He stopped listening to her, sat back down in his chair and buried his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his desk.
This, although he didn’t know it, was a posture Mrs. Byrne was familiar with as she’d seen Sibyl do precisely the same thing.
His carefully controlled life had just turned over.
He was sleeping with a real life avenging (if somewhat misguided) angel, willing to raise shotguns at abusive husbands and sell her body for old people. This same angel was, apparently, the living reincarnation of the woman he, and his entire family, thought would magically enter his life at some point, not only to be his wife, but also to fulfil some longstanding legend of true love. He was right then sitting across from a “witch” who thought she was, and could even be, the descendent of the famous Esmeralda Crane. And she’d given him a magical potion that evidently worked, very well. He’d just decided to marry Sibyl, though he could not imagine, considering her spectacular temper, how she would react to all of this. And in the midst of that, how he’d convince her to bind herself to him in holy matrimony at the end of it, considering what he’d done to her.
Mrs. Byrne cut into his thoughts by asking, “Mr. Morgan, are you quite all right?”
His head came up with a jerk.
“Mrs. Byrne,” he starting, making a quick decision, “what are you doing for dinner next Tuesday evening?”
Colin had finally broken her steady calm and she blinked in surprise.
“I… I… don’t have any plans,” she stammered.
“Good, then you’ll be able to join my family, and Sibyl’s, at dinner at Lacybourne.”
She stared.
She smiled.
She accepted.
“I’d be delighted.”
Chapter Fourteen
Real Dream Man
It was sing-along day at the Day Centre Pensioner’s Club.
Not that the oldies ever sang along, every once in awhile the organist would play something they liked and they’d all sing but that only happened about once a month. They usually just talked and smoked but they always clapped for the hardworking organist after she finished a song.
Sibyl never got any work done on sing-along day. The organ was too distracting.
Today, she was simultaneously creating a flier that advertised the Talent Show while she was writing a letter to the Council to beg them to rewire the building.
Neither of these were going very well.
She was also considering the astonishing possibility that she was, and always had been, a witch with magical powers.
She was also thinking about what happened in her Summer House Laboratory with Colin, this she seemed to be able to concentrate on (with great focus).
Lastly, she was just plain old thinking about Colin and this she seemed to be able to concentrate on very well (with even greater focus).
And Royce, of course.
But mostly Colin.
Last night, she’d picked up the phone to call her mother (and then put it down) at least a half a dozen times. She desperately wanted to explore the idea of magic, dreams and premonitions but her mother would eat it up. She’d be too excited actually to help Sibyl make any sense of it and Sibyl desperately needed it to make sense.
Since she couldn’t ask Mags and she couldn’t look in the phonebook under “witch” or “magic” or “clairvoyants” to get a professional opinion, she was on her own.
This all so prayed on her mind, Sibyl was considering coming clean with Colin, telling him about her nightmare and all the dreams since.
But if she did, he’d leave her. He’d think she’d gone around the bend. Even though she had the feeling he liked being with her (and definitely knew he liked being in bed with her), she wasn’t certain (indeed she was quite uncertain) that was strong enough to withstand her admitting to him she thought she had magical powers.