The Rose Witch - Chandelle LaVaun Page 0,10

yelped. The woman was looking right at me. That wasn’t right. She only looked at him, at the man she obviously adored on his knees before her.

Yet she was staring right at me.

I stumbled backwards a few steps and she smiled. Not a big shit eating grin, but a small smirk like the Mona Lisa. This isn’t happening. She took the rose from the man and held it up to her nose…then closed her eyes and sniffed. When she opened her eyes again they’d changed from blue to white with shiny gold rims. She lowered the rose back to her lover and her hair turned snow white as it whipped through the breeze behind her like a cape. Light flashed and massive wings made of white feathers flapped from her back, standing taller than even she was.

Bugger me.

Dark lines spread across her body, covering her from collar bone down to her bare feet – even her fingertips were now lined. They looked like vines that moved, like a forest was growing on her skin. She lifted her hand and pressed it to her chest – and winked at me. I leapt backward. What is happening? Why can she see me? She’s just a painting.

Ah hell. I’ve bloody well lost it this time.

The woman – the angel – lowered her hand. There on her chest was a glowing blue crescent moon. The lines on her body changed to a deep red wine color. Her hair turned golden like mine. Her eyes changed back to blue.

“Keeper of the light,” she whispered and my blood turned ice cold.

WHY IS THE PAINTING BLOODY TALKING TO ME?

I spun and dove toward the rectangle that showed our living room. Cold air rushed over me — and I landed arse up on the checkered tile floor.

“CHLOE!”

I jumped up and turned toward the painting—

“Chloe?”

I gasped and spun around, my breath leaving me in a rush. My mother and grandmother stood a few feet in front of me. Tears rushed to my eyes. I pushed my hands into my hair.

“Oh, love, come here,” my mother said softly as she hurried toward me.

We were British, but my mother was a hugger. At least with me. And I’d never needed it more. I sank into her arms and squeezed my eyes shut. “Mum, something is wrong with me.”

“Nothing is wrong with you, dearie,” my grandmother’s voice was warm and raspy, just like it always was.

I pulled back from my mother, then hurried over to her. “Granny.”

Her smile faltered for a split second but it was back before I could question it. She cupped my face with both hands. Her aquamarine eyes sparkled like the Caribbean. She dropped her hands, then pointed to the sofa and tucked her silver hair behind her ears. “Come, child. Let us sit and talk—”

“You said you’d explain everything when I got home.” I gestured around me. “I’m home. How am I home, Granny? How did I go from the bookstore to Oxford to here? Why are books and paintings moving like we’re in Harry Potter? Why did that angel in that painting talk to me? What was that red smoke—”

“Chloe,” my mother said softly and squeezed my shoulders. “Sit down. I promise we’re going to explain, but you don’t look well. Sit.”

“Oh, hello, Miss Chloe,” a chipper feminine voice said from behind me. “They said you were on your way. Lovely to see you on this lovely morning.”

I glanced over my shoulder just as our housekeeper Miranda strolled toward us carrying a silver tray with tea and biscuits. “H-hello, Miranda. You’re in a good mood this morning.”

“I think we all are today, miss.” She grinned, then sat the tray down on the wooden coffee table. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Miranda.” Granny smiled at her then looked to me and gestured to the sofa across from her. “Come, Chloe. Let’s have a spot of tea while we talk.”

I didn’t want tea. Or biscuits. My stomach was in knots and turning. I feared one bite would send me running for the loo to bury my face in it. But my mother gently tugged on my arm, so I knew I had no choice. I let my mother lead me over to the sofa, then sat down beside her, across from granny.

“Chloe, I know you’re afraid but you have no reason to be. You’ll see.” Mum reached over and took my hand in hers. “Everything that is happening to you is normal