Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
But then my brain kicked in that perhaps I did not have my priorities straight. I needed answers, and I didn’t have time to find them alone.
He was still holding me, standing with his chest pressed against my back, his heavy arms draped around my neck, and though I was loath to move, I had to. “Hey,” I murmured, “I need to lean out the front door and yell for a moment, all right?”
“What?”
“One second,” I said, then dashed to the front door and stepped out onto my porch, into the chilled morning air. “I need help,” I pleaded to the wind. “Things are happening, and I have no idea how to seal our side. I could use some guidance.”
Closing the door, I faced Lorne again.
“You’re a real witch,” he told me.
“Didn’t… I’m confused. Weren’t you convinced of this yesterday?”
He opened his mouth to say something, stopped, and then abruptly went to the kitchen. I followed, watching as he picked up his coffee mug, took a sip, inhaled deeply, closed his eyes for a second, and then opened them and exhaled. Only then did he look at me. “Okay, so…I’m gonna need time to wrap my brain around all this.”
My heart sank. “Yes. Of course,” I said sadly. “You go, and when you’re—”
“No.” He moved closer, sliding his big, hard hand around the side of my neck and drawing me close. “Sorry. That wasn’t clear. What I mean is, we need to concentrate on taking care of whatever you’re needing help with right now, which will allow me not to freak out.”
I was stunned.
“What?” He was rubbing over my jaw with his thumb, and then he leaned in and kissed me. It was soft and tender, and I whimpered in the back of my throat in relief and happiness. “It’s gonna be okay,” he assured me, smiling. “So tell me what’s going on.”
Really, I couldn’t be more pleased with him. “You’re amazing.”
“Yes, I know,” he said like that was not up for debate. “But really, you need to tell me what’s happening so we can deal with it. One crisis at a time. That’s what my training officer always told me.”
“Okay.” I took a breath, already feeling so much better just being able to share. I explained about the bodies and what I thought the minions of Threun were trying to do.
“A pile of bodies this Threun can step on like planks on a bridge. This is what you’re saying.”
Planks on a bridge was a much better simile than a raft. “Yes.”
“Okay.” He took my hand and squeezed, then let go and went to the counter, where the French press Amanda had bought me ages ago sat next to a bag of whole beans she’d brought back from a trip to Brazil, and a hand-crank grinder. All these things had been put away somewhere in the house, certainly not in the kitchen, as I didn’t drink coffee, but were now, somehow, easily accessible for Lorne.
Incredible.
I lived with magic constantly, but every now and then, still, it had the power to completely surprise me. The house, imbued with centuries of energy, was now—and I suspected had been for ages—sentient. Not in the way where we could have a conversation, but it would provide because I loved it and it loved me back.
“Thank you for sheltering and taking care of me,” I whispered to the house as I did every morning, normally before I got out of bed.
“And thank you for the coffee,” Lorne chimed in.
“Maybe I left that for you.”
He grunted. “Like you knew I only drink coffee in the morning. It took me a minute, but I get how things work now.”
“Oh? How do things work?”
“Well, I think you were explaining your need outside, hoping someone would come help you, yes?”
“Yes.”
“And I’m guessing you’re calling for an ancestor of yours?”
He was right and, as I’d noted before, quite intuitive.
“But maybe, instead, you could ask the house or cabin or… I think you need to ask what it likes to be called.”
“What it likes to be—”
“It was rude of me not to ask,” he said, talking to my home, not to me, “but in my defense, this is my first time speaking to a house.”
“Why are you?”
“Because I should know what it prefers to be called. You should tell me,” he said, directing that to me.
“Why would that matter?”
“What do you mean, why would that matter?” He was squinting at me. “If you address it correctly, I’m sure you’ll get better results when you ask for guidance. That’s just logical.”
“Logical?” Was he kidding?
“Yeah.” He took another sip from his mug.
“Okay, well, honestly, I have no idea what my house prefers to be called.”
“Then you should ask,” he reiterated, then drained his mug and poured himself more. “Seems like the polite thing.”
“I have milk and cream in the—”