Page 13 of Waltzing With Witches

God, that sounds so nice. My throat closes around a lump as I imagine sitting in the kitchen with them. I clear my throat, apprehension heating my cheeks and chest. Anger quickly follows. I’d love to be drinking a damn coffee with two of my favorite people right now.

“About that,” I begin. “I’m at the Keeper’s castle. Annabelle kicked me out in the middle of the night, so I went to Town Hall, and he came to find me there.”

After a moment of silence, there’s muffled shouting from Lou. Behind that, Annabelle creaks and groans as if in protest. After a solid twenty seconds of that, Catherine comes back on.

“Morgan, I am so incredibly sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into her! She has never behaved poorly to a guest in our whole time together.”

“Yes, well, there’s a first time for everything, I suppose,” I say more harshly than I intend to. “I can’t stay here,” I whisper-hiss into the comm watch. “I’m standing in his kitchen like a weirdo!”

“Actually,” Catherine says, “now that you say that, I think I see what’s going on.”

“Thank fuck,” I bark. “Can you get her to let me back in?”

“I’ll do my best,” Catherine offers, not sounding confident at all, “but I think Annabelle’s trying to play matchmaker.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” I blurt. “Matchmaker? How’d she know I wouldn’t go straight to Thea or Wren’s?”

“Oh, I expect those homes would be in on it with Annabelle. The buildings can all communicate with one another.”

I throw my hands up in the air. “Great! What am I supposed to do, Catherine?”

Lou’s voice comes through the tinny watch. “I’m coming, Morgan. I’ll grab a bag and come hang until we figure this out, okay?” Her voice grows fainter. “We’ll figure this out, right, Cath?”

Catherine comes back on, her voice cheerful. Sounds like forced pleasantry to me, though. “Of course we will, Morgan! Don’t worry about a thing! Hang in there for a day until I can get Annabelle sorted, okay?”

I glance at the ceiling again. The castle is still around me. None of the usual creaks and groans and random noises of the Annabelle. It’s…wrong. Something is wrong with this place.

“I’ll take you up on that, Lou. Don’t rush, but get here when you can.” I click off, but when I open my mouth to call Thea next, something stops me. Pale sunlight filters through the wall of tall windows behind the sink. Some small part of me wonders if I should take this opportunity to tour the castle and learn more about the Keeper’s life. I am admittedly nosy, and he said I could help myself.

Plus, I’ve got to pass the time until Lou gets here. That’s how I’m going to justify looking in literally every room—starting with the kitchen.

I pace a slow circle around the ridiculously oversized island, taking in the kitchen’s details. This room is all harsh black lines—glossy black cabinets, tall black-paned windows, a long black breakfast table in a nook off to one side. The twenty-foot island’s black marble countertop is streaked with white veining. It’s beautiful, but it’s so modern in comparison to the rest of the castle, which is much more gothic. It’s always struck me as a little funny that a vampire lives in a place that looks like Dracula’s castle, but this kitchen sticks out. I wonder if the rest of the interior is a mishmash? Admittedly, I’ve only ever walked from the front to his command room and back out.

Fuck. I should probably let him know I invited Lou. I rip my hair out of the bun and redo it, piling it on top of my head. Nerves bash around, my stomach filled with butterflies. I’ve done nothing wrong, but somehow, when he and I talk, it always dissolves into bickering.

I turn to find my way back to the comm room, but at the last minute, I glance around the kitchen. “I should definitely let him know my aunt is coming, right? He wouldn’t want to be surprised.”

The tall window above the black metal kitchen sink opens and shuts quickly.

“Ah, affirmative,” I mutter. “Of fucking course.”

I leave the kitchen and head back through pitch-black halls. I didn’t pay much attention to the castle the first time I came here—I was too busy being furious at the Keeper for something—but I pay attention this time.

Black wood floors are scuffed, and dark paneling takes up half the wall. Above the paneling, a fine layer of dust has collected. I run a fingertip through it.

“Just like Town Hall.” Glancing around, I stroke the wall. “You need a good dusting, don’t you? Poor thing.”

Two strips of red-and-black damask wallpaper peel off the wall and curl sadly into the hallway.

My heart aches at seeing this building treated like Town Hall—second class, not worthy of care and love. I close my eyes, gritting my teeth as a wall of emotion slams into me. It’s not fair that the Keeper can treat anyone like this. I could literally throw a pity party with the two buildings he should be closest to.

We can be the Pity Committee. President—Morgan Anne Hector.

I reach for the wallpaper and press it back onto the wall, rubbing it gently. “I’ll dust you in a minute, okay? I’ve got to find the command room really fast.”

The second curly sheet of wallpaper rejoins the first, sticking flat to the wall.

It’s not lost on me that, if the Keeper is technically my mate, then I’m technically supposed to get along best with this building—it’s supposed to be my home. If he were normal and not a douchebag.

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