Page 14 of Bound to be Yours

By the time Mrs. Wilton's cottage came into view, I'd almost convinced myself I'd imagined the entire conversation.

Then Azaren muttered, "Her fence is crooked."

I smiled. Nope. Still there.

Mrs. Wilton's little cottage sat exactly where it always had, nestled among towering pines with smoke curling lazily from the chimney. Wind chimes tinkled softly from the porch, and late summer flowers spilled from every window box in cheerful bursts of color.

It looked comforting and homey. Nothing like the sort of place an infernal demon should willingly enter.

"You don't have to sound so offended," I said as I climbed the porch steps.

"I haven't said anything."

"You sighed."

"I was contemplating the poor life choices that brought me here."

I knocked. A moment later the door creaked open. Mrs. Wilton looked even smaller than I remembered. Her silver hair had escaped its usual neat bun, soft wisps framed a face far paler than it had been last week. The smile she gave me was as warm as ever, but it took obvious effort.

"Oh, Poppy, dear." She pulled me into a gentle hug. "You shouldn't have carried all those bags."

"It's no bother, really, and I got some herbs for your cough."

She laughed, though it dissolved into a cough that bent her nearly double. My smile vanished. "Mrs. Wilton..."

"I'm quite all right."

"You absolutely are not."

"I'm old."

"You're stubborn."

"I've earned the right." Another cough interrupted her. Longer this time.

When she straightened again, her eyes drifted over my shoulder. Not past me. To the empty space beside me. Her smile changed. It widened ever so slightly.

"Well." She paused. "It's about time."