Finally she reached for the door handle. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For understanding.”
“I don’t,” I admitted. “But I’m trying.”
She paused, hand on the handle. “Please don’t be angry.”
“I’m not angry,” I said, surprised to realize it was true. “I’m worried. And gutted, if I’m honest. But I’m not angry at you.”
I was angry at those who had subjected this beautiful woman’s gentle heart to viciousness. Who used words to harm rather than build up. Who were so bloody short-sighted and heartless that they’d speak without considering the consequences.
She nodded once, then slipped out of the truck.
I watched her walk up the path, shoulders hunched. Bracken darted out of a bush to run beside her, chittering anxiously. She paused at the front door, glancing back at the truck, then shook her head and went inside.
By the time I locked up and followed, she’d already vanished down the hall.
Her bedroom door was closed. Mine—ours—stood open, bed half-made, the dent on her side of the mattress still there.
I stood there for a long time, staring at that empty space.
The house felt different. Less bright, somehow, even though all the lights were on.
I could hear her moving around in the spare room—the creak of the bed, the rustle of sheets, Bracken’s muted chittering.
“I’m not going anywhere, darling,” I said quietly, to the empty hallway, to the sleeping trees beyond the walls, to whatever magick was listening.
It didn’t change the fact that Liora was hiding behind a door she’d firmly closed in my face.
And I had absolutely no idea how to open it without breaking something fragile on the other side.
CHAPTER TWENTY
LIORA
Will you snap out of it?
How long could I sulk for? It just wasn’t in my nature to linger in this sodden state of sadness for so long.
By Sunday afternoon, even I was sick of myself.
I’d spent most of Saturday night hiding behind astrology charts and cleaning my bathroom so intensely with the hope that maybe I could scour out the image of Torin’s face when I’d asked for space.
Kicked puppy didn’t even begin to cover it.
So when my phone buzzed before my lunch shift on Sunday with a message from Agnes, I nearly kissed it.
Come by my shop after your shift today. Bring your laptop. And Bracken! Tell him to come too.
I stared at the message,chewing my lip.
Is this a social call or a professional consultation?
Her reply came back almost instantly.
Yes.
I huffedout a laugh in spite of myself.
“Looks like we’ve been summoned,” I told Bracken, who was currently flopped on the arm of the couch like a tiny, judgmental fur stole.