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Chapter Six
Rowan
I try to focus on what Maria’s telling me, but I can’t get the encounter with the gorgeous stranger out of my head. Which is infuriating, because he’d been completely anti-social, and that was before he’d been a downright dick.
He doesn’t associate with witches? What is this, the 1800s? What the actual fuck. Not to mention, I’m not a witch. Which also makes him presumptuous as hell.
After what I’d gone through with my ex, and the complete shattering of ten years of trust, I am completely over assholes. So if this guy doesn’t want to associate with me, that’s perfectly fine. Second strike for his presumptions—maybe I don’t want to associate with him.
But damn is he good-looking. The way his thin black T-shirt hugged his chest made me want to bite my lip. Good God.
“Rowan?”
Shit. Maria had asked me a question, and I completely wasn’t listening. “So sorry—I’m having a hard time focusing. What was that again?”
Maria smiles understandingly. If only she knew. I feel a wave of guilt.
“I was asking if you wanted to have the celebration of life this Sunday.”
I scrunch down into the loveseat in her office and thrum my fingers on my thigh. That’s about six days from now. “Um, I think that’s fine. As long as the investigation is over by then? How long do you think the sheriff will need the—” I can’t bring myself to say body. It sounds so cold and formal. How did my life turn into an episode of CSI?
“You don’t have to worry about the details of the ceremony, because the Society will take care of that,” Maria says. “There will be a gathering of witches, and anyone from your family is welcome to attend. We can always do something just for family beforehand, if you prefer.”
“Yeah, let me think on that.”
My dad had passed away a few years ago, so it’s only my brother. He’s living in Germany at the moment, so it’s very doubtful he’ll be able to make it.
“Also, we’re having a local Society gathering tonight,” Maria says. “I think it’d be great if you could come. Since Sybil was hoping you’d represent her.”
It’s all still so surreal. I’m a fresh-off-the-press divorcee, my favorite aunt has been murdered, and I’m supposed to take over a society of witches. Oh, and every other supernatural thing in the campfire stories are real. I keep waiting for someone to pop up and announce this has all been an elaborate prank.
But if Sybil had wanted me to do this for her, I have to at least try.
I nod and meet Maria’s gaze. “Okay. I’ll come.”
“We’re going to have the meeting at my house. I figured you didn’t want several dozen witches descending on your house, what with all of this being so fresh.” Maria smiles.
“I appreciate that,” I say with a chuckle. “I can ride with Ven.”
“Great. Eleven o’clock.”
I don’t bother asking why the gathering isn’t starting until nearly midnight. In the grand scheme of things, that’s the least of my concerns.
We spend another half hour discussing details of Sybil’s celebration of life and estate, then I head back to the house. When I arrive, I am greeted by not one, not two, but three solid black cats, sitting neatly in a row at the top of the stone stairs, tails curled around their feet. They stare up at me with bright eyes, one set yellow, one set green, and the last a strange lavender color. I stare back.
They are effectively blocking my entry into the house. “Hi, kitties. Where did you come from?” I’d had a cat when I was younger, and I’ve found that more often than not, a cat wants attention for one reason. “Are you hungry?”
A chorus of meows tells me I’m right on the money. They wind around my ankles as I fiddle with the ancient lock and key. When I get the door open, they run full-out for the kitchen. All three are huddled in front of a cabinet to the left of the massive stove when I arrive a few moments later. Sure enough, when I open the cabinet, I see several pillars of stacked canned tuna. A couple minutes later they are all eating happily. I pet each of them on the back and they arch up into my hand, purring loudly.
While the cats eat, I take time to explore the house further. There’s a door in the kitchen that opens onto the veranda. A small round wicker table and chairs are right outside; a lovely spot to eat with a view of the garden and the forest. On the other side of the house from the kitchen is a huge library. But this is no stuffy English gentleman’s library with wood paneling and leather chairs. This library has an exterior wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating an exotic collection of orchids, irises, succulents, and a flowering vine that creeps up onto one of the bookshelves. Crystals and candles and goddess statues hug every surface not covered in books. A large desk stands on the far side holding a huge black book. I make a mental note to come back and look at the book later.
Exiting into the center hallway once again, I see a small door to the right of the stairs. Opening it, I see a flight of steps that lead down into a huge outdoor atrium. The floor is smooth stone tiles, and the walls and ceiling are glass. The sky is visible above, and I imagine that at night it affords an amazing view of the moon. This must be where the Society meets most of the time.
Beyond the atrium is a greenhouse, smaller and filled with plants. It is also glass, and as I do a quick stroll through it, I find several cauldrons—actual huge, iron cauldrons—and glass bottles and several mortar and pestle sets. I have a feeling Sybil wasn’t making pesto back here—it’s clearly a set-up for spells and potions. I feel a shiver. Fear of the unknown, and also a thrill of wonder. My aunt was an actual witch. Whether that means I am, as Maria and Ven seem to think, is another matter entirely.
I head back into the house and up to the second floor. I explore each of the bedrooms, except Ven’s for obvious reasons. They are each huge, elegant, and witchy all at the same time: antique furniture paired with unique artwork and objects that make it clear this is not a normal place, its occupants anything but traditional. After my loop of the second-floor hallway, I take the stairs up to the third floor.
It smells like sage and tobacco and old wood. This floor is much smaller than the first two. The stairs come out onto a large landing with a huge, perfectly round window. A room can be seen to each side. I go right first and find a long, narrow room filled with more books and a small table and chair. Several yoga mats sit in one corner, and the windows on the exterior wall let in a view of the sky and the tops of the trees, like a bird’s nest.
I cross the hall to the other side and find a similar room. Windows all along the outside wall, bookshelves near the door. But this one has a huge sleigh bed at the far end, covered in sumptuous pale green silks and pillows. A door about halfway down reveals a tiled bathroom with a huge clawfoot tub. As my eyes wander over the lovely space, the three midnight-black cats come racing in and leap onto the bed.
“Oh, is this your room?” I ask with a laugh. “Mind if I share?”
I go down to Sybil’s room and retrieve my suitcase and lug it up to the third floor, then unpack my toiletries in the bathroom. A large dresser sits on the wall between the bathroom door and the closet door, and I place my clothes there. The closet is already mostly filled with long silken dresses and velvet cloaks. I run my fingers over them and try on one of the cloaks. When I look in the antique mirror in the corner, another shiver runs over me. The pewter-colored velvet against my pale skin and dark hair makes me look…well, magical. Powerful. Like someone else, someone I’d like to get to know.
The stress of the last week tugs at me, and I head over to the bed, drape the cloak over the end of it, and climb beneath the covers with my three feline companions. Sleep swirls around me and within moments I’m lost to velvety darkness.
I dream of golden eyes and a voice that curls around my name like a promise.
