Page 58 of Bait N' Witch

To her utter surprise, she did, absorbing every moment she had in his arms and doing her best not to think about tomorrow.

Chapter Twenty-One

The horrid sensation of passing into the realm of the dead was worth it, even with the pit of dread in her stomach. Back in that muted world sooner than she would’ve liked—hell, she could never like coming here—Rowan set herself up on a constant patrol of the house and grounds. For three days and three nights, she’d prowled, waiting for any sign her efforts to divert the trouble headed this way had failed.

The good news about being a ghost was she needed no sleep. No food. Tanya had never quite explained what happened to her physical body while she went all haunted. She’d be exhausted when she came out of it again, that much was clear. With each passing day, her form on this plane got lighter, less attached to her physical body if she had to hazard a guess. She could wait only one more day before pulling out of this spell.

“You’re here to help my grandson?”

The voice, barely above a harsh whisper in the silence that reigned in this place, still had Rowan spinning around in search of the source. Her movement too quick, it took her hovering, translucent form a moment to catch up, swirling through the air in the strangest of ways.

The pale version of an old woman stood in the corner of the family room, close to the fireplace.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Esther Masters, Greyson’s grandmother on his father’s side. You may call me Essie. You don’t have to tell me who you are, Rowan McAuliffe. I know everything. The girls told me.”

The girls?

Realization hit with the subtleness of a cleaver to the head. “They’re talking to you when they go into that trance?”

Essie shrugged. “Me. Other spirits who come to settle some things.”

Mediums? The girls spoke to spirits. Delilah’s people had been right, they weren’t fates.

Rowan blinked as Essie’s words sank in. Wait. What exactly did everything cover?

“Do you stand there often?” Rowan asked, thinking back to those times a shiver had slipped over her skin in that spot. “Or with Nefti?”

Essie—dressed surprisingly casually in trousers and a pale blouse, her short gray hair fluffed out in a halo around her head—gave a gleeful smile. “I do like making my presence felt, and cats have always been able to speak to the dead. It’s why she’s still my cat.”

Rowan snorted a chuckle. “I see.”

“She likes you, though.”

They shared a smile of mutual amusement.

Getting no negative vibe from Grey’s grandma, she relaxed slightly. “To answer your question, yes. I’m here to…check on…Grey and the girls.”

Essie stared at her for a long, disconcerting moment. “You mean you’re here to protect them from the wolves.”

If Rowan had been attached to her body, she would’ve stumbled back in shock. Even so, her form shuddered, reverberating in a manner that caused a lance of pain through her head. How was that possible? More importantly… “How did you know?”

Essie smirked. “The animals aren’t the only ones who pass on gossip. Ghosts are worse than men in a locker room, given they’ve nothing better to do than sit around watching the living.”

Rowan had no idea where to go first with her questions. “Why not pass on, then?”

Another eerie stare from once-blue eyes, now strangely pale in Essie’s face, made Rowan want to shuffle her feet like a truant schoolgirl. “Something told me my family needed some looking after.”

What reply could she give to that? “Fair enough.”

Grey chose that moment to enter the room. With automatic actions, almost as though his mind was a thousand miles away, he set the kettle to boiling and got out the tea. Only, when he opened the tin, he looked closer, then cursed. She’d forgotten to fill it back up before she left.

Flipping the stove flame off, he yanked out his cell phone and dialed. Judging by his dark scowl, Grey was not happy. Because of tea?

“Where is she, Delilah?” he barked without saying hello first. “I want to speak to her.”

Delilah’s reply came across too softly to catch the words, but Grey’s glower deepened. “That’s not good enough.”

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