Page 44 of Cursed Wolfsbane

I don’t know, and that not knowing is almost more difficult to deal with than the constant beatings from Patrick.

CHAPTER 20

BRIAR

We come to a stop in front of a white Victorian house. The teal door, gray roof, and wraparound porch are achingly familiar. Even the willow tree billowing in the wind out front floods me with memories that are more bitter than sweet now.

As I gaze up at the place all my happiest memories were made in, I wonder why I remembered my house and Mama but not Papa, Saint, or anything about supernaturals.

That’s one of the questions we’re trying to answer today. The Wyldharts and Saint are here with me to comb the house for any clues my mom left. There has to be a reason the deed to the house was in the safe-deposit box.

Malachi reaches the door first. He shoves the key Aunt Molly gave him into the lock and pushes the door open. It swings inward, its hinges creaking loudly as it does. When the Wyldharts and Saint start making their way inside, I follow reluctantly. I haven’t been in my house since Mama was still alive, and I haven’t made any happy memories in it since Papa died. It feels like all that’s left for me here is pain and sorrow.

But I have answers to find. Taking a deep breath, I step over the threshold. My gaze bounces around the foyer’s familiar lightwood floors, curving staircase, warm gray walls, and antique rugs before landing on the piano in the family room. Tugged by some invisible thread, I’m moving toward the instrument without a conscious thought.

The old Steinway & Sons piano bench was one of Mama’s favorite spots in the house. While the heavy drapes are drawn over the windows now, she would open them whenever she played, letting light spill in from outside. As a kid, I always thought she looked like an angel when she was at the piano, backlit by the sun.

She loved playing music, and she loved how much I enjoyed listening to her. I have so many memories of being a kid sitting on her lap as she played. It was always a treat when Papa would join in, his smooth, deep singing voice a perfect complement to the piano. He didn’t enjoy singing much but would do it for my mom.

As I sit down, a lump forms in my throat as I think about how happy Mama would be that I took up playing piano. My fingers hover over the keys as I debate playing something. Unable to resist the urge, I close my eyes and start playing the only song that comes to mind—“Exile” by Taylor Swift and Bon Iver. I sing both parts softly, hoping the Wyldharts and Saint won’t hear me.

Hawthorne Grove, this house, and my family used to be my home. Now, though, none of it seems to fit right. I don’t really know if there is anywhere I fit anymore. Loneliness creeps into my bones as I sing, causing me to shiver slightly.

When I finish, I open my eyes to see all four of my mates watching me. Malachi’s leaning against the cased opening to the kitchen, his hands shoved in his jeans pockets. The sleeves of his navy long-sleeve shirt are pushed up, and one black boot is crossed over the other.

Xander’s standing next to Malachi. He’s also dressed down in dark jeans but with a black button-up. Bastian’s slouchedagainst the wall next to Malachi, and he’s wearing his usual jeans, forest green tee, and a leather jacket. Saint’s outfitted in much the same as yesterday in a gray long-sleeve tee, medium wash jeans, and dark boots.

My eyes connect with Malachi, who’s watching me intently, and I duck my head. My cheeks burn at being caught checking them all out and them hearing me sing. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for everyone to hear me. I know I’m not the best at singing.”

“You’re too hard on yourself. I know you struggle to sing the words on time because of APD, but your singing is beautiful.” Looking up, I see Saint’s lips tilted up on one side.

I raise my eyebrows at him in disbelief. I’m pretty sure I’m just as bad at it as I think I am. With my auditory processing issues, I can play an instrument with no problem because my hearing is excellent. But the part of my brain that processes words doesn’t work the way a normal person’s does, so singing on key and beat has always been challenging. I’m always slightly off of where I should be. “If you say so.”

“He’s right, pretty girl. Your singing is awesome.” Bastian gives me a wide grin, and I can’t help my small smile at his enthusiasm.

Standing up from the bench, I shake out my arms, trying to get rid of the heavy feeling weighing me down from playing Mama’s piano. It doesn’t work. Sighing, I walk over to the four of them. “What areas do you want to check?”

Malachi’s mouth dips in a small frown as he takes in my slumped shoulders and drawn expression. “Bastian and I have the upstairs covered. Xander and Saint are planning to look around down here.”

“I figured you could check the office, little shadow. That way you only have one room to go through.” Saint comes over to stand behind me, sandwiching me between him and Malachi. I let my head fall against Saint’s chest and close my eyes, tryingto gather myself. He’s thoughtful, wanting to make this whole ordeal less overwhelming for me.

My eyes pop open when I feel Malachi press up against my front. My gaze clashes with his navy one. “You don’t have to look through any of the rooms, baby girl.”

“I do, though. We’re trying to find answers about my life, so I need to be involved.” As much as Malachi wants to protect me from everything, there are some things he can’t shield me from.

“Fine,” he begrudgingly agrees, “but you call for one of us if you need anything.”

I give him a small nod, and he steps back. He and Bastian head upstairs, while Saint walks into the kitchen. Xander wanders around the living room as I’m trying to work up the courage to go into my dad’s office.

I make my way through the foyer and formal dining room to the office. Pushing open the dark wood door, I feel like I’ve stepped back in time as I breathe in Papa’s warm cedar scent. Probably thanks to a spell, nothing has changed. His black leather executive chair, dark walnut desk, and the matching walnut bookcases that line all four walls are exactly the same. A plush Persian rug covers the floor, making the space feel warm and cozy. The dark wood bench with a light blue cushion under the bay window was always a favorite place of mine to curl up.

Walking around the room, I inspect the bookshelves for anything out of the ordinary, but I don’t see anything other than the classic literature, Latin language books, and mage spell tomes that line all the shelves. I got my love of reading from both parents. While Mama preferred to read fiction, Papa loved the classics and nonfiction of just about any subject.

It would take forever to inspect the over a thousand books here. I decide to check out the desk before starting that daunting search. When I reach the desk, I’m surprised that I don’t find even a speck of dust on its glossy surface. Yep, definitely apreservation spell. There’s no other way everything would be in such good condition and dust free otherwise.

I hesitantly sit in my dad’s chair. The leather creaks as I lower down on it, and the wheels squeak as they roll for the first time in years. Smoothing my hands over the wood top, I search for any clues that might be here. The desktop doesn’t give me much. There’s just an empty notebook, a jar of pens, and several framed pictures of Mama, Papa, and me. Unable to stand the silence, I pull my phone out and put on Chance Peña’s “Bleeding Out,” feeling a little like my heart is ripped open and pouring out blood being in my old house again.

Next, I start rifling through the six drawers, three on both sides. The top drawers don’t contain anything interesting, just paperclips, extra pens, rubber bands, and other office supplies. Reaching the middle drawers, I find a bunch of notebooks. Most of them are blank. The few that aren’t have nothing other than notes on books in them. I check the bottom right drawer next and find more of the same, notebooks and office supplies.

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