“I thoroughly get why people dog on Starbucks all the time now,” I announce when he finally gets a grip. “How am I ever going to leave, knowing that I can’t reproduce such greatness? It’s not right. I’d take your coffee machine as a parting gift for all the shit you’ve put me through, but she hates me already,” I mock whine, silencing my rant with another blissful sip of heaven.
Rogan shakes his head and looks at me curiously as he once again lifts his mug to his lips. “How’d you sleep?” he asks, and then he takes a quiet, demure sip that I have no respect for.
“Didn’t,” I reply as I practically unhinge my jaw and swallow my cup of coffee whole.
“You...didn’t sleep at all?”
“Nope, but I did get a fuck ton of reading done. Cover to cover. And I would just like to point out that my ancestors were fucking genius. Ask me why,” I encourage, with a wide, excited smile.
I know I have exhaustion to blame for the manic gleam in my eye and the weird golden retriever mode I’m stuck in right now, but I’ve been dying to talk to someone, and the espresso machine is shit at conversation.
Rogan looks hesitant, but he plays along like the nice guy he might be...maybe...the jury is still out on that one. “Why?” he asks.
“Because they wrote the grimoire in ink that had bone matter in it, and that means that as I read each word in there, the spells, incantations, recipes, and lessons all got carved into here.” I point to my brain. “Permanently. Genius!” I declare, giving a chef’s kiss of approval.
Rogan chuckles into his mug.
“What? You don’t think it’s genius? Don’t tell me your grimoire is written in blood and you already know this trick?” I plead, disheartened.
“No, it’s genius,” he concedes, and a smile once again brightens my features. “So, just out of curiosity, when you don’t get a lot of sleep, what’s your cycle? Obviously, slap happy is cycle one,” he points out, circling his finger in my direction as if that’s all the proof he needs.
I think about the question.
“Slap happy, hangry, impatient, and then cuddle slut is a solid pattern for me,” I reply candidly.
“Good to know,” he quips on another chuckle, and then he places his now empty cup in the sink. “So, I can see you’re dressed and ready to go. We can head out to Elon’s place, then feed you and, depending on what we find, go from there?” he asks.
“We need to go see whoever you know that can untether us,” I add to today’s agenda.
“They don’t gather on Mondays, but we can go at dusk tomorrow when they’ll be there.”
I study him suspiciously for a moment, and he sighs like he’s tired of my mistrust.
“I told you I would undo everything just as soon as we found my brother. I won’t betray that promise, Lennox,” he tells me, gesturing to his vow mark on my wrist.
I let out a sigh of my own. “Fine, but I’d feel a lot better knowing that you actually knew how to do it. I didn’t find anything in the grimoire about tethering, but my cousin knows a bit about it, and we shouldn’t fuck around with this. I will help you find your brother, but we shouldn’t risk damaging our magic over mistrust. I’ll vow to help if that’s what you need.”
“I don’t mistrust you, and I’m not lying when I say that the coven we need to speak with doesn’t gather on Mondays. Tomorrow evening will be the first chance we get to speak with them.”
“Okay, then tomorrow it is,” I relent, finishing my cup and pushing up from my stool. I walk over to the sink and place my own mug next to his. I fill them both with water and turn to find Rogan watching me intently.
“Well, let’s go then, before my hangry mode kicks in.”
“After you,” he gallantly offers, and all I can do is roll my eyes.
Yeah right, Rogan Kendrick, you’re not fooling me.
Rogan’s brother lives about twenty minutes away. From what I can see, Blackbriar is a very rural town with houses spread far apart and plenty of trees and land between them. I’m surprised by how green Tennessee is. I don’t really know what I expected, but it’s beautiful here and peaceful. I can see the draw of escaping the big cities and living a quiet life in a place like this.
The long driveway that leads to Elon’s home isn’t paved like Rogan’s is, and I get a sense that it’s like that on purpose. There’s an unwelcome vibe to the property, and I suspect that it’s the result of a ward placed around the property. I didn’t feel anything like this at Rogan’s house, but all I can conclude about that is that it’s possible I might not feel any protections he set because our magic is tied together at the moment. His wards might not see me as separate from him, so they’re not being triggered like they are here. Images of when he broke through my protective circle at my shop keep popping up in my head, and although I haven’t discussed it with him, I think I’m right.
I can feel the house before I ever even see it, feel the booby traps he has placed all around his property. I would be wary if I weren’t in such awe. We crest a hill, and there in the middle of a glade, is a two-story house that would be any Queen Anne architecture aficionado’s wet dream. The house is a rich navy blue with crisp white trim and gold accents on the gables, turned posts, and spindle work. But as stunning and impressive as the details and size of the house are, it’s the bones I feel in the foundation and surrounding every entrance that have me gobsmacked.
This house is a fortress for an Osteomancer. The care and intricacies of the magic and osseous materials woven into the very fabric of the home and the surrounding property are things I would have never thought possible. I’m almost overwhelmed by the feel of this place, which is funny because it truly is a Bone Witch’s safe haven.
“What do you think?” Rogan asks me, a sly smile stretched across his too pretty face.
“I think you know what I think,” I whisper reverently, turning my attention back to the house as we get closer.
“I thought you might like it,” he declares, pride saturating the statement.
“Is your house like this too?” I ask in complete awe. I don’t know why I just assumed witches fit into human society, buying human homes and making do with them as best they could. But no, what’s in front of me was built by a witch, for a witch, and I’m envious as fuck.
“It is,” he confirms. “There’s blood soaked into the land itself. Every material in the home is painted with blood blessings and wards of protection. There’s no safer place in the world for me. And the same should have been the case for Elon too.”
The SUV that Rogan chose to drive comes to a stop just outside of the three-car garage, and all I can think is how much did this place cost? It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, but my manners kick in, and I bite it back. I know that all the Bone Witches before me in my line left me with a sizable nest egg, but even with that, a house like this might very well be out of my league.
“Yeah, I don’t see anyone getting through here unless they were allowed,” I agree, gesturing toward the surrounding land and distant tree line. So that begs the question, who did he let in, and why did he keep it from you?” I ask, turning to take in Rogan’s expression.