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“I’ll give you a call in the morning,” Iris said to him and gave him a quick kiss. He stared down at her for several long seconds, obviously reluctant to leave, but then nodded and gave her another kiss before striding back to his grandmother’s house.

We headed inside. I was cleaning Ren’s wound when Mom walked in.

“Doesn’t anyone sleep in this house?” I muttered.

“Not when one of my girls vanishes in the middle of the night without even leaving a note,” she said and moved closer to inspect me. Her gaze slid to Ren and the cut in his side. “You’re not giving up, then?”

Ren’s jaw got hard. “No.”

She patted his shoulder and gave him a sympathetic look that was sure to make him feel even worse.

“How about everyone go to bed and we can talk about this in the morning?” I said, trying and failing to not sound as impatient as I felt. It wasn’t that long ago I’d lived full time in the back of my shop. Mom had no idea what I was doing any given day or night, and considering I was twenty-six years old, that was exactly the way it should be.

“Speaking of notes,” Iris said and put two pieces of paper in front of me.

I glanced down at the top one, more than a little surprised by the name I saw, and squashed the tiny flutter of my long-dead, school-girl heart. “Did he say what he wanted?”

Iris shook her head. “He called the house yesterday morning. I forgot all about it. He wanted your number. I said if he didn’t already have it, it was because that’s the way you wanted it.”

I inwardly grinned. Iris was like me in a lot of ways.

Mags twisted to read the note. “Clayton Whitlock!” she shrieked. “Why is he calling you?”

“Wills dated him in high school,” Mom said.

Mags spun to me, her eyes huge. “You dated Clayton Whitlock? The Clayton Whitlock?”

“Yes. It was a very long time ago.”

“Holy hell, the guy is so freaking hot. Did he dump you or did you dump him?”

“I dumped him.”

“Are you insane!” she cried. “I would kill to be with Clayton Whitlock. I can’t believe no one ever told me about this!” She yanked her phone from her back pocket, tapped the screen, and turned it to me with a sigh. “He posted this today. Look at him. Look at those abs. Good god, just look at all that perfection.”

He was by a hot tub, hair artfully tussled, grinning at the camera, his sculpted chest and tight abs on full display.

“Clayton Whitlock,” Mags muttered. “I can’t believe no one told me you dated him.”

“Can you stop saying his whole name like that,” Iris said. “You sound deranged.”

Mags flipped her off, and I glanced down at his name and number written on a scrap of paper and scowled. I’d really liked him once. He’d been funny and sweet. Then he’d cheated on me with one of my friends. He broke my fledgling romantic heart, squashing my dreamy-eyed fantasies, and solidified my already strong feelings of distrust and relationships when it came to men—thanks to Mom and her many and varied asshole boyfriends.

He was a fairly powerful witch now, the Keeper of his own coven. The Whitlock’s were nowhere near as strong as us, but they did okay. They were loaded, though, running several businesses, one of which was importing rare and highly sought-after ingredients for spells and potions, and other witchcraft related relics. He’d be in the midst of his final task now, like me.

Keeper or not, I had no idea why he’d call me. We had absolutely nothing to talk about. I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in years.

“He said to ask you to call him, that it’s important,” Iris said.

I screwed up the paper and tossed it in the trash.

Mags shrieked. “What are you doing? You can’t just throw Clayton Whitlock’s number away!”

I shrugged. The other note, well, not a note, it was an invitation. Some ball, a gathering of the Keepers from each coven. Pass. I tossed that as well.

Iris snorted, then headed up to bed, Mags reluctantly following her when Mom gave her a shove toward the door.

“Your family doesn’t think I can protect you,” Ren said when we were alone again.