Page 51 of Curses and Cauldrons

The berry is sour going down, and I take another drink of wine to wash the taste away.

“I have to admit, this was not the surprise I was aiming for tonight.” Roman angles his head in my direction and grins at me.

“Uh-huh. Sure, Romeo. I see through you. A secluded cabin, finger foods, a hot tub.”

“Don’t blame the hot tub. It has nothing to do with this.”

I laugh and my shoulders relax. Actually, my entire body feels incredible. Warm and loose, any aches I had from earlier today are gone.

“Can I ask you a question?” I eat a strawberry and suck the juice off my fingers. Roman watches my mouth and then nods. “Growing up, what were you told about the difference between light and dark magic?”

Roman wraps a piece of cheese in some thinly sliced meat and pops it in his mouth, his eyes contemplative as he chews. “We were always told that dark magic was under the influence of the Mother and has the potential to be stronger than light magic.”

“They told us that light magic is a blessing from the Maiden and is all about life and renewal.”

“To be honest, I don’t think there is anything different about our magic. Maybe our core powers. You can heal with your magic, which at its most basic level is light magic. My family, on the other hand has the ability to rip the very soul out of someone. That is a very dark thing. But fundamentally, we all have some skills that allow us to manipulate the elements or concoct potions. There might be shades of magic, but to label them light and dark puts a stain on our powers they don’t deserve.”

I set aside the dish of fruit and turn to face Roman. I twist the blanket between my fingers. “When we’re together, does your magic do anything?”

Roman sets the wine on the bedside table and shifts to face me. “Like what?”

My courage deserts me and I look away with a shake of my head. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

Roman’s fingers tuck under my chin and he lifts my face until I’m looking him in the eyes. “Like a growing flame?”

I suck in a breath, my finger clutching the blanket like a safety net. “I don’t know if that's… Is that what usually happens?”

Roman leans in, dropping a lingering kiss on my lips. When he breaks the kiss, I’ve nearly forgotten what we were talking about. Roman hasn’t.

“There is nothing about us that’s typical. You are a wonder.”

We stay up talking until the sun comes up in the morning.

26

ROMAN

“Why are we putting up with this farce?” Bram grumbles beside me.

The two of us sit in my car outside of my parents’ house. I stare at the massive manor. The history of the house has been hammered into me since I was a child. Built in 1906, it was fashioned to look like a Cotswold cottage on steroids. The sandstone siding, steeply slate-pitched roofs, and arched windows all give the home its character.

It’s all ruined by the people who live inside.

We’ve been parked for over a minute. Neither one of us is ready to face the next few hours.

“Because it’s Thanksgiving and Giana has likely spent all day making a massive meal for us. We’ll feel bad if we don’t show up.” Giana is my parents’ housekeeper and the only caring adult either of us had growing up.

My mother has zero relationships with her family, and I’ve never met them. My father’s parents died when I was too youngto know them. Bram’s mother’s family is still around, but thanks to my parents, he saw very little of them growing up. Giana was always part of our house. When we skinned a knee, she was the one who bandaged it. When we were sick, she tended to us.

I don’t give a shit if I see my parents for Thanksgiving, but disappointing Giana is another thing altogether.

“Fuck,” Bram drags out the curse on an exhale. “Fine. Let’s get this night over with.” His door opens without touch, his magic whipping it ajar. That’s not a great sign of what’s to come tonight.

“Crone’s sake, don’t rip the door off my car,” I snap as I get out and follow my brother up the cobbled path to my parents’ mansion.

The scents of roast turkey, fresh bread, and all manner of dishes hit me the second we reach the door. Bram knocks, and Weatherby, the ancient butler, opens the door.

“Young sirs. The family and guests are waiting.” Weatherby’s voice wheezes like the man’s had a two-pack-a-day habit for the last seventy years. I’ve never seen him smoke, but I’ve also never heard him speak louder than a gentle indoor voice. The man may be old, but he’s sneaky as fuck. You’d better check the room a dozen times to make sure he isn’t hiding behind a curtain before you spill any secrets. Although he’s not actually malicious, just really good at his job.

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