Page 32 of Bait N' Witch

Twenty minutes later, torture in the guise of a lesson finally over, the group made their way out of the house. “Great job, ladies,” Persephone praised her nieces. “Lachlyn, I expect you to be able to bloom more flowers by the time I see you on Monday.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the girl grumbled.

Persephone turned to Rowan. “Lovely to meet you. I hope you last longer than the others.”

Sure you do.

Before Rowan could respond in a suitably nanny-like manner, a hummingbird appeared and hovered before her, staring right at her.

“Look at that,” Grey commented. “I’ve never seen a hummingbird do that.”

“Oh,” Rowan gave a self-conscious giggle, which sounded forced to her ears. “It must think all this red hair is a really big flower.”

Of course, that wasn’t what the hummingbird thought at all.

Danger, the tiny bird whispered, and Rowan clenched her fists against a spasm of fear. Pricklies hit in a shiver-inducing wave spiking through her skin, and she had to physically keep herself from glancing into the surrounding woods for someone secretly watching.

The wolves aren’t coming for you. Greyson is the bigger problem.

Collecting her calm like pulling a cloak around her, Rowan focused. She was the only one here who could understand the small bird, unless any of the others were Anevals—witches whose magic was strongest in connection to animals. She couldn’t talk to the bird, though. Not here.

Being an Aneval was more power than a barely magical user like she was pretending to be should have. Worse, if the Syndicate found out the weakness inherent with the power, it would be just one more nail in her coffin as far as they were concerned.

“Aren’t you beautiful. But no nectar here. Come back later and I’ll have some flowers for you.” She held her breath, hoping the creature understood.

Danger is coming, it whispered before zipping away with a high-pitched hum of its beating wings.

Spider eyes and ghost tears. Maybe she should’ve been listening to those pricklies all along?

“Do animals often come to you?” Grey asked, his dark brown gaze assessing.

Rowan hitched a shoulder. “I guess.”

Relief whooshed through her as the small frown between his eyebrows eased. “You must have a touch of Aneval in you.”

“I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,” Rowan hurried to say.

“Such a rare and valued gift,” Persephone murmured. “I’m sure Rowan’s right. Coincidence.”

But Grey wasn’t dropping it. “Do they ever talk to you?”

How to answer without directly lying? Ironically, Persephone’s disdain for the possibility of a nanny possessing such a skill gave her the answer. “If they did, I probably would be doing something else.” She took the sting out of the response with a cheerful smile.

At that he laughed, and Rowan sucked in a sharp breath. Normally Grey’s expression tended toward stern, unmovable. But when he smiled, like now, he showed an entirely different side—boyish, fun-loving. She had the strangest urge to laugh with him.

“Let’s go,” Grey said.

After a parting kiss on his cheek from Persephone, the five of them stood in a circle in front of her house, hands clasped tightly. “Home.”

Just the one word from Grey and they disappeared. Rowan had heard of others getting violently ill from the trip. Still others indicated teleportation to be a frightening practice. But she’d always loved the sensation. Instead of nausea or terror, Rowan found the experience fascinating.

They didn’t appear to be moving. Rather, the five of them stayed still while the world whooshed by in a silent blur of colors. Here in the mountains, shades of greens and browns and grays, the white of the snow with the blue of the skies overhead streaked with white from the clouds, surrounded her.

In moments they arrived in the front yard of Greyson’s home. The trees and brown winter grass around them flattened for a moment beneath the gust of wind generated by their arrival. Rowan released her grip on Chloe and Lachlyn and turned to head inside.

“Have you teleported often?” Grey asked.

“Um—” She hesitated to answer. How rare was teleportation anyway? Did most witches do it a lot? “Not often,” she hazarded. “But I do enjoy it.”

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