Page 37 of Waltzing With Witches

Thea rolls her eyes. “Wholeheartedly disagree. What do you need, Mor?”

I quickly fill them in on the Keeper’s bombshell from last night. By the end of the retelling, even Wren looks gobsmacked.

“Wait,” she huffs. “He’s Mister New Year’s Kiss?”

“Yeah.” I still can’t wrap my mind around it. I tried to forget it so many times.

“Gods, that’s so sad,” Lou says.

We all turn to look at her. She takes another sip of her coffee then whirls her hand in a circular motion like she’s trying to get the point across.

“You know? Because time moves so much faster here in Ever. That kiss was what, not this past new year, but a couple before, right?” She glances up, squinting. Ah, she’s mathing.

Her voice goes mournful, her gray eyes locked to mine. “That means, for him, he met you almost a hundred years ago, Morgan.”

Oh, fuck. She’s right.

“Oh, fuck,” Wren deadpans as I slump against the nearest bookshelf. “So he’s literally been dealing with this for that whole time? Is that what we’re saying?”

“Pining for ten decades is more accurate,” a voice echoes from the front.

All four of us scream. I drag my sisters and Lou into my arms, yanking them to the side so I’m in front of them slightly.

A shadow stands in the darkness between two bookshelves.

A shadow with feathers.

“Moira?” I call out. “Is that you?”

The shadow coos and steps into the light.

“Moira Finher, you scared the absolute shit out of us,” I shriek.

The harpy woman steps closer with both wings raised, her crown feathers rising and flattening in a pattern. “I’m so terribly sorry, Hectors. And Lou.”

“Wait.” Thea crosses her arms. “How did you know we were here?”

Moira’s cheek feathers blush pink at the root, the color traveling to the tips. Interesting. “The Keeper called me when Morgan left the castle. He didn’t think his presence would be helpful. But he hoped I might be able to shed some light, or at the very least answer your questions, Morgan.” Amber eyes flick to mine and soften. She crosses her wings over her front, looking like a schoolmarm.

“I, uh—” I sputter.

“That’s nice of him,” Lou says thoughtfully, then looks over at me. “See, Keepers aren’t all that bad. He kinda knew you were pissed.”

“It doesn’t sit right with him,” Moira offers.

“Except he’s been trying to push me away since I arrived here,” I snap a little more harshly than I mean to. “We met—

“Nearly ten Ever decades ago,” Moira says softly. “I know all about it. I was his betrothed once, remember?” She gives me a little wink.

Lou clears her throat. “Was this before or after Morgan’s identification?”

I shift from one foot to the other as Moira clears her throat delicately. “After. Our betrothal was, what’s the human saying? For show. I’d be happy to tell you more. It’s never been romantic between the Keeper and me. My sexual preferences lie elsewhere.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Thea says with a huffy laugh. “The plot thickens.” She makes the round ’em up gesture over her head. “Let’s find somewhere to sit. We need the whole scoop, the entire scoop, like right this second.”

“Let’s go to Town Hall.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize I’ve said them. All four women look at me, but it’s Moira who agrees first. “Of course, friend. After you?” She gestures toward the front of the historical society.

I turn toward the darkness. “I need to grab something,” I shout over my shoulder, jogging back to the classroom. When I get there, I pat the wall gently. “May I take the VHS player over to Town Hall for a while? I promise to return it.”

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