Page 27 of A Time of Witches

Feeling a little unsure, Lilith followed them beneath the trellis where the scent of roses pulled at her and the leaves quivered in her direction.

The house inside was light and airy, with sunlight spilling in through large picture windows. Potted plants were scattered in various corners and on tables, their leaves lush and verdant. The scent of cinnamon clung to the room, as if a pot of tea had been freshly brewed.

An old woman sat in a recliner with a green caftan draped over her lap, so only her blouse was visible. There was a slight red stain near the top button. Her gaze caught Lilith and the clicking needles stilled in her hands.

“Lilith, this is my Aunt Jacqueline.” Asher spoke louder than he had earlier, likely for the benefit of his aunt. “The one who so eagerly welcomed you to come.” He slid a glance at the older woman. “This is her establishment, but I’ve been persuaded into helping her.” He said persuaded as if he really meant forced.

Asher’s aunt smiled. Her eyes were the same shade as her nephew’s, albeit with more warmth. “Welcome to Brackenmere Bed and Breakfast.” There was a thready frailty to her voice. “I must say, we don’t have as many visitors as we used to. You’re here for family history, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lilith replied. You could take the girl out of the South, but you couldn’t take the South out of the girl. “My ancestor lived here back in the seventeenth century before it belonged to your family.”

The old woman’s face suddenly appeared stricken, but she blinked and recovered quickly. “Ah yes, I recall from your electronic mail.”

“She means email,” Asher said under his breath.

“Legare…” His aunt tilted her head, pronouncing Lilith’s last name like Luhg-aire. “I don’t recall any French having owned the manor.”

“We pronounce it La-gree,” Lilith replied, saying her name like she always had.

The older woman grinned and set her knitting needles down. “Oh, I do love your Southern accent. Where are you from in America?”

Lilith suppressed a frown. Not everyone in Savannah had an accent. She thought she didn’t either.

Daddy had moved all over when he was a boy, never staying anywhere long enough to absorb an accent before returning to Savannah, where he’d been born. But Momma liked to talk like she was old Savannah nobility, and Lilith had done everything she could to sharpen the soft drawl from her speech.

“I’m from Georgia,” Lilith replied with careful enunciation. “But apparently, a Jacinda Brantham moved to Maryland in the mid-1600s.”

Asher’s aunt nodded in understanding, as if this were the most natural thing to know. “Likely with the colony founded by Bartholomew Gosnold. He was from Bury St. Edmunds.”

“Who is he?” Lilith asked, intrigued to learn more.

Asher reappeared in the doorway without her realizing he’d even left. He handed her a set of keys with a brass plate labeled “Brackenmere” with the number one. “Aunt Jacqueline, I’m sure our guest would like to recover from her travel.”

“Actually, do you think we can see the manor?” Lilith asked, more intrigued to visit Brackenmere Manor than to learn about someone who moved to America.

“You don’t want to unpack first?” Asher’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Of course she can go to the manor right now,” his aunt scolded in a light tone, even as she smiled at Lilith. “Why, that’s the sole purpose of your trip, is it not?”

Asher shot his aunt an irritated look, but Lilith grinned at her. “Thank you. It’s so nice to meet you.”

The woman nodded sagely, eyes twinkling. “And I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

Chapter Thirteen

Lilith

Lilith followed Asher down a worn footpath in the grass, grateful to be in the sunshine after being locked within a plane for hours and then a car for a couple more. “What did your aunt mean when she said she was waiting to meet me?”

Asher shrugged. “She’s eager to have a guest at her bed and breakfast. Business never really resumed after the pandemic.” He paused and regarded Lilith, his expression inscrutable. “My aunt is rather aged, as you can see. What she says doesn’t always make sense, so I wouldn’t think on it too heavily.”

Other questions crowded Lilith’s tongue, but were immediately forgotten as the dilapidated manor from the website came into view.

The world went still. Her breath froze in her lungs and her eyes locked on Brackenmere Manor. Its windows were dulled by dust and time, several broken like jagged teeth against a stained exterior tangled in ivy.

The manor had clearly suffered at least another decade or so of deterioration since the pictures on the website were taken.

Her birthmark tingled beneath her long-sleeved shirt.