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My throat thickens, and my lungs tighten until I’m hyperventilating. The Boogie Man blames me for his current state and will do anything to break free. How much time do I have until he starts murdering my family?
I glance in the direction of Grandma’s house. The lights are off, but a faint glow from deep within the upstairs window tells me she’s probably awake.
“Go on,” he says. “Tell your grandmother how a man she cannot see murdered your suitor.”
“He wasn’t my—”
“Silence.” His voice is cold enough to freeze my spine.
I shake my head, loosening a mix of self-pity and panic.
Breathe.
No matter what he says or does, he can’t get through my protective magic. After a few deep inhales and even longer exhales, I clear my head.
Now isn’t the time to fall apart.
It’s time to fix this mess before the Magical Council takes my head.
I walk to Norbert’s headless body, hook my forearms under his shoulders, and drag his corpse through the chamomile flowers. If I shove him to the bottom of Grandma’s compost heap, he can decompose into the soil.
The Boogie Man tilts his head like a bird. “What are you doing?”
“You’re right,” I say from between clenched teeth. “Everyone’s going to think I murdered Norbert, so I need to hide the corpse.”
His bitter laugh grates on my nerves. “Typical. You have not changed in eight centuries.”
“Are you going to help me or continue comparing me to your long-dead wife?”
“You are my wife,” he hisses.
Norbert is heavier than he looks, and there’s an unmovable weight to him that makes my arms strain. I hunch over, putting more pressure on my stomach and thighs as I continue to heave the corpse.
The Boogie Man picks up Norbert’s head with his long hair and carries it the way human lawyers hold briefcases.
What a gentleman.
“I was born two decades ago. I can show you pictures of when I was little.”
“So you are a reincarnation,” he says.
“That doesn’t even make sense.” A thick plant whacks me in the face, hitting me with a cloud of pollen. “If I’m a reincarnation, then it means the original Elenor of Aquitaine died.”
“Correct.”
“Then wouldn’t your curse have already broken?” I flick my gaze up to gauge his reaction.
The Boogie Man pauses, his jaw tightening. The markings on his chest move around his muscles as though they are alive.
I hold my breath, hoping he finally sees sense. If he can accept that killing his wife won’t free him, then maybe he might go away and find an alternative solution?
“I will take my chances with you,” he says. “Dark witches hide secrets in their black hearts. You are no different.”
“If I knew how to break your curse, I would,” I snap.
“Which is why you must die.”
Frustration wells in my chest, mingling with the stress and strain of transporting a cooling corpse. Norbert was supposed to give me the answers to ridding myself of this fiend. Now, he’s dead, and I’m in more trouble than ever.
