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“Could be. You think he might just be trying to jump Cain’s bandwagon?” Oh, to have a master as good as him, she thought, half expecting to be struck down by a bolt of lightning for letting the thought cross her mind.
Crawford shrugged, but looked at her with a deadly serious expression. “All I know is that we have to see this through. It would be suicide to try and bail out on Cain now, and you should keep that in mind.”
Elspeth lifted her eyebrows, and gave him a mocking smile. He was right, of course, but knowing that did not chase the rebellious urges away. Not completely.
Crawford shook his head. “I’ll phone Dawson in the village.” He reached into his pocket for his phone. “Get him to come up here and shift this.”
Elspeth nodded, but by the time the tree was moved they would have lost the trail. Zoë couldn’t go far. Did it even matter? She had visions of Annabel manifesting halfway up the coast. That would drive Cain completely loopy. For some reason, she couldn’t help laughing at the idea of it.
Two more cars approached and Crawford walked out toward them, his hand held up to stop them getting any nearer. If much more traffic built up, it would be hard to loop back and try a different route. If necessary they would just have to wait for them to return from wherever they had gone. They would have to come back, because of the binding spells. Unless Grayson Murdoch was clever enough to undo that, as well. She wouldn’t put anything past him.
What was driving him? she wondered again. Remembering how he’d been the night before, so powerful and so determined. He’d taken her breath away. It had to be Zoë. It wasn’t just about Cain. It might have been to start with, but not anymore.
So, Grayson Murdoch wanted Zoë, and Cain wanted Annabel in Zoë’s body. She wondered what would happen next. Moving closer to the boundary spell, she put her hands on the fallen tree. When she did, she felt Grayson’s residual magic surging beneath the bark. He might not bandy his skills about much, but when he did, it sure as hell worked.
Cain had certainly met his match. Her instinct was to think about self-protection. She had cast her lot with Cain, bonding with him as their coven master, but if he went down she was determined not to go down with him.
When they reached their destination, Grayson slowed down and parked the car outside the cottage. His mother had lived here, and he stared at the house silently, trying to picture her, as he always did when he came here. Fourteen years he’d been coming here, and still he didn’t feel part of it.
“What a pretty house. Is this where your family lives?”
Grayson nodded. “Yes, my aunt and my grandmother. They’ll give me a chiding about not coming more often, but you’ll like them.” He smiled over it, and then reached over to take her hand in his. “I’ve told you a little about my parents, but I need to tell you a bit more before we go in.”
She looked at him in that way of hers, the look that said “don’t you try to pull the wool over my eyes, Mister,” and he was willing to bet that nothing got past her, in her work. He could just picture her standing behind a desk in London, refusing to accept anyone’s half-baked excuses for missing documents and tardy responses.
“You’re a constant stream of information on topics I should know about,” she teased.
“I’m sorry.” He really was. It was now a constant wish that she hadn’t been pulled into this.
She stared at him silently for a moment, her expression softening. “I don’t regret coming here, don’t think that.” She locked eyes with him. “It could have been anybody, but I’m glad it was me because I met you.” A moment later, she waved her hand expectantly. “Well, what is it that you have to tell me at this juncture in time? What new facts have you to reveal?”
“I can tell you work in the legal world.”
“Yes, and doesn’t it all seem so useless in the face of this magical world I have stepped into.”
He took a deep breath. “Don’t worry, this is about me.”
He glanced back at the house. “My mother lived here. She was a white witch. My dad took me to Edinburgh when I was less than a year old, because of the craft. He was a regular bloke and he couldn’t deal with it. To him, it wasn’t right.”
She didn’t say anything, but she turned her hand inside his, and meshed her fingers with his.
“My dad was a teacher. He was a good man, but I never knew about my mother until after he died. I was almost twenty. I’d started studying psychology at university.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’ve had p
lenty of time to get used to it.” It was still difficult, though. “He left a letter.” He’d never spoken about this part of it before, not to anyone who didn’t already know. That was because he was never in a position to tell a woman he was seeing that he was descended from a line of white witches. It was, however, important that Zoë understand that he was involved, but also an outsider.
“His references to the craft made sense of so much. It was always there in me. I was drawn to studying the subject, but never knew why. After Dad was gone, I finished my degree in psychology and moved into the supernatural field. It was the most natural thing for me to do.”
“And you met your mother?”
It was a moment before he could reply. “She’d passed away the year before. I never got to meet her.” He clenched his jaw.
Zoë lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed it. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.
“I met my aunt and my grandmother, and their coven. The weird thing was, they knew all about me.” He winked at her.
