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“A few boundary spells, harkening the weather,” she said, “small fry in comparison to what you might need for this.”
“You surely know how to boost a man’s ego.”
She chuckled. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do.”
“If it’s a re-embodiment he’s meddling with, it’ll be dangerous. First you’ll have to undo each and every spell he’s cast on her, and then be ready to pull Annabel out. I have a journal about this kind of forbidden magic. It’s not comprehensive but you should be able to work out what Davot has done. I’ll warn you now, it could take weeks to untangle it.”
“We don’t have that long. Zoë has her own life to get on with.” As much as he wanted everything to be right for Zoë, he also didn’t like the thought of her disappearing back to London.
Maggie studied him in a way that made him feel too easy to read, emotionally. Was there anything she didn’t already know? “However you decide to tackle it,” she said, “we’re here to help. Just ask.”
“Thank you. My biggest concern is that I care too much, that it will cloud my judgment.” What if he got hotheaded and lost it at the wrong moment? What if he messed up, big time? He’d already made an arse of himself the previous day. He’d only just been able to pull that situation back from the brink.
Maggie’s expression softened. “Don’t deny the affection you feel.” Her eyes shone. “Physical and spiritual love is the gateway to the most powerful magic we can ever know. You love her. You must have faith and you must use it, Gray. It will help you.”
At first, when the door closed behind her, Zoë thought that she was alone in the room. It didn’t faze her. So many strange things had gone on already that being alone in the pretty room was nothing.
“Come in, my dear.”
The voice had issued from an armchair with its back to her, and Zoë had to crane her neck to even see the top of the head of the person sitting there.
“Hello,” she responded, as she walked around the chair.
A tiny sparrowlike woman with pure white hair sat there, staring straight ahead but gesturing to the armchair to her left.
“Sit down, my dear. Maggie will bring us some lunch after she’s spoken with Gray. It’ll give us a chance to get to know each other.”
“Thank you,” Zoë responded, taking the chair somewhat awkwardly. They called him “Gray.” She liked that. It suited him. She wanted to call him Gray, too.
Her hostess was still staring straight ahead, and after a moment it dawned on Zoë that she was blind.
“Please, call me Fern.”
“I’m Zoë.”
“What a pretty name. Would you mind if I familiarized myself with your features?” She leaned forward and put her fingers out.
“No, of course not.” Zoë shuffled forward to the edge of the seat and leaned into Fern’s touch.
“Dark hair?” Fern asked, as she touched Zoë’s hair.
“Yes.” Her style of dress reminded Zoë of an elderly teacher who she’d particularly liked—a box pleat skirt worn with a white blouse that had a ruffle at the neckline, thick, American tan shade stockings, and laced-up shoes. She lowered her eyelids as Fern’s fingers gently touched her face, and she experienced a tingling sensation. Lifting her gaze, she saw what Grayson wanted her to see. The craft. She may be blind, but Fern was filled with magic.
They sat back in their chairs and Zoë reflected with no small sense of irony that this was what she might expect a witch’s house to be like. The room was pretty and eccentric and somehow fairy-tale-like. The mantelpiece was heavy with pebbles and objects that looked as if they had been collected from the beach and the forest, bits of driftwood and curiously shaped stones. Heavy velvet curtains were tied back at the windows, and beyond that a beautiful garden was filled with tall stems, meadow flowers in an array of colors. Small, detailed paintings of birds and wildlife filled the walls. It was a lovely, magical, grandma’s house—something she had never had as a child but had a
ssociated with the fairy tales she’d read.
Fern beamed. “Gray hasn’t brought a young lady here before. This is a long-awaited treat for us.”
“Well, we’re friends.” Zoë paused, not sure what to say. What were they? They were lovers, but it was an odd arrangement. She couldn’t let Fern think they were an item, if they weren’t. “I’m just visiting the area, from London.”
Fern nodded, and Zoë realized that she had just told her something she already knew. That would be this second sight business, she supposed, somewhat amused. What else did Fern and Maggie know about her and Grayson? Everything? That might be embarrassing.
“It’s been very generous of you, to help Gray.”
“I didn’t really have a choice. The ghost in the house seems to have formed an attachment to me.”
