Page 53 of A Match Made in Coven
Lorcan sank to the floor, his back pressed against the bookshelves. He gathered the secret correspondence, arranging it by date. If he was going to solve this mystery, he needed to start at the beginning.
And so, with a heavy sigh and a determined set to his jaw, Lorcan began to read, hoping that somewhere in these pages, he would find the answers he sought. Lorcan skipped the two letters he’d already read and went on to the next, squinting his eyes against the old-fashioned calligraphy.
Dearest Mary,
Word has reached me of the growing discontent within thy coven. I beseech thee, exercise caution in all thy dealings. The thought of harm befalling thee chills me to the very marrow. Would that I could spirit thee away this very moment, consequences be damned.
With deepest affection, Lysander
My love,
The situation grows dire. Elder Agatha spoke today of the folly of allowing our bloodlines to mingle. She fears the power of our wings passing to the Black coven will be too great. I care not for such trifles, but I confess, her words struck fear into my very soul. We must be ever vigilant, my love.
Anxiously awaiting our next meeting, Mary
My Precious Mary,
These foul machinations against our union fill me with a rage I scarce can contain. Yet, for thy sake, I shall endeavor to maintain a calm facade. Know that I am making arrangements for our hasty departure, should the need arise. Trust in me, my love, for I shall move heaven and earth to keep thee safe.
With unwavering devotion, Lysander
My Dearest,
At last, the day of our union is upon us! My heart soars with joy, even as my hands tremble with lingering fear. But we have triumphed, my love. In mere hours, we shall be bound for eternity, our love a beacon to light the darkest night. I write these words with a quill dipped in hope, for our future stretches before us, bright and fearless. My love for you knows no bounds, but now, my love, I shall take to my rest, for this is the last night I shall sleep alone. When next I wake, it shall be to the dawn of our forever.
Eternally yours, Mary
Lorcan checked the date on the last letter then snatched a copy of aHistorical Account of Salem’s Magical Community. He flipped to the early settlers’ period, and when he reached the paragraph on Mary Callidora and her gruesome murder, he confronted the two dates.
They were a match. Mary had written this last letter on the day before the wedding and then she’d been murdered the next morning before she could walk down the aisle.
The picture became clearer—Mary and Lysander had been in love, a love so profound, so all-consuming, that it seemed impossible for it to have ended in murder. Lysander couldn’t have killed Mary. Someone else was responsible. Someone who hadn’t wanted them to marry. Not to have the Callidoras’ magic passed on to the Blacks? Someone from Mary’s coven? Had they then framed Lysander? How? Why hadn’t his ancestor shown anyone these letters?
Lorcan leaped to his feet, the letters clutched in his hand. He had to find Sarah Michelle, had to share this discovery with her. Even the most skeptical detective couldn’t argue this was a fresh lead. Together, they could unravel this centuries-old mystery and clear Lysander’s name. Reunite their covens.
Lorcan raced to the front door, heart pounding. He threw it open, ready to summon his broom and take to the skies, but he froze, his jaw dropping in astonishment.
A ball of light was hurtling toward him, growing brighter and larger with each passing second. Lorcan wildly thought it was a meteor on a collision course with his front porch. But as it drew closer, he realized it wasn’t a celestial body at all—just an angel.Hisangel.
Sarah Michelle was flying toward him at breakneck speed, her wings a blur of iridescent light. Lorcan barely had time to brace himself before she collided with him, her arms wrapping around his neck with such force that he stumbled backward. Her feet still had not touched the ground when she cried, “I love you too, Lorcan!”
The impact sent them tumbling back into the house, a whirlwind of limbs and light. The world spun as they fell, but just before his butt hit the hardwood floor, a cushion of downy softness enveloped him. Sarah Michelle’s wings had curled around them, creating a cocoon of warmth and light.
Her lips found his mouth in a hungry kiss, passionate and desperate. He tangled his hands in her silky black-blue hair, pulling her closer as if she might disappear if he loosened his grip.
“I love you,” she gasped between kisses. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for giving up, even for a day.”
Lorcan’s heart soared, the letters forgotten as they fluttered to the floor. He pulled her closer, losing himself in the feel of her, the taste of her. With a wave of his hand, the front door slammed shut, sealing them in a world of their own.
In the dimness, Sarah Michelle’s wings were the only source of light, casting a warm, gentle gleam over their entwined bodies. He roamed her back, hesitating just shy of the delicate appendages.
“Can I touch them?”
Sarah Michelle pulled back. “My boobs?”
Lorcan laughed. “No, your wings.”
She smiled and nodded, guiding his hands to the upper curve of her wings. It was like touching the warmth of a sunrise, the softness of a cloud. He explored farther, marveling at the sensation.
