Page 14 of Dark Witch: Twin Destinies

"This is it." She crossed the street, tugging Edgar behind her.

They were almost across the broad boulevard when, suddenly, a shout rang out in the morning stillness, startling them both.

Jasmine whirled around, her eyes widening as she spotted a disheveled man across the street. His face was twisted in a snarl, and his hand was raised in a fist as he hurled barely coherent obscenities in her direction.

Edgar stepped in front of her, his broad shoulders blocking her from view as he leveled a stare at the homeless man. "Just ignore him," he said. "He's not right in the head, but he's harmless. And even if he wasn't, you have nothing to fear from him with me by your side."

Jasmine nodded, trying to slow the pounding of her heart. He was right, of course. With an immortal as her protector, what did she have to be afraid of?

But even as she clung to that thought, doubt crept in. The truth was that no matter how strong or skilled Edgar might be, he couldn't protect her from everything. She was still human and fragile, and painfully aware of that.

Her life could be snuffed out as easily as her mother's.

To this day, her father refused to tell her how her mother had died, but she'd been about Jasmine's age when she'd passed. In the back of her mind, Jasmine had always harbored the morbid thought that she wouldn't live past the age of twenty-seven, which was how old her mother was at the time of her death.

Shaking off the maudlin thought, she smiled and let Edgar lead her the rest of the way to the willow tree. With a quick glance to ensure no one was watching other than the homeless man across the street, he snapped off one of the dry branches.

"Your scrying stick, milady." He handed her the branch with a flourish. "May it guide you well."

"Thank you." Jasmine took the branch, running her fingers over the rough bark and feeling a tingle of energy dance across her skin.

It was gone almost immediately, and she wondered whether it had happened only in her imagination. Or had it been real?

"How long does your wand need to be?" Edgar asked.

"It's not a wand. From what I read, the size is not set in stone, and it depends on the preferences of the user and the specific traditions they follow. A scrying stick should typically be anywhere from six to eighteen inches long." She weighed the thin branch in her hand. "It's important for the stick to feel comfortable and manageable." She turned it this way and that. "Since we will be traveling, I'm inclined to go with the shorter recommendation so it can fit inside my backpack, but I'll let my intuition guide me." She smiled at Edgar. "I'll close my eyes and meditate when I cut it to size."

She'd meant it as a joke, but Edgar took her seriously. "Just mark the spot, and I will do it for you. I don't want you to cut yourself by mistake."

"Don't worry. I was just joking about closing my eyes. But I was serious about doing it myself."

"Can I at least carry it for you?"

"Sure." She handed him the branch and took his other hand. "We should take it back to the penthouse and then go out for the rest of my supplies."

Edgar perked up. "Can we have coffee and breakfast first?"

"Of course."

They turned their backs on the muttering madman and the misty streets then walked in the direction they'd come from.

10

PETER

As the bus finally pulled through the gates of Safe Haven, Peter felt a sense of relief wash over him. He hadn't missed the compound or the rugged Oregon coast, yet it was a welcome sight after the fourteen-hour journey from the port.

Marina had slept on his shoulder throughout most of the night, but all Peter had managed was a few minutes of shuteye here and there. The Guardians had taken turns driving the vehicle, and when it had been his turn, Marina had used his vacated seat to lie down curled up like a pretzel. When he'd transferred command of the wheel to the next Guardian, he'd taken the empty seat next to Larissa instead of disturbing Marina.

Thankfully, Larissa had also been asleep, so he hadn't been subjected to her sniffling and mumbling about Jay. Still, Peter had felt ridiculously relieved when Marina woke up and asked him to return to her.

He was either losing his fucking mind or she was a Dormant after all, because such a strong bond surely couldn't form between a human and an immortal.

As Marina stirred, lifting her head off his shoulder and blinking her eyes open, she turned to the window. "Finally. I thought this ride would never end."

He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. "Happy to be home?"

She yawned and stretched her arms over her head. "This is not home, but I'm happy to get off the bus."

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