victorian with a rotting front porch, shutters barely clinging to the windows, and a roof that might cave in.
Briggs followed Cece into the house, watching as she pushed hard on the front door when it didn’t close. She gave it another push and then, her face red, threw her curvy body against the door. It shut with a groan and a squeal, and she cleared her throat. “Sometimes it sticks.”
She turned the flimsy deadbolt and then, her cheeks still red, slid the tiny chain across the door that wouldn’t keep out an imp, let alone a powerful witch.
“Okay, well, um, this is it. Home sweet home,” she said. She didn’t take off her coat or her boots, and he didn’t blame her. He could see his breath, and while it suited him just fine - most of the time he was much too warm - she would freeze to death if she didn’t turn up the heat.
Like most Victorian homes, the house had high ceilings covered with decorative roses. Ahead and to the right was a staircase, and he could see the entrance to the kitchen further past the stairway at the end of the hallway. There was a door directly to their right and one further down to their left.
“Um, that’s a guest bathroom,” Cece pointed to the door on the left, “and this door here is the living room.”
He stepped into the room, taking a moment to appreciate that the doorway was tall enough that he didn’t have to duck for a change. The room was large, with a wood fireplace and an enormous bay window with a window seat below. He studied the flimsy locks on the windows before turning his gaze to the old but comfortable looking sectional, the wooden rocking chair, and the far wall that held three bookshelves. The shelves were brimming with books, knick-knacks, parchment papers, and candles.
A small wooden altar with more candles and two cauldrons sitting on it was pushed against the remaining wall, and a dark blue witch’s robe was flung haphazardly over it.
He studied the substantial hole in the wall next to the altar. “What’s the hole from?”
“Oh, uh, there was a small leak in the upstairs bathroom, and the plumber needed to open up the wall.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t say, and Aunt Sybil didn’t ask. I came home from work one day to find it like this,” Cece said.
“Did he fix the problem?”
“No,” she admitted, “but the second plumber did.”
“Why haven’t you repaired the hole?” he asked.
She flushed. “It’s on my to-do list. The house has good bones but needs a lot of work.”
“Did you buy it like this?” he asked.
“My mom and aunt did,” Cece said. “They had plans to renovate it themselves, but it was more work than they thought, and neither of them was particularly handy at home repairs. Contractors were out of their budget, so we’ve just been living with it.”
