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Actually, I have no idea how I’ll deal with finding and closing out a house in less than forty-eight hours…
But that’s my problem, not hers.
Adelaide walks over to her desk, pulls open the top drawer and roots around for a moment before pulling something out. When she finds what she’s looking for, she hands me a pure black business card. I flip it over, but the thick card stock is blank on both sides.
Adelaide must read my confusion because she grins and points to the card. “Give it a jolt of magic, dear.”
“Oh.”
So much for being a capable witch.
I do as instructed and send a jolt of magic into the black card. Instantly, golden words appear in a fancy, swirling script.
Callius Crane:
Warlock of the Ten Parishes.
Hold up… a warlock?
“Can I trust him?”
Adelaide laughs without humor. “Of course not. Warlocks are snakes by nature. That’s why they all end up becoming lawyers. Callius Crane is the one you need, nonetheless. He’s the one who’s been dealing with the Dumont home. I assumed you would have been in contact with him already.”
No, definitely not.
“Grand-Mère put a warlock in charge of her estate?”
Adelaide makes a face. “I don’t understand it, either, child. But that’s Claudette for you; she always did what she wanted.”
I chuckle. “And good luck to anyone who tried to stop her.”
“Too true,” Adelaide agrees with a sigh, both of us drifting away to distant memories.
“You make yourself at home, Josie. I have one more thing to look after before we head out.”
“Sure,” I say absently, still stuck on the fact that she entrusted the house to a shifty, self-serving warlock.
Warlocks aren’t like witches. Their magic—if you can even call it that—is a complete perversion of real magic and of nature itself. They aren’t born with the inherent ability to connect to any magical source. Instead, they make a pact with a hell-bound demon to obtain the magic they crave. They sell their soul—in part or in full—to access power that was never meant to be theirs to wield.
It corrupts them.
I am so not looking forward to a face-to-face meeting with Callius Crane.
A cheery Sun Witch stumbles up the last stair. “All right, everything is ready.”
Her arms are full of bunches of various herbs and flowers that fan across her face and spill out of the wicker basket resting in the crook of her elbow. Vibrant yellow and orange marigolds, chamomile, heather, and dragon’s blood bring a fresh, earthy scent to the room and remind me of home.
My grandmother and I have an enormous garden out back where I spend most of my time during the spring and summer tending to the flowers and vegetables. We even have a beehive with busy little bees to pollinate our patch of crops.
Suddenly, I’m punched in the gut by an overwhelming sense of homesickness.
“It took a bit of coaxing,” the woman says, “but I encouraged the marigolds to bloom early. Aren’t they beautiful? Mother Gaia was kind enough to provide an ample amount for the ritual.”
“Adelaide?” Brown eyes blink at me between the leaves and stems. “Oh, you’re not Adelaide.”
“She’s in the back.” I gesture vaguely, though I’m not sure she can see through all the foliage.
“You must be Josephine. I’m Elara, Adelaide’s apprentice.”
