Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
“I have to get dressed. You don’t need to run off. Finish your breakfast. I’ll be out in a few.”
I hurry back to my bedroom and take a deep breath.
Goddess, why do I have to love him so much? Why can’t I just fucking hate him?
“Black cats are so…cliché,” Marydell Roberts says with a frown. “I mean, sure, they have their place, but it’s expected. Salem, Halloween, witches, and black cats.”
“What would you suggest we use instead?” Cindy Sanderson, who is absolutely not a friend of ours, frowns at Marydell. “A raccoon? A sloth?”
“There’s no need to get snide,” Marydell tells Cindy, looking down her nose at the other woman.
Marydell has been on Salem’s city council for a long time, and she’s always been the chair for the Samhain festivities. We like her a lot.
Cindy, on the other hand, is a stick in the mud, who wants to be on this committee to ensure that said festivities aren’t too scary for Cindy and her delicate friends.
I snort, and Breena sticks me in the ribs with her elbow.
“Ow!”
“We could do cauldrons,” Lucy puts in. “Potion bottles, grimoires, tarot decks, astrology charts. There are a lot of things other than black cats we can use for décor.”
“I’m not letting my kids go anywhere with tarot decks,” Cindy informs Lucy.
“That’s your right, and I think it’s safe to say we won’t miss you,” I reply with a bright smile. “Let’s bring in Ouija boards, too.”
“Now see here,” Cindy begins, but Marydell raises her hands and tells us all to shut up.
“I may not be a witch,” Marydell begins, glaring at Cindy, “but my friends are, and we will all be respectful to each other. If you can’t do that, we don’t need you on the committee. And that goes both ways.”
Marydell aims her glare my way, and I sigh.
“I apologize for being disrespectful,” I say dutifully.
“I’m leaving,” Cindy announces, standing and slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Come on, Lacey.”
“No way, I’m staying,” Lacey Atwell says, shaking her head. “You’re the one who has a problem with witches, which is a mystery to me since you live in Salem, Massachusetts.”
“But we said we’d do this together,” Cindy whines.
“I said I’d come with you. Not that I’d leave with you.”
Cindy’s mouth firms, and she aims a glare at all of us before storming off.
“Does anyone else have issues working alongside the other people in this group?” Marydell asks, looking around the room.
Everyone shakes their heads.
“Good. Now, back to the task at hand. I like the idea of tarot cards.”
Chapter Four
Xander
“You need more soup.” Breena’s mom, Hilda, smiles at me as she ladles more steaming hot broccoli cheddar soup into my bowl while her sister, Astrid, passes me another slice of bread.
“I appreciate the food,” I say after swallowing a bite of some of the best bread I’ve ever had in my life. “And the company of two beautiful women. But why am I here, ladies?”
“What a thing to ask,” Astrid says, clucking her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “Why can’t we simply ask a good friend to come over for lunch?”
“Our coven leader, no less,” Hilda agrees, nodding.
“Of course, you can.” I take a spoonful of soup, watching them as I swallow. They both have innocent smiles pasted on their faces.
And when I glance at the doorway of their cozy kitchen, I see Lucy’s mom, Agatha, smiling at me, as well.
Which wouldn’t be a big deal, except Agatha has been dead for two years.
Not that that keeps her from hanging out with her family.
“But I get the feeling that the three of you have something up your sleeves, and since I’m a psychic, I’m usually right about these kinds of things. Not to mention, you don’t have poker faces.”
“How are you?” Hilda asks, leaning in close to rest her hand on my arm. “How are you, really?”
“I’m…fine.”
“That’s not an answer,” Astrid replies, shaking her head. “We worry about you, Xander. What you went through at Beltane was traumatic for everyone involved, so I can only imagine how horrible it was for you.”
I blink and look down at the soup I’m suddenly no longer hungry for.
“Beltane is over.”
“But is it?” Agatha asks from the doorway.
“You never talk,” I reply, frowning at the ghost. “You just hover, slam doors, and scowl.”
“I speak when it’s needed.”
“We’re all worried about you,” Astrid says again. “You’re strong, Xander. Your powers are unlike anything I’ve ever seen in my life—and I’ve known many witches in my time. But you’re also a man, and it will be good for you to talk about it.”
“Talking about it is pointless.”
How can I describe the absolute horror of those few days? The agony of being torn apart from the inside out, of being manipulated into harming the one person who means more to me than anyone or anything in the universe.