His hand flexed, fingers stretching toward mine, his pinky grazing the back of my hand. For a moment, I wished he’d take it again. But like the fleeting image of us enjoying a lazy weekend together, the chance was lost.
The sharp breeze died down, and the notes of cypress in the approaching winter air turned bitter. Grim shoved his hands into his coat pockets and stomped off, a frown marring his beautiful face.
twenty-one
The café by the river was small, cozy, and smelled faintly of freshly brewed tea and burnt sugar. The afternoon sun filtered through the fog, casting soft light on the cobblestone streets outside. It was the kind of place that made you want to curl up with a good book.
Grim and I settled into a small corner table, tucked away by the window, just as I spotted the man we were meeting.
Dr. Gentry Townes had a messy mop of light brown hair that curled at the ends. His large hazel eyes peered out from behind a pair of dark-rimmed glasses, and he fumbled with his satchel as he approached, his keys slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor.
For a moment, I couldn’t help but notice how…adorablehe was—in an awkward, and endearing way.
“Grim, relax,” I muttered, though I knew he didn’t have it in him to do so.
“I'm just observing," he grumbled back, as he clutched his drink tighter. "His energy is... odd."
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it because Gentry was finally at our table, looking even more flustered as he apologized for his clumsy entrance.
“Dr. Townes, I presume?” I smiled at him, trying to break through his nervous energy.
He looked a little too startled, blinking rapidly behind his glasses. “Oh, yes! Sorry—uh, you can just call me Gentry. Dr. Townes is... a bit formal.”
Grim’s gaze narrowed slightly, as he gave a slow nod. “Gentry, then.” He dragged the name out, testing the man’s discomfort.
Gentry offered a faint smile, then quickly looked away as he took a seat. The server appeared once more, setting down his tea in front of him.
“Thanks for meeting us,” I said gently. “We only had a few questions about your research.”
Gentry relaxed by a fraction, enough to reach for his tea. His fingers curled around the cup. “Of course,” he said, voice careful. “Happy to help if I can.”
Grim leaned forward, elbows on the table. “We’re looking into Alice Wylde.” He said it like an accusation, as if Gentry stood trial for even knowing something about the Wylde sisters.
His posture was stiff, deliberate, and the darkness that often clung to him seemed to bloom in the space between them. To the untrained eye, it might have gone unnoticed, but I knew better. He was doing it on purpose.
I nudged him gently in the side, a silent warning to behave. “What he means,” I added quickly, “is that your work caught our attention. Your paper on Alice and the others—it was well done.”
Grim said nothing, his gaze still pinned to Gentry.
We’ve come across a few accounts of the sisters, and as my colleague mentioned on the phone, we’re doing some follow-up research,” I continued. After we'd made our way through the park, Grim explained that he had made a call to Gentry. Asking ifhe'd meet us at a café beside the Thames to talk about his paper Nemo dug up. "I’d love to hear how you came across your source material. Records that thorough from that era are rare."
Gentry gave a small nod, the faintest bit of color rising in his cheeks. “Oh, yeah. I mean, sure. I can walk you through what I have.” His whole demeanor shifted as he launched into telling us his story. “I was on the cusp of graduating to become an anthologist, and I was helping catalog some old texts at the library. It’s fascinating—they're the first recorded deaths tied to accused witchcraft.”
I was genuinely intrigued. “That is fascinating… but I don't remember anything from your paper about Alice's death."
He nodded enthusiastically, as a smile split his face. “That's the peculiar part, she disappeared on her twenty-second birthday. But the others were hung.”
It knocked the breath from my lungs. Twenty-two. The same age I was when I was cursed…
Grim’s hand moved under the table, giving my thigh a brief, comforting squeeze. But his jaw was clenched, and I knew this was only the beginning of the strange, tangled path we were about to follow.
“What’s got you interested in the Tempest trials?” Gentry asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his voice laced with innocent curiosity.
“The Tempest trials?” Grim’s posture stiffened. He straightened, leaning in, his gaze intense.
“Yes, the trials, I mean—I’m sorry, what interest do you have in Alice?” Gentry’s eyes lit up with the kind of eager curiosity that seemed to bypass caution entirely. “I’ve done a lot of work on the lesser-known records, especially the ones surrounding her. You know, it’s actually quite interesting how the phrasing changes between sources—”
“The point, doctor. Continue, please,” Grim bit out, his voice tight with barely-contained impatience. His hand trembled once more.
