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“I’m not a witch. Clearly.” I laugh, because I’m not sure what else to do. I feel like I’ve entered the Twilight Zone. Maybe I’m so grief stricken I’m having delusions?
“You are a Stonecroft woman. You possess magic, no doubt about it.”
“I think I would know,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. There’s an uncomfortable heat building in my stomach, and my head starts to throb. Abruptly, I reach my limit. The last of my sanity is going over a cliff any moment now. “Listen, it’s been a really terrible couple of days. Can we pick this conversation up again in the morning?”
“Of course,” Maria says with a comforting smile. “I assume you’re planning to stay here at the house?”
I hadn’t actually given it any thought. I’d simply packed a suitcase and hopped on the next cross-country flight I could find. Perks of being self-employed and single.
“Um, sure,” I say. The place is soothing. I can feel Sybil’s presence, even here on the outside of the house. Maybe if I spend some time here, I can come to terms with the fact that my aunt wasn’t who I thought she was at all. I can process my grief, and then I can get out of here and try to move on with my life. Without broomsticks and magic and other things far beyond my comprehension.
“Great, well, here’s a key.”
Maria reaches into her purse and pulls out a huge, ornate iron key, which she hands over. It’s cold against my skin and I shiver.
“Also, there’s another tenant at the moment,” Maria continues. “The Society offers a place for witches to stay when they’re down on their luck. She’s staying in the moon room.”
I don’t know what a moon room is, and I’m too tired and overwhelmed to ask at this point. “Great, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
Maria nods and heads out to her SUV, throwing me a final wave before driving off. A breeze rustles through the forest, stirring the scent of something flowering. I can hear the squeak of the weathervane overhead as it spins, and I wrap my arms around myself. How had everything in my life gotten so crazy so fast?
With a sigh, I turn, looking up at the enormous front door. It’s painted burgundy, a pop against the gray of the rest of the house. Inserting the key into the lock, which has to be wrestled into submission, I open it and stare into the yawning space beyond.
The house sparkles with a strange golden light, which a moment later I realize is just a trick of the sun and dust motes. A big stained-glass window, which I hadn’t noticed from the outside, is letting in a good bit of illumination. There’s a skylight in the middle of the roof as well, three stories up. I don’t like dark old houses, so that makes me feel better.
At the far end of the two-story foyer, which is really more of a wide hall, a wooden staircase curves up and around, leading to the second floor. The mahogany banister gleams. I can see that it continues up to the third floor, perhaps an attic? From the outside, it had seemed the third floor was much smaller. I walk further in, seeing a huge dining room with a fireplace to the left, and a sitting room on the right. Further still, and I see a parlor with a giant harp, and beyond that, a kitchen that looks like something right out of Tuscany: brightly-colored tile, huge stone oven and all.
There are other rooms downstairs, but I leave those for later exploration and head up the staircase to the second floor. Paintings cover the polished wood walls, most of them depicting enigmatic women, or nature, or the moon. And several of ravens, naturally. As if tugged by a magnetic force, I make my way around the rectangular-shaped hall, which has a handrail on the interior and is open to the first floor. I pass four bedrooms before stopping at the fifth. The door is open, and I step inside.
It’s Sybil’s room, of that I have no doubt. The four-poster bed is set with a turquoise quilt, her favorite color, and on top of the dresser sits a vase filled with sunflowers, also a favorite. But it’s more than that. I can feel her here. I cross the room to a saffron satin chair and sit down in it. My eyes rove over the space, every book and nick-knack. There’s a chenille throw on the arm of the chair which I pull into my lap.
And then my exhaustion takes me.
Moonlight is streaming in through the window when I awaken. I instantly realize I’m not alone. My whole body goes on alert, and my eyes land on a tall shadow in the doorway to Sybil’s room.
“I’m so sorry!”
A woman steps into the light. She looks a bit younger than my thirty-five years and has long, flaming red hair and strange purple eyes that burn in the dim light. Smoke curls up from something in her hands. “I didn’t mean to wake you. But I have tea, if you want.” She smiles and takes a few tentative steps forward, proffering the steaming mug.
I reach out and take it. “Thanks so much. I’m Rowan.”
“I’m Lavender,” she says. “Ven for short. Maria told you I’m staying here?”
“Yeah, she did.” I shake my head. “Sorry I didn’t come introduce myself before I passed out. I was exhausted from my flight and then a bit…well, Maria told me some things I wasn’t aware of. Just a lot to take in.”
“Oh, about all of us being witches?”
I tense for a moment, then nod and take a sip of my tea. Mint and chamomile. “Um, yep. That would be it.”
Ven takes a seat at the end of Sybil’s bed. “Yeah. I bet that’s some crazy shit to hear right after you step off a plane.” She giggles.
Her laughter is infectious, and I find myself joining in. “You can say that again.” I take another sip of my tea.
“Sybil told me so much about you.” Ven smiles. “I feel like we’re already friends.”
I nod, not sure what to say since I can’t return the sentiment, having never heard of her before. Grief stabs my gut once again. Luckily, she continues without much of a pause.
“I’ll always owe Sybil a debt of gratitude. I was in a bad coven before, and a bad relationship. She took me in, offered me protection.” Her eyes hold a far-off look for a moment, as if lost in her memories. “I know you must be going through a lot right now, and I’ll help you any way I can. Any kin of Sybil is good in my book.”
