Page 52 of Witch Unexpected
She snorted. “Not shy about asking questions, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Forty-five,” she said.
No fucking way. “You’re joking.”
She grinned and yanked open the door, ushering me through into the significantly more colorful corridor beyond.
“Grimswood witches age well, or don’t age at all depending on how powerful they are.”
Which had me wondering how old Anna was. She had to be pretty powerful to be an elder witch…
Pen sighed. “Anna’s over a hundred years old.”
“Wow. Okay, and you? How powerful are you?”
Her smile was wry. “On a scale of 1–10, I’m a zero. I’m a dud.” She shrugged. “It used to bother me when I was younger, but I soon realized it was a blessing. I mean, no patrols, no duties, no obligation to protect anyone or anything. I stay because I choose to, but I’m free to leave whenever I wish.”
“You make being a witch sound like a prison sentence.”
She gave me a sympathetic look. “Oh, honey, being awitchis fine. Being a Grimswood witch is a life sentence.”
Oh crap. “I think I feel the walls closing in.”
She chuckled. “You’re fine. You’re the anchor. The anchor gets the highlife, sweetie. You get to do what you want. Yeah, you might have to put up with bodyguards and…” She shot me a sideways look. “You know about the no kids policy, right?”
“Yeah. No kids and no live dick.”
She made a choking sound. “Oh goodness, you really don’t hold back.”
“I believe in getting to the point.”
We turned down a corridor that looked familiar, but the paintings on the wall weren’t something I recalled. Still, I was pretty sure I’d come this way with Anna last night. How had I missed these portraits—all of different women surrounded by wolves.
I stepped closer to the nearest one of a woman with reddish-blonde hair and a roguish smirk on her face. Three huge black wolves sat by her chair. One had its head on her lap, another lay across her boots, and the final one sat on its haunches, alert and watchful at her side. The plaque beneath had a single name etched into it. Evelyn Rose.
“Ah, she was the first anchor,” Pen said. “Held the position for over a hundred and twenty years, or so they say. The most powerful anchor of them all. Heck, she may have held it longer, if not for the fire.”
“The fire?”
“Yes, in the east wing. I think there was a ball or some event, and then the fire happened. Evelyn and her mates tried to get everyone out. They died saving lives. The elder council perished in that fire.”
“Meredith and co?”
“Yes.” Pen’s expression was somber. “We were lucky to find a new anchor. Lucky we had powerful witches to take over as the new council.”
“So, this is the first time the east wing’s been used since then?”
“Pretty much.” Pen frowned. “Although I don’t see why Grandmother didn’t put you in the south wing with us. There are a few spare rooms. I’ll ask her. Unless you prefer the solitude of the east wing, that is?”
“I don’t mind. Whatever works.”
“Okay, leave that with me.”
We left the portraits behind to continue down the corridor and took a left onto a landing, which ended in ornate balustrades and a flight of fancy steps going down.
The smell of bacon hit me, and my stomach rumbled.
