Page 4 of Cherished By Her Guardian

“Come in.”

The voice that had often been a balm to Annette during the stormy parts of her life now grated on her nerves. She knew what the head of her witch coven was going to say of her request, but that didn’t stop her from asking anyway.

“Hi, Morgana,” Annette said as she walked into her office, shutting the door softly behind her. The office was warm, done up in reds and ambers, and smelled of lavender and honeysuckle.

Morgana, a middle-aged witch with long black hair and a single, shockingly white lock at her left temple, gazed at Annette with kind, gray eyes. “What can I do for you this day, my dear?”

Annette didn’t sit and instead paced, the words flying out of her in a jumbled, rushed heap.

“Can you save him?” she pleaded. “He’s all I have left in the world, the last of my family.”

Morgana stared unblinking at Annette, and it seemed like she could see through her, although she knew that mind-reading wasn’t one of her magical talents.

“I’m sorry, Annette. I can’t intervene in your grandfather’s fate.”

“I don’t see why not! He’s only sixty-three. He’s too young to be taken by cancer.” Witches had healing magic. Annette had healed many things over the years. But curing cancer was not one of her abilities.

Morgana spread her fingers wide on her desktop as she rose slowly to her feet. She wore a flowy, flower skirt and dark blue top, and her hair hung over her shoulder in a single, thick braid. Her eyes flashed gold for a moment. “I cannot, and I will not interfere. The Fates have chosen his life to come to an end, and to try to stop his death through magic would throw the cosmic scales out of balance. It’s not going to happen. My advice, Annette, is to spend as much time as you can with him so you have no regrets.”

“I…why can’t you?” Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over, her voice cracking as she pleaded with the head of the coven to use her magic to heal him. “He just needs more time. Give me more time, please! Heal him, it’s in your power, I know it is!”

“I’m sorry, truly,” Morgana said. “Go to your grandfather and be with him. Don’t mar the last days you have with him on a fool’s errand.”

Her tone was kind but dismissive, and Annette knew she’d reached the end of her time with the head of the coven. Without a word, she turned and opened the door, the knob blurry as tears burned in her eyes.

She didn’t stop walking until she was down the dirt road that led to Morgana’s private residence which doubled as an office.

What the hell was she going to do?

She stumbled and nearly fell over, when strong arms caught her and steadied her. She brushed at the tears to clear her vision and saw a handsome man with pearl-white translucent wings stretched out behind him. His ears were pointed and his skin glittered in the afternoon sun.

“Wh-who are you?”

“My name is Gentry, I’m fae. I heard your crying as I flew above on my way home, and I wanted to see if you were okay. What’s troubling you?”

His voice was calm and soothing, a balm in the tempest of her ruined life. She trusted him immediately for a reason she couldn’t really fathom and spilled her story to him as quickly as she had to Morgana. But where the head of the coven turned her away, Gentry lifted a pale brow and said, “I can help you.”

“You can?”

“Of course. Fae can move the hands of fate.”

“Then let’s go right now!” Her heart pounded in excitement.

“Hold on,” he said with a low chuckle. “I can’t help your grandfather until you help me.”

“What do you mean?” She took a cautious step back.

“You help me, and I’ll help you. That’s how favors work, my dear witch. If you want your grandfather to live, then you’ll help me take care of something.”

“What?”

He produced a wooden box and opened it. Inside was a knife that gave her chills just to look at it.

“Open a portal to Northernmost and stab Santa on Christmas Day at dawn. He has something of mine, and I need him incapacitated so I can retrieve it. You do this for me,” he said, holding the knife out to her, the blade glinting in the sunlight, “and I’ll ensure your grandfather lives.”

Winterlyn arrived at her appointment with the head of the coven a few hours later. She was surprised that she had been able to make an appointment with her online. The coven had a website with a schedule option, as well as directions to Morgana Quinn’s home, which apparently doubled as her office.

She was trying not to get her hopes up because she was pretty sure that the Well of Magic only worked for magical people, hence the name. It might work for shifters if it was called the Well of Shifters or the Well of Anyone Who Needs Help. But she’d tried everything else she could think of to make her animal come out, including human doctors, shifter healers, and a few online products that promised to bring any animal out of anyone’s subconscious. Nothing had worked, which was why she was walking into the house of a witch who may or may not be willing to help her.

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