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“Milly, are you okay?” Peter’s voice broke through my shock.
I shook my head, swallowing my surprise, and searched for the proper words. “Yes. Sorry, I’m fine. Congratulations, Peter.” I smiled as genuinely as I could, then raced away down the street.
I skipped the grocery store, returning home at a breakneck pace, and flopped down onto my bed. I’d never given much thought to kids, but as a hereditary witch, it was obviously an expected thing. Mothers were meant to pass their magic on to their children.
Jenksjumped up beside me, nudging my cheek with his little head.
“I’m okay, buddy. Just having a rough day.”
My familiar continued to do his job, weaving his special energy into my heart and soul. It wasn’t that I was sad about Peter’s news. It just made me think. I’d fallen so hard for Roarke already, given our mystical situation, but I never considered how his magic would affect me in the real world.
I lifted my head, catching sight of something lying on my pillow.
A viola.
The viola from the meadow that he’d placed behind my ear. It was here in my room, leaving me with even more questions than when my day began. Between the Weaver’s confusing appearance in my bedroom, the fire in Italy, and now this—
The delicate flower was still soft in my hand, reminding me again of how special our time together was. I opened the wooden box on my altar and placed it inside. I’d lived my life so reserved. So focused and yet completely content. But looking around the room, I found myself wanting. There was nothing wrong with the wooden desk sitting in the corner or the six-drawer dresser Mama had handed down to me. But I couldn’t deny my heart any longer—I wanted more.
Resolved, I showered off the dirt of the day and dressed for our dinner.
