Page 29 of The Witch and The Blood Oath

“Good night,” she answered.

This time, nothing stopped me from closing my bedroom door.

???

Freya

With only Arion at my side, I stared at the mess that was once my whole world.

The most comfortable couch to ever exist was broken. Its plush contents spilled out of its leather exterior. One of the regal, high-back chairs had been shattered against the wall, whereas the other had fallen over. Like the entire floor, bookshelves were littered with sand. Many books were splayed on the ground with the pages ripped.

I stared at my cottage and sighed.

It was time to get to work.

Though the tracking spell had been draining, I wasn’t completely exhausted of magic. With a bit of wind, I carried the sand out the backdoor and into the forest. Repairing the sofa was more laborious. I tracked down a needle and thread from my mother’s vanity and stitched the gaping hole back together. It wasn’t a pretty fix, but it satisfied me.

Next, I cleaned and placed the books back on their designated shelves. I was sure I didn’t organize them as precisely as Mom would’ve, but it only made me smile more to hear her chiding voice in my thoughts.

I journeyed into the kitchen next. Half the jars of herbs were shattered across the floor, and a cabinet door had been ripped from its hinges. I swept the glass and ruined ingredients, then set the cabinet door neatly aside. I would worry about fixing it later.

I wasn’t honestly sure as to why I was worrying about any of it now. In less than twelve hours, I would set off on a journey that would, by Hecate’s mercy, last less than a month. For months, I could’ve come here and surveyed the damage, but I hadn’t. I had cowered from the torn books and shattered glass and discarded memories.

I had cowered from my grief.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered into the empty kitchen and sank to the floor. Arion was passed out in the living room. “I’m sorry, Mom. I should’ve come here sooner, I-I…”

I shouldn’t miss Josephine too.

I shouldn’t run from the reminders of what my goddessmother had done. The jar of dahlias—the signalMom had used to tell me who had ended her—was one of the few items left intact. I couldn’t bring myself to move it.

“I’m going to do right by you,” I promised my mother. “I’m going to make you proud.”

I’m just so lonely.

Only one person eased the bones-deep ache of loss. Only one smilealwaysmade me smile in return. Only one sense of humor was goofy enough to drag me out of my grief.

But here, surrounded by the ghost of my mother, I had to admit something I had ran from for months.

Though Walker was a balm to my pain, I was a conduit for his.

I had made him into a witch. I had dragged him into the investigation of the murders. I had almost killed him, then I hadn’t been brave enough to let him die.

I didn’t regret saving him. Walker would find his way as a witch. He was too strong-willed not to.

He just wouldn’t find it with me.

Magic intensified hormones and emotions. It had been foolish of me—no,selfish—to allow us to grow closer. I had lied to myself and said it was just pleasure—just blowing off steam.

It had never beenjustanything with Walker.

He wasn’t equipped to handle the thing between us now, with his powers still wildly out of control. Goddess,Iwasn’t equipped to handle it. I was supposed to be a Coven Mother. In two months, I would be coronated. I was awitch.

I was not girlfriend material.

And Walker was a witch now too. It was time to face that—intense romantic feelings were not conducive to being a good or disciplined witch. Suchfeelingswould not help me avoid being decimated by the High Witch Cordelia.

I had once asked Mom why she’d given up her weekend to resolve a conflict between two young witches of our coven. Now, her response rang in my ears.

---