Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 132582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Beatrix’s smirk falls right off her face and her eyes shoot over to me and Caz again. This time she looks at us—really looks at us—before blinking rapidly, stepping back, and saying, “Come in. Now.”
Twenty-Seven
WILLOW
Beatrix’s home isn’t very big and wouldn’t suit a claustrophobic person, but it’s cozy in its own way.
The walls are painted a deep brown, and wooden shelves line them with books and trinkets—things most people would ignore rather than buy if they stumbled across it. Old books take up most of the shelves, loose sheets of paper hanging out of some of them. It smells like herbs and spices in here, as well as old, wet paper. Taper candles are neatly placed throughout the cottage, the flames lit, their wax melting and dripping onto whatever surface it can reach.
Beatrix hums as she moves through her home. She reminds me of the psychic woman from my world who swore I’d never find love. What a time that was.
“Right this way,” Beatrix chimes. She leads us through her living room—past two brown chairs, a wooden coffee table, and lamps on the side tables that look like they’ll break with a simple breath—until we’re greeted with an oval table near the kitchen that seats four.
“Have a seat,” Beatrix says, taking the chair closest to two double doors. She sits and folds her hands on the table. I take the chair to her left, and Caz claims the chair on the opposite side. Alora remains standing, choosing to watch while Proll stands guard behind her.
When I look down, there are foreign symbols etched into the table. Triangles with lines, oblong circles, and other shapes I’ve never seen before.
“How did you get here?” Beatrix asks, fixing her eyes on me. “I assume it happened quickly—a suction in and then a sudden drop?”
“Yes,” I say. “It was exactly like that.”
“And, let me guess. This dark soul found you.” She jerks a thumb at Caz, who flares his nostrils. I get the sense he hates being talked about like he’s not in the room.
“His wolf found me first, actually.”
Beatrix smirks, and Caz’s jaw ticks. Then his eyes swing to the right, dropping to the floor, and he tenses in his chair. I frown and lean over a bit to see what he’s looking at. At first, I don’t see anything, not until it moves. A spider—but it’s unlike the spiders where I’m from. This one is big, black, and hairy—like a miniature tarantula.
Beatrix looks at the ground with him and continues a smirk as Caz slides his chair to the left.
What? Is he afraid of the spider?
“Worry not,” Beatrix says, grabbing an empty jar from the shelf near her. She removes the lid, scoops up the spider, gives the jar a light shake, then replaces the lid. Once the lid is secured, she places the spider on the table right next to Caz, and I watch as Caz draws in a deep breath before putting his focus ahead again. “Those spiders can be pesky. They love my home. Sometimes I feed them. That one’s named Ori. Or maybe Ori is in the kitchen and this one is Hurn. Hmm. I’m not sure.”
Caz’s jaw pulses. “Can we get on with this, please?” he demands.
“Of course. Lend me your hand. You as well.” Beatrix extends both arms in opposite directions so Caz and I can take them.
Caz frowns at her hand before carrying his gaze up to hers. “Is there another way this can be done?”
“Touch,” Beatrix says, smiling at him. “You hate it, you poor thing. You have no idea what you’re missing out on by covering yourself up so heavily.” She sighs, as if bored with him. “Don’t worry. You’re from my world. I don’t exactly need to touch you to see what will come.” She looks at me. “But I do need your hand.” I place mine in hers, and she wraps her dark, nimble fingers around it before closing her eyes.
As she does, the room darkens, a heavy shadow hovering above us, and I refrain from gasping as the lights flicker. Some of the symbols on the table illuminate in a striking neon purple, each one coming alive as Beatrix inhales then exhales with her eyes still shut.
I glance at Caz, who keeps his eyes fixed on Beatrix, then switch my sight to Alora who is watching it all, fascinated. Beatrix grips my hand tighter, hers becoming cold like ice until finally, the glowing symbols turn back to normal, the lights stop flickering, and she opens her eyes, exhaling again.
She turns her gaze to mine, not blinking, then she turns to Caz. “She must be gone within the next week.”
“How do I get her back?” he asks without hesitation.
Beatrix pushes out of her chair and marches through her tiny home. My eyes follow where she goes, and she stops in front of a tall bookcase, snatching a book from the third row, and returning to the table. She drops the thick book and flips it open, fingering through the pages.