“Harold tells me you need some assistance,” Clarabelle remarked.
I stared.
Then I smiled.
Hur-fucking-rah!
Chapter Thirty
Always
“We haven’t much time,” Clarabelle whispered to me urgently.
We were in her trailer, which was in the middle of no-fucking-where, having got there after Clarabelle righted Noc’s seriously dented SUV using magic (which, let me tell you, was way freaking cool). She rode with Noc as Tor and I followed on Salem (drizzle or no, pregnant or no, after what happened there was no way in hell Tor was letting me out of his sight).
Her trailer was totally freaking cool. It was all witchy, illuminated solely by fairy lights and flickering, scented candles, these sending shafts of light from the varied-colored crystals and pretty stained-glass symbols hanging all around. There was a big, crystal ball sitting on a fluffy, pink pillow on a table, cushiony, velvet-covered, plush furniture and scarves hanging over lamps, the purpose of which I didn’t know seeing as none of them were lit and the old woman couldn’t see. I could only guess that a witch had to decorate like a witch. Maybe it was a rule.
Clarabelle and I were standing at one end of her tiny living room, her hands holding mine, both of us were wet through. Noc and Tor, also both wet, both standing feet planted, arms crossed on their wide chests and both glowering identical glowers at us were at the other end. I could hear Salem snorting his impatience outside through the still open door.
I looked down at the woman whose face I knew but who was someone I didn’t know but I knew I could trust and I would like if I’d had the chance to get to know her better. Her eyes were pointed at me, unseeing, but her fingers were working through mine as if she could read my thoughts through my skin.
“I want this,” I assured her.
“You must be certain,” she replied.
I looked at Tor. His glower intensified. He was getting impatient.
I looked back at Clarabelle and held her hands tighter. “I’m certain.”
“There is no coming back,” she warned me.
“I –” I began, starting to glance again at Tor.
“He explained he made a deal with the witch on the other side,” she reminded me swiftly. “He gave her much gold, he had to, her power was depleted in casting the spell to bring him to you. It will take decades for her to replenish it. In the meantime, she will be vulnerable. And there are many powers at work in her world, not all of them good and it is very dangerous for a witch to be vulnerable. For her efforts this night, she’ll be a target. He has offered her his protection but in that world, as they are here, these powers can be insidious. She may end up needing his gold to buy safety.”
Wow.
“Uh –” I started.
“What I’m telling you, Cora, is that she cannot bring you back,” Clarabelle went on to explain. “I know of only four witches in his land who have this kind of power and your prince found the only good one. You do not want to strike bargains with the others. Not any of them.”
“Minerva,” I guessed.
“She is one,” Clarabelle nodded. “But there are two others in Hawkvale. They plot, this I know, what they plot, I do not. But they keep their heads low and both are arguably worse than The Shrew.”
Fantastic.
Plotting witches worse than The Shrew.
Brilliant.
Still, my mind was made up.
I moved closer to her. “I promise, I’m certain. I know what I’m doing.”
Her unseeing eyes slid in the direction of Tor then back to me.
“Love,” she whispered her accurate guess, her lips curving up.