Page 22 of Love Summoned

“I won’t say anything to her, then.” I chew on my lip, deliberating my next question. “Have you known anyone to mate with a witch before?”

“The Goddess is never wrong when she delivers your fate. Bonds with non-shifters are rare, and they aren’t without their challenges either.”

My visions are a gift from the witches and goddesses who came before us. Blessings passed down from generation to generation. What in Hecate’s name are they up to with me and Nix?

“I’m just going to step out for some air,” I say, backing toward the door. “You’ll be okay here?”

Rowan rubs his nose in Sloane’s hair, breathing deeply. Any other time, I might think it weird, but this is the most relaxed I’ve seen the guy since we got here. If touching Sloane does anything for him, like it does when Nix and I make contact, I think I understand.

Rowan looks up at me with a hint of a smile. “I’ll be just fine.”

10

Do we call it quits and go home? Wait for another vision to come to me when it’s ready. Clearly, coming to Hemlock and forcing it has done anything but good. My sister is injured, and I’ve found myself with a touch curse on a demon—or whatever it is.

Nothing but the brisk night air mixed with traces of woodsmoke keeps me company as I aimlessly stroll through the streets of Hemlock, sticking to the main roads. I pull the thick green wool of my cardigan tighter around my waist as I come to a stop in front of the library. If I go straight, I’ll end up at the cemetery, but if I turn right, it’ll take me past Hemlock Vinyl.

I cross the road then veer right.

Fallen leaves of crimson, gold, and remnants of green litter the sidewalk, crunching under my boots like a symphony to accompany my thoughts.

In the weeks leading up to my friend’s passing, I kept seeing a small, nondescript bridge. The kind of bridge you’d come across driving through most small towns. I ignored the visions. I was only sixteen and still learning how to trust and interpret my powers. Before those visions, I’d seen faces and identifiable landmarks, something unmistakable that would later serve as a catalyst, like déjà vu.

It wasn’t until the night before Bridget’s death that I had a second clue: a construction cone. It had fallen over, left lying in a puddle of rain. I didn’t mention it to Celeste or my mom; I didn’t think such a vague message warrant such urgent attention.

The bridge was under construction. A storm had knocked over all the warning and detour signs, messing up the road. It was dark. Bridget’s dad didn’t see the bridge was incomplete by the time he’d attempted to drive over it.

Seeing a dagger is far more dire than a bridge, but how does it connect to Hemlock and Theodora Solomon? Am I not meant to stop anything, merely prepare for it? But if I didn’t come here, I wouldn’t have met Nix. Was I meant to come here to help him, or to stop him?

“Sera?”

While lost in my thoughts, my feet took me straight to Hemlock Vinyl. To Nix.

Black hair falls over his eyes, the strands shorter around the back of his neck. High cheekbones, straight nose with a perfectly placed nose ring on the left side, and his bottom lip slightly more full compared to the top. He’s aesthetic perfection. I can’t decide if it’s annoying or appealing.

“How’s your sister?” he asks, cautiously moving closer to me.

“Resting.” I close the remaining distance. We’re so close, I can perfectly see the deep brown around his amber eyes, the color of aged whiskey as they capture me. The air is dragged from my lungs as I fight to draw breath, but he’s stolen it. “What are you doing up?”

“Can’t sleep.” The muscles of his forearms flex, the movement making the snake inked on one side look alive. “Why are you out here? It’s late. You should be with Sloane.”

“Just needed some air. I didn’t intend to come,” I pause, looking up at the building, “here.”

It smells like burning wood and cinnamon as Nix stands in front of me.

His hand comes up to my face, fingertips hovering over my cheek. He’s not touching me, but I can still feel the heat of his skin. My body comes alive as if he were touching me. I want him to.

“Why is it the only time I feel like I’m not going mad is when you’re near?” he whispers. “Why can’t I stop thinking about you? Why do I need to touch you more than I need to breathe?” The faint trace of mint pushes off his lips to mine.

My hand rises between us, palm open to him. He lines his up with mine, testing the boundaries as an inferno crackles between our hands, gold magic bursting around the edges.

Touch me.

Do it, touch me, please.

“Oh good, you found him.”

Nix and I jump apart. Standing a few feet away is Edith. I haven’t seen her around Tea Alchemy since Freddie mentioned she might know a thing or two about the town’s history with magic.