I swallow hard, fighting the feelings of panic inside me. I stare at that outstretched, oversized hand. Do I trust Ben? Or is this just another way to get me to let my guard down? After a moment’s hesitation, I take his hand. I need to trust someone.
For some reason, I really do trust Ben. Even though we started out as enemies, we’re friends now . . . and maybe even something more than friends.
My fingers rest lightly against his, and I’m surprised to feel that his fingertips are warm and strong. I mean, of course they are. I’m not sure what I was expecting. But all my senses suddenly lock in on his hand touching mine, and a shiver runs through me.
“Come on,” Ben murmurs. He runs his thumb across my knuckles. “Come sit with me in the living room, and we’ll figure this out.”
I nod.
BEN
I’m going to kill my aunt.
Just murder her outright. This isn’t the first time I’ve run across Reggie being completely panicked because of Aunt Dru’s actions. Last time, I thought I understood Aunt Dru’s reasoning—that she was pushing Reggie into magic, whether Reggie wanted to believe or not, by tricking her into putting on a cursed ring. But this is something so callous that for a moment, I can’t even believe it’s my aunt involved.
As Reggie speaks, though, it sounds like Aunt Dru. She tends to make decisions and act upon them in her own time. And she does love bingo.
Reggie’s seated next to me on the couch, her knees tucked against her chest, and she bites at her nails anxiously as she tells me what Dru mentioned in their brief passing. It’s not nearly enough to go on, but I have to believe Reggie. It doesn’t make sense, though. Familiars are workhorses and witches in training. No one attacks them. It’s akin to attacking the helpless. There’s a code of honor among warlocks and witches, and this goes against all of it. But Reggie’s no liar.
“And now I don’t know what to do,” Reggie confesses in a tiny voice, chewing on her nails. “I don’t want to become cursed. She says Lisa can’t open any doors and—”
“Meow?”
Maurice wanders in, his tail upright, and jumps onto the sofa next to Reggie. As I watch, her face grows paler at the sight of him.
He is definitely not helping the situation. “Not now, Maurice.” I get to my feet and offer Reggie my hand again—a selfish move, just because I like the feel of her fingers against mine. “Come on. Let’s work some divination and see if we can determine who is behind this.”
Reggie immediately puts her hand in mine again, something that will never cease to give me a sense of pleasure. She hesitates, then reaches out and scratches Maurice’s head, right behind the ears. “It’s not you, buddy. It’s me. I’m sorry. We’ll hang out later.”
Maurice just swishes his tail and settles in on the spot Reggie vacated.
“Come on,” I say, tugging her by her small hand. “Let’s go up to my private lab.” She follows behind me wordlessly, and even though I could let her hand go as we climb the stairs, something tells me she needs the contact. She needs someone to hold on to. I suspect Reggie has never had enough people hold on to her in her life, because she’s clinging to my hand right now.
And I don’t plan on ever letting go.
At some point in all of this, I stopped loathing the sight of Reggie and started actively looking forward to seeing her. To hearing her laughter, to experiencing her smile. I’ve started to live for the moments when she gets close enough for me to breathe in the fresh scent of soap and vanilla that she wears like most women wear perfume. I’m obsessed with her, and the obsession has been growing deeper by the day.
The thought’s a vaguely disturbing one. I can’t be this possessive of my aunt’s familiar. I can’t. She’s off-limits to me. But . . . I also can’t just walk away, especially when Reggie’s in distress.
We head down the second-floor hall, past Reggie’s room and toward my suite of rooms. I open my door with a hand on the ward, and if Reggie notices the spell, she doesn’t say anything. Inside, my room is slightly messy. Old clothes hang out of the hamper, and I have piles of books scattered on the nightstands. My bed hasn’t been made. I glance back at Reggie to see if she’s going to comment on my mess or if she’ll pull her hand free and start straightening up, but she just clings to my hand, her gaze tight on me.
I give her a little nod, as if reassuring her that I’ve got her. That everything is all right. “This way.”
I open the closet door and push the hanging clothing aside. It’s all black, just because I can’t be bothered to match up colors and patterns when clothing should just be serviceable at best. Black hides stains and potion spills, so black it is. Once the clothing is pushed aside, the rune on the wall is revealed. “This is my laboratory,” I tell her. “Spelled only to me, but you can enter since you’re with me. Just don’t try to come in on your own, or you might not like what happens.”
Her hand squeezes mine, and a tiny smile curves her mouth. “I won’t like what happens? What, is it going to curse me, too?”
My heart aches. She’s acting as if she’s already cursed. As if it’s just a matter of time. “Rashes,” I tease, to lighten her mood. “Rashes for days.”
“You monster,” she teases back. She’s still smiling, though, and it makes me feel better.
The door slides back, revealing my lab to her eyes. There are no windows, no doors except the one we came through. Wall-to-wall bookshelves and a massive rack of components dominate the room, and my enormous wooden worktable takes up most of the floor space. It’s not the best laboratory—my one at home has a sink nearby and windows to add ventilation—but it’ll do.
Reggie’s mouth opens in surprise. “I had no idea this was here. This is between our rooms?”
I nod, moving to the far side of my table. I head for the components rack, pulling out the stronger herbs for divining. “Yes. It used to be a guest room once upon a time, but I spent several weeks here when Aunt Dru hurt her ankle a few decades ago, and so I had the door to the hall sealed, and repurposed this room for myself. It’s not perfect, but we’ll have privacy here.”
Reggie immediately moves to my side, as if my presence comforts her. “So . . . what are we going to do, then? Do we need a crystal ball?”
For some reason, that makes my body respond. I think about how she watched me in the crystal ball and confessed it to me. She didn’t act upon it. Didn’t confess a second time, so I know she’s never done it again, and I find that oddly disappointing. With every day that passes, I find it harder and harder to resist her, and it’d be easier if I knew how she felt about me.
Reggie’s in her twenties, though. She probably thinks I’m far too old for her, far too dour, too unappealing. And I’m a warlock, and right now she’s stressing about a spell, so I’m surprised she’s even talking to me.
I toss handfuls of herbs into my offering bowl and add a dried chicken’s foot for good measure. Some gold leaf. Saffron. I pull out a jar I have set aside for such occasions, open it, and dump the contents into the bowl.
Reggie’s chin pushes against my arm, and I realize she’s trying to peer over my shoulder to see what I’m doing, but she’s too short. Her breast presses against me, and my fingers tremble for a moment. “Is that caviar? You’re offering caviar?”
“The gods take you more seriously based on your offering,” I tell her. “If you want to get their attention, you offer expensive things or you make a flashy statement.”
“Flashy statement?” she asks.
I purse my lips, wondering if I should mention animal sacrifices. They were common in the past, but thankfully not any longer. “Let’s just say they involve entrails.”