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Margaret grimaced, rinsing soapy dishes in a pot of clear water. “She’s pretty cagey. All I know for sure is that she’s not a weatherwitch. She’s a Baron, so whatever her gift, she’s powerful.”
“Could she have set the nightmare curse?”
Thrusting a towel and a clean dish at me, she asked for help without words. I rose and took the towel, drying the clean dishes as she washed and putting them in a neat stack.
“But why would she?”
“I don’t know.” Frustrated, I picked at something even further from our control. “When we find the thing, how will we get it back to Madam Munro?”
“How willyouget it back, you mean.” Margaret grimaced at the bucket of soapy water. “Let’s cross that bridge when we have the Ferox Cor in hand.”
“Good advice.” I bumped my shoulder against hers, grateful for her solid presence. One way or the other, I’d accomplish the task Madam Munro had set for me. Somehow…
Someone cleared their throat behind us, and I whirled around.
Rafe stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his frown so deep I could get lost in it. “I don’t suppose there’s any breakfast left.”
Margaret gestured to the stovetop. “I’ve kept some oatmeal warm for you.”
He stalked through the doorway, sending sparks swirling in my belly. Without his ever-present cloak, his body was slimmer than I’d expected. Wiry even. And so very strong. I looked away, hoping no one had caught the gleam of lust in my expression.
Rafe took a seat at the table and wordlessly Margaret served him. She’d found a small dish of raisins and a pot of cream, and when my stomach rumbled, she set down a second bowl for me. Rafe clearly hadn’t shaved since our excursion, and the stubble on his jaw gave him an even more dangerous air.
Because he couldbedangerous, you ninny.He could have the Ferox Cor.With that necessary reminder, I reeled in my wayward heart.
“Where’s Mother?” Rafe asked.
“I’m not sure.” I dared a glance at him, but his attention was focused on his oatmeal.That settles things. Until we found the Ferox Cor, I’d keep myself in check, and I’d ask some of those questions I’d so far avoided.
To derail my foolish disappointment, I went to work. “Do you know of any other witches besides those we saw at the Council meeting?”
He glared at his oatmeal. “If you mean to suggest that there’s someone who could have set that nightmare curse, I assure you there is not.”
I leaned back against the chair, feigning relaxation. “Last night you claimed that none of the Seattle Council could have set the spell, and you dismissed the idea that Stevenson could have bought it from someone traveling through. That leaves you or your mother as possibilities.”
“You’re accusing both of us? Fine manners on the part of a house guest.”
His tone held a hint of a threat, one I chose to ignore. “Ah, but we’re not ordinary house guests. We were sent here to offer you our help, and in order to do that, we need to know what’s really going on.”
Rafe rose to his feet, moving slowly, hands still on the tabletop. This allowed him to loom over me, and a smarter man might have felt a quiver of fear. Instead, I smiled. He couldn’t see me, but the act lifted my spirits. “I don’t really suspect you or your mother. You’d have no reason to set such a spell. You said the nightmare curse wasn’t your father’s work, either. That seems to have eliminated all the possibilities.”
With that, I stood, too, moving even more slowly than he had. When we were eye-to-eye, something sparked between us. Despite his amber lenses, I could see that he was inches away from taking action.
Though I couldn’t guess whether he meant to fuck me over the kitchen table or strike me dead.
“So.” I calmly picked up my napkin and dabbed my lips. Neither of us had mentioned the Ferox Cor. That omission tempted me to dig a little deeper. “No outside witch cast the spell. Nor did an inside witch, nor a recently deceased witch. Are there any other sources of power that I’m missing?”
"No.” Rafe spat the word, but even so I heard the lie.
“Perhaps, then, you could do me the favor of showing me around the perimeter, the area your protection spell covers.”
“Why? It will mean nothing to such as you.”
Such a charmer. “I’m just trying to help.”
Margaret approached the table, smiling serenely, as if Rafe and I weren’t here growling at each other. “He’s right, Rafe Gallagher. You can’t simply sit there and do nothing until the next spell is cast. I’d think you’d be a little curious about how someone had got through your protection wards.”
He smacked the table with an open palm. “Oh, I am more than curious. I just don’t want help from some…popinjay and his tart.”
