Page 87 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

My thoughts drifted to my parents, their kisses when they thought Jem and I were otherwise occupied, the way that Mama used to run her thumb along the strong line of Papa’s jaw, or how he used to bring her trinkets from his hunts. Small things, like wildflowers or a bushel of wild strawberries that were only found deep in the woods. To her though, they were treasures.

There had been plenty of opportunity for things to turn sour, raising two children in the Outlands with hardly a copper to their name, but they never raised their voices against each other, never stole glances at anyone else when the other wasn’t looking. Our cottage was more peaceful than most in Wealdstone even though there were five of us, including Gran, squeezed between its walls. But perhaps it hadn’t always been perfect. Perhaps, I thought with a niggling feeling in my heart, they hadn’t always been on the same page.

I wished I could talk to my mother. I wondered if Niamh had told Adele when she realized she was falling in love with Maxence. If she had asked her what it was supposed to feel like. If Adele had answered with stories of her own. The bitter tang of envy on my tongue made me feel all the more guilty.

“Finn?”

My eyes flicked toward the doorway. Niamh stood framed in it, her hair folded into the headscarf she wore every night, and her forehead creased.

“You came.”

“I did.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

She sank into the chair opposite me. “Are you alright?”

I nodded slowly. “I’m leaving for Hollybrook in a few hours.”

“The university?”

“Yes.”

“That’s exciting.”

I smiled half-heartedly. “I suppose. But that’s not why I asked you to come.”

“Is this about Ewan?” she said. “Maxence told me you’re still looking for answers.”

I winced. I should have known that Maxence was relaying things directly back to her. “No,” I said finally. “That no longer matters.”

“Really?” she asked, her brows knitting together.

“I—” I hesitated. I hadn’t forgotten about my argument with Mordric, or the skeletons in the cellar. I didn’t intend to. But there was too much going on all at once, and I needed to focus on the journey ahead of me. “Mordric promised me that his best people were on it, and I trust him.”

“Of course,” she said softly. “If that’s what you think is best.”

“It is,” I confirmed, somewhat unconvincingly. “Listen, I wanted to apologize for what I said when we argued. And for not doing so sooner.”

“I’m sorry too,” she replied quietly. “You were right. I was jealous.”

“I shouldn’t have said that,” I insisted. “Or looked into your mind without permission. I was just so desperate to escape my old life, and I felt like I had so much to prove.”

She smiled softly. “I don’t hold it against you, okay? In fact, I’m really glad you asked me to meet you here. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“You have?” she asked. “I assumed you had plenty of fascinating vampire friends keeping you company these days. Meanwhile, I had to settle for Nathalie, who I can never shake off, by the way. I’m just about ready to strangle her.”

A laugh escaped me. “Trust me, I prefer your company a thousand times over to most of the people at court. I have made one friend who I think you’d really like. I’ll invite you both to supper when I return. If that’s something you’d be interested in, of course.”

“I’d be honored.”

“Listen,” I said. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about before I leave.”

“Oh?”

I picked at a thread that had come loose from the armchair. “I always thought it was admirable of you to take on work up here while also taking care of your mother.”