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He springs into the air, flaps his wings, and disappears into the sky.
“Shit.”
I climb out of the tub, my limbs aching less than they did twenty minutes ago, and shoulder on a bathrobe and slippers. No matter how much I protest, he still thinks I am his wife.
His feelings toward Elanor of Aquitaine aren’t a simple case of love-hate. They’re completely murderous.
As I walk out of the bathroom and into the cottage’s living area, nearly tripping on one of Norbert’s bracelets that must have rolled across the room, my phone buzzes.
“I can’t be late for work,” I mutter, my gaze darting to the little clock on the wall. It’s only eight, so I have another hour before the apothecary opens.
The phone buzzes again, making me quicken my pace toward the edge of the rug, where I tossed my bag.
I pull out the handset to find a message from my cousin, Aggie.
The first text says:
I know what you did.
The second says:
If you don’t want me to tell the COVEN, you will meet me ASAP!
My stomach tightens, and I clasp a hand over my mouth to stifle a sob.
How the hell does Aggie know about Norbert?
ChapterFifteen
ALIENOR
I sway on my feet, oscillating from blind panic to wanting to hurl the contents of my empty stomach over the phone. How would Aggie know Norbert was dead? If she had followed us last night, then she might have seen him die the same way she got attacked.
Aggie messages again with,I mean it!!
With a jolt of alarm, I drop the phone, rush to the bedroom, and throw on some clothes.
My insides churn with bitter regret. Regret for ever deciding to record the Boogie Man. Regret for persuading Aggie to channel the wards around my home to create a trap. Regret for involving Norbert.
The Boogie Man is determined to have me dead or destroyed.
After dressing, I return to the edge of the rug, where I left my phone, and stuff it into my bag. Somehow, I’ve got to persuade my cousin not to reveal what she discovered to the rest of the coven and certainly not to the Magical Council.
I push the front door open and step out into the chamomile lawn. Instead of the usual scents from the forest, all I can spell is warm compost. It’s not unpleasant, but my spine seizes with a shudder.
Only I know what’s beneath the compost heap.
But so does the Boogie Man.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I rush down the path of stepping stones that cut through the lawn. Grandma’s house on the right has all its curtains drawn, which either means she’s preparing a concoction that requires complete darkness, or she had a late night and is still sleeping.
A light breeze combs through my hair, rustling the chamomile flowers. I smooth down my uniform and pick up my pace. It’s a green dress with a white apron to match the decor of the apothecary.
Heavy panting grates on my eardrums as I reach the ring of ash trees that border the gardens. I slow my steps and frown. It almost sounds like a dog.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a long tail draped over a tall root.
I turn to find a large, black hound lying at the foot of a tree with its legs outstretched. There’s a thick mane of fur on its face and around its neck and shoulders, but the rest of its body is sparsely covered, revealing leathery skin stretched over bones and ropey muscles.
