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“At least one of us is getting some action,” she replied gloomily.
“Hey, plenty of fish, remember?” I tossed back the rest of my drink. The heated whiskey burned all the way down to my belly and sent a warm glow humming through the rest of me.
“Yes, but it would be nice to have a relationship that lasts more than a few weeks.”
“Well, there’s always—” I broke the sentence off with a yelp as she lunged for me, and then ran for my bedroom, laughing all the way.
“Your next revival potion is going to be revolting!” she called after me.
Which only made me laugh harder.
I stripped off my dressing gown, climbed into bed, and was quickly asleep. Unfortunately, it was a state that didn’t last.
I wasn’t entirely sure what woke me. The night was quiet, and the gentle pulse of the spells surrounding the building gave no indication that they were, in any way, being probed, let alone under attack. But I was lying in an almost fetal position, my legs tucked up near my chest and the top sheet loosely covering my head—something I used to do as a kid when prophetic dreams were distantly whispering and I had no desire to listen.
And yet it wasn’t a dream that had woken me. It was more a presence—an awareness that something was out there, watching and waiting.
I opened my eyes. With the sheet over my head, I couldn’t see anything, but I doubted there was actually anything to see. Not here in the bedroom, anyway.
I reached for my phone on the side table. It was twelve-thirty, which was smack bang in the middle of witching hour, a time when those who haunted the spectral edge of the world gained substance and reality. In truth, it wasn’t so much the time that was important, but rather the position and strength of the moon. A full moon held far more power than a waxing or waning one, but in either case, midnight was when she reached her highest point in the sky and was therefore at her most powerful.
So, had some sort of supernatural activity woken me, or was something stranger going on? I suspected the latter, if only because of the continuing sensation of being watched.
And given there was no one and nothing in my room, that really didn’t make much sense.
I silently cursed my psychic senses for not giving me the damn night off and climbed out of bed. After hastily pulling on jeans and a sweater, I headed out into the hallway, briefly looking right and left to pin down the odd sensation before striding through the living area and onto the balcony. The drizzle had finally eased, but an icy wind now whistled across the night, bringing with it the distant promise of more rain. I crossed my arms against the cold and stalked across to the railing. The street below was silent and empty. Nothing stirred, not even fragile wisps of wild magic.
Then a small movement caught my eye and I saw her—the White Lady. She stood near the corner where I’d caught my first true glimpse of her, and this time, she wasn’t walking away. Instead, she stood her ground and motioned me down.
I remained exactly where I was. K
atie might have told me to speak to her, but I couldn’t do so without Belle being present, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to put either of our lives in danger without first taking some precautions.
“I can’t speak to you.” It was softly said, but I had no doubt she’d hear me despite the half block distance between us. “That’s not my talent. If there’s something you want of me, then you need to relay it through my friend.”
Her ghostly form shimmered, as if in agitation. After a moment, she nodded—a short, sharp movement that had the gossamer strands of her hair streaming behind her like long clouds.
“We’ll also be well protected,” I continued. “If you, in any way, try to harm either of us, we’ll force you on and end any hope of you attaining the revenge you seek.”
Again her form shimmered, though this time I suspected it was anger. Her second sharp nod didn’t ease the tension within; in fact, it had the opposite effect. Given she was of magic, it was totally possible that—even in ghostly form—she was more powerful than either of us.
“Who the hell are you talking to?”
Belle’s sudden question made me jump. I’d been so focused on the specter that I hadn’t heard the door open. “Our White Lady. She wants to speak to us.”
Belle stopped beside me and stared down the street. “She was definitely a powerful witch in her time—even from here, I can feel the thrum of her power. I’m not entirely sure speaking to her is the wisest course of action.”
Spirits were Belle’s domain, not mine, and I had no intention of gainsaying any decision she made when it came to dealing with them. “You think she’s playing us?”
Belle hesitated, her gaze narrowing as she studied the ghostly figure in the distance. “I see no lie in her but there’s a whole lot of rage, and I really don’t like the feel of it. It could be covering a darker intent.”
“What do you want to do?”
She glanced at me. “I do have one suggestion, but neither you nor she might like it.”
I raised my eyebrows. “And that suggestion is?”
“We invite her in.”
