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As I glance around the dark, quiet living room and the dimly lit kitchen beyond, the knot becomes a worried twist. This is the first time that Kitty hasn’t rushed from the pipes to welcome me home and surely Casey hasn’t had time to get to sleep yet.
But when I strain for sounds from upstairs, I can’t hear a thing.
Worried, I tiptoe upstairs and peek into Casey’s room, but when the shaft of light from the hallway falls on the bed, she and Amy are right there, curled up under the covers together, making twin, snuffling sounds.
They’re adorable, and for a moment, I wish I was one of those people who carries her cell everywhere she goes, so I could record this sweet moment to share with them later.
But I can’t stand having a beeping, pinging, attention-sucking tracking device in my purse or pocket at all times. In the past, even technology has seemed like too much of a commitment for me. I didn’t want to be in a relationship with my phone, let alone a complicated, nuanced, unpredictable human being you can’t set to vibrate when you’re sick of the sound of their voice.
“But I wouldn’t ever get sick of the sound of his voice,” I mutter to my reflection as I wipe my makeup away with a damp cloth.
A beat later, Kitty reaches through the bathroom drain, her tentacle barely as big around as my thumb, proving how tired she must be. Even in small spaces like the bathroom, she usually expands to normal kraken size, though nothing as impressive as her presence in the kitchen.
I pet her arm and coo, “Hello, love. I’m home safe and Blaire will be soon. You can go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She stretches sleepily, before tapping the small table beside the sink, drawing my attention to a sticky note beside my make-up bag I hadn’t noticed before.
It reads simply—More about the father’s history. In the catacombs. Fifth shelf from the north wall. The moth told the spider who told the little boy in the basement who told me. Go check tomorrow!
“Thank you, I will,” I murmur, tucking the note into my makeup bag to keep it hidden from prying eyes. This is my private bathroom, but we Wonderfullys are notorious for ignoring each other’s private spaces, and I know I’m better safe than sorry.
The little boy in the basement must be Peter, our ghost. I make a mental note to bring him a token of my appreciation for completing the gossip circle. I’m not sure what spirit children enjoy when it comes to gifts, but I’ll figure it out. Maybe I can find a book on little ghost boys in the catacombs tomorrow—after I learn more about Baron’s story.
A part of me hates the thought of going behind his back, but at this rate it’s my only option. He’s closed his heart to me and all but admitted “the things he’s done” are the reason why. And I can’t very well refute something I don’t fully understand.
Patting Kitty’s arm and thanking her again for her help, I flick off the bathroom light and slip between the icy covers in my bed, curling my toes and wrapping my arms across my chest. As I wait for the flannel sheets to warm, I replay my brief interaction with Baron tonight over and over in my mind until I remember something I didn’t fully appreciate at the time.
He appeared a split second after Edmond touched my arm. Just like he poofed into the bar last night right after I touched Colin’s hand.
Maybe I wasn’t wrong about the jealousy thing.
There’s one way to find out, I suppose, if I dare…
Colin is truly just a friend, but Edmond did, strangely, seem a little…interested. Maybe interested enough for a little harmless flirting in the name of making Baron realize what he’s letting slip through his fingers?
The thought of using someone without their knowledge turns my stomach, but not enough to make me veto the idea outright. When it comes to fighting for the man I love, I’m beginning to suspect there isn’t much I won’t do, which is a little scary.
As if on cue, my first dream of the night takes on an ominous quality, a sharp bite of danger that warns I’m not safe, not even in my own bed.
I run through the woods outside town with one baby in my arms and another in my belly, exhausted and terrified, but fighting to reach Nightfall in time to warn my sisters that trouble is coming—big trouble, so much more insidious than we imagined possible.
In the dream, I can’t remember what intelligence I have stored in my head, only that I have to share it before it’s too late…
Before we fall prey to the same evil that has been slaughtering Wonderfully witches in secret for centuries. Before all the beautiful dreams we’ve dreamed together in Nightfall turn to nightmares…
Chapter 8
Baron
I crouch on the narrow ledge outside Annie’s room like a gargoyle on the face of Notre Dame, watching her sleep.
I only intended to ensure she’d reached home safely and be on my way, but she’s so beautiful I can’t seem to pull myself from her window.
Annie is stunning when she’s awake, but in sleep…she’s an angel.
I can suddenly see what she must have been like as a girl, sheltered and naïve, full of fantastical dreams, but still a warm, grounded presence her little sisters could count on when the chips were down.
I don’t have many memories of Willow Wonderfully—unlike her daughter, when Willow lived in Nightfall, she respected my solitude—but from what I’ve gleaned from Blaire’s stories, Blaire and Annie practically raised their younger siblings, while Willow continued to live as if she didn’t have young children at home who needed her. Blaire and Annie rose to the challenge, leaving their own childhoods behind to take on grown-up responsibilities far too soon. The experience left Blaire content never to have babies of her own, making her the perfect bride for a vampire incapable of siring children.
