Expensive - Amy Bellows Page 0,54

but because I’m fighting to remain upright with every push. Then the direction of the power moves down my body instead of against it, resting on the tops of my feet. I lift one of them experimentally. It reminds me of the time I traveled to Alaska and hiked through an area of deep snow with snowshoes. Only these magical snowshoes are much heavier.

Howard bends over, resting his hands on his knees. “Hurry. You have less than an hour before the grounding spell will wear off. When you ask for a spell from Sarah, be as specific as you can. She’s usually straightforward about her interpretation of spell requests, but sometimes she gets confused.”

“You’ve asked her for a spell before,” I say.

He nods.

“Did she help you?”

He looks away from me. “No. My fated mate died during childbirth. I tried to trade my life for his. Sarah told me no.”

“Did Kim…”

“Kim wouldn’t accept my life as a sacrifice, but she offered to bring my mate back to life in exchange for the life of our two-year-old child. She’s a snake, Andrew. And she can’t find out we’re here. Go.”

I want to give him a hug or at the very least apologize for asking him that question, but I don’t think that’s what Howard wants.

I take heavy steps toward the house. My entire body is screaming to stay away from it—that something about it is wrong. I suppose my body is right, but I can’t listen to it right now.

A wide marble staircase leads to two double doors with a metal knocker at the center. I reach for the knocker, but my fingers push right through into the door. I yank my hand back just as the door solidifies, and the knocker turns to solid, cold metal under my fingertips.

Howard warned me that visiting here was dangerous.

I bang the knocker four times, then I wait. And wait. And wait.

Howard said I only had an hour before the grounding spell wore off. I try the doorknob experimentally, and it twists open. It might not be a great idea to let myself into the house of a powerful warlock, but I’m past the point of caution.

The house is familiar in a lot of ways. It has the same high ceilings and wood trimming as the Monroe mansion. There are even paintings of dragons hanging on the walls. It’s almost as if they were built around the same time and decorated by the same person. Except this house is lit with candles, instead of electricity, and I don’t think there’s any central heating, because it’s almost as cold inside as it was outside.

I wander down the halls, poking my head into the empty rooms. Many of them are covered in dust and cobwebs. One of the bedrooms even has a broken window. An expanse of mold spreads along the ceiling of that room and veins out toward the hallway.

The farther I get into the house, the more solid the walls and floors seem. It’s like a blurry picture that’s coming into focus all around me. The hallway leads to a large dining room with a table that has been cleaned recently and a pair of French doors that open to a garden.

Rose bushes twice as tall as me are in full bloom, despite how cold it is outside. I walk toward the door, but it opens before I can get there, and a woman in a long white dress steps inside. She has dark curls piled on top of her head, leaving her long, pale neck exposed where the indentations of her bond bite are visible. Her skin shimmers as she stares back at me, like a ghost.

The most solid thing about her is the blood red gem hanging from a chain on her neck. The chain looks identical to Howard’s necklace, but the stone is completely different. Nothing about it is rough or discolored. It’s cut in a precise geometric pattern like a jewel from a decorative necklace. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume it was simply a fancy bauble to match her lacy dress.

“Well, hello. I wasn’t expecting company. I see you’ve made yourself at home,” she says, gesturing to my robe. Somewhere along the way I forgot what I was wearing.

“I’m sorry. I… my name is Andrew. Andrew Sullivan.”

She gives me a wry smile. “Ah. Another Sullivan. Are you here to bargain for your father’s fortune? Or perhaps he was your grandfather.”

“No.” I suppose my father already did that in his