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“No. Three sisters.”
“What’s the mark on your forehead?”
“Nothing. Only a spot.” I wasn’t willing to share that I sported an invisible rose that kept me hidden from the Fates and, apparently, The Corporation too.
“Do you recognize the women? Maybe they’re your ancestors.”
“I don’t think so.” There were no familiar features. I looked again, but the women had blended with the murk. After observing the liquid for another few minutes, I finally gave up.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t more help. Spells about the future can be especially tricky.”
“I’m grateful that you’re always willing to try. I appreciate your efforts.”
“It’s in my best interest. Bridger Farm is at risk if the hunt comes. My house, my livestock…”
“We’ll figure something out.” I stopped short at promising; that I couldn’t do.
“I meant what I said earlier, you know.”
My gaze swung to meet hers. “About Ashley?”
“No, about you. It’s hard to make friends at this age, especially in a town as small as Fairhaven. I wouldn’t mind if you and I hung out more often, outside of threats to life and limb.”
“I don’t have a great history with witches, just so you know.”
“Are you lumping me in with every witch you’ve ever known?”
“No.” I paused. “But I want to.”
Phaedra let loose a low whistle. “I would love to know what they did to you.”
Unwelcome memories flooded my brain. “Until I met you, I was zero for thirteen in my dealings with witches.”
“I’m glad I could tip the scales a little.”
“Part of me is still convinced you’re the exception rather than the rule.”
Phaedra cleaned up the remnants of the spell. “Seriously, though. I’d love to hear the story, if only to avoid repeating their mistakes.”
“You wouldn’t.” My response was instinctive and immediate. Phaedra wasn’t capable of such treachery and my subconscious registered that fact, likely from the moment I’d met her.
“Come on, Lorelei. Share. It might make you feel better.”
Her encouragement was the opposite of what I’d been taught. Hide. Stay small. Don’t reveal more than is absolutely necessary. Standing in the Bridger kitchen across from a witch who’d proven herself trustworthy on multiple occasions, I felt my natural resistance wane.
“I’ll tell you one quick story. When I was younger, I met a witch named Sloane.” This was after Pops had died, after foster care. It was my first experience living completely on my own and I’d gravitated to the confident, friendly witch. “Sloane represented everything I wanted. She was open with her magic, with her identity. She lived in the bosom of a warm, loving family. She quarreled with siblings and kept a diary with an enchanted lock. Her family hosted these big dinners on Saturdays where they’d include special guests. When they invited me to join, I was over the moon. I felt like I’d been adopted by a fairy tale.”
“They didn’t lock you in a cage to fatten you up, did they?”
“No. It was worse. Sloane had been pretending to be my friend. None of her kindness had been genuine. Her family lured me to the dinner to extract information.”
Phaedra’s brow furrowed. “What kind of information?”
“They were certain I was from a rival coven and that I had befriended Sloane as part of some magical espionage scheme.”
“Witches can be a paranoid lot.”
“When I didn’t answer their questions to their satisfaction, they tortured me.”
