Page 22 of A Time of Witches

Essie really was right about everything. So unfair.

There were three drop downs available on the site. One for more pictures, of which there were none. Another with a history of Brackenmere Manor, detailing the construction in the mid-1500s by a wealthy wool merchant. And a third with a Contact Me form along with a broken link to a bed and breakfast.

Given the website’s ancient design, the Contact Me probably would disappear into a dusty old AOL inbox no one had checked in a decade.

Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Lilith filled out her contact information and jotted a quick inquiry about the property’s history, adding Sybil’s name for good measure. She didn’t mention the broken B&B link. No sense in riling them up before they even replied.

If they replied.

Lilith hit send and closed her laptop.

Hands shaking slightly, she poured herself a glass of chilled Chardonnay and pushed out the back door, into the garden. Into the night.

The rain had stopped, but the earth was wet beneath Lilith’s bare feet, and the cool caress of waterlogged grass sent a sense of peace up her legs and through her entire body. Moonlight peered through curtains of hanging moss draped over the gnarled branches of their single live oak. She closed her eyes and tilted her face to dappled beams, bathing herself in silver light.

Her nerves calmed and a sense of strength washed over her.

She set aside the wineglass, no longer wanting the dulling effects of alcohol. Emboldened, she approached the honeysuckle vine.

Rather than fight the allure, she inhaled the sweet fragrance and gently stroked one of the leaves. The vine grew toward her, sprouting tender green leaves.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” she whispered into the quiet evening air.

Red honeysuckle blossoms flared open in reply.

But rather than surrender to the weight of her confusion, Lilith basked in the beauty of the garden. In the exquisite impossibility of something so otherworldly being possible.

Surely all of this could not be for nothing.

“Will you help keep me from ceasing to exist?” she asked.

A breeze blew through the warm, still night like a reassuring caress.

“Thank you,” she mouthed. Her gratitude was for no one in particular, but for everything. For the earth around her, the wet soil under her bare feet, the garden with all its powerful secrets, and the honeysuckle that made her believe it was okay to hope.

She returned inside with a profound sense of peace and opened her laptop to find a reply waiting for her from [email protected].

She clicked the email and read.

Miss Legare,

Thank you for your interest in Brackenmere Manor. I’m afraid it’s in a sorry state at present, and I don’t have as much history as I’d like. I do know that the estate has been in my family for several generations, sometime after your ancestor, I believe. With apologies, there is little else I can offer.

Another email had arrived one minute later from [email protected], this one with a curiously different tone.

My dear, I have failed to mention there is a fully operational bed and breakfast on the property. If you come stay with us, you are welcome to explore the old manor house whenever you desire. For your convenience, I have attached an updated link with information on our accommodations. Guests have been quite happy, as you can see from our stellar reviews!

Yet another email arrived ten minutes later, from the same email address.

Miss Legare,

Apologies, I forgot my aunt still has access to this email address and apparently, we have both emailed a reply. She is quite proud of her bed and breakfast as you can tell. Do not let her badger you into coming.

Lilith could picture a stodgy old Asher and his even older aunt in separate rooms, pinging emails back and forth in an internet-fueled tete-a-tete.

The link Asher’s aunt sent worked, revealing a modern, ready-made website depicting three simple bedrooms, each with an en suite, all done in neutral-colored furnishings and decor. Judging by the booking calendar, the property did not appear popular, but Trip Advisor’s dozen reviews confirmed the beds were comfortable, the breakfast was delicious, and the entire thing was legit and not some trap for a serial killer to lure in victims.