Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“It seems like the house is full of ghosts,” she barely got out.
“I don’t think so. But you do have a house filled with echoes and spirits you’ve invited into your home without ever releasing the energy.”
She nodded and got closer, pressing her head under my chin. “Maybe.”
No maybe about it. “You have no choice but to spend a lot of time getting sage into every nook and cranny of this house if you want it to feel alive again in here.”
“Fine,” she agreed, sounding uncertain.
“You have to have faith, though, in the use of the sage,” I pointed out.
“I can use a sage bundle,” she snapped, lifting her head to meet my gaze. “I do that all the time for people who come in the house.”
But waving it around without giving directions to whatever was in the house did nothing. People always forgot that intention was the most important part of cleansing and magic on a whole.
“And I know I should have treated you the same way I did Cordelia and the others and added you to my coven,” she continued, taking a step back, no longer scared and cowering, annoyed now. “I mean, we’re all doing what we can to make a living, am I right?”
I squinted at her.
“Oh, come on. You’re saying there’s more to you than that, Xan?” she asked, so smugly, patronizing me, the scoff and the added eye roll telling me what she really thought of magic. “Give me a break. No one is buying your witch-of-the-woods bullshit. You keep up that persona to sell the crap you make at the festivals.”
“Do you want the house cleansed? It’s your choice,” I said coldly.
“Why? Are you offering?”
“Yes,” I replied, irritated that I couldn’t just tell her to go to hell. I should walk out, but there was so much rotting energy in the house, I couldn’t simply leave. Unless she said no.
“Then yes. I don’t want to be jumping at shadows. Not in my own home. So please, clear it all out,” she said with a wave of her hand.
I had the urge to smack her.
“And listen, Xan, I would actually love to carry your stuff in my shop.”
“You mean my crap?”
“Do me a favor and pull the stick out of your ass, will you? In truth, I see how fast your jam, tea, and other things you make during the festival sell out and—shit,” she gasped as the first of my flames returned to my hand.
“Go on,” I said snidely, which was terrible of me, but both she and Cordelia gave witchcraft a bad name.
“What the hell, Xander…is that fire in your hand?” she asked breathlessly.
Opening my mouth to answer, I was too late. She passed out cold. Fortunately for me, she was not a big person, because I only had the one arm to clutch her with.
“Steady,” I bid my flame, which kept it where it was, and closed my hand. It remained floating in the air, illuminating all the corners of the room.
I carried Lynette to a love seat and laid her down. I would have tucked a throw around her, but it was the middle of summer. Even with the amount of air I was going to have to blow through her house, she wasn’t about to get cold.
When Lorne knocked on the front door, I darted over, unlocked the dead bolt, and let him in, smiling as he strode by.
“What happened to her?” he asked, standing over the collapsed woman.
“She saw the fire in my hand.”
“Ah.”
I shrugged.
“And? Anything spooky in here?”
“I have a theory.”
“G’head.”
“Help me open the windows, will you?”
“Love, there are a fuckton of windows in this house.”
“I know, but we’ve got to get it aired out, and there’s no time for me to go room to room in this mausoleum and get every corner.”
“You had me do it in my old house too,” he pointed out.
“Yes,” I agreed, gesturing him over to me. “But this has to be more of a forced cleansing than a gentle one.”
“What if there’s something scary outside?” he asked.
“Is there?”
“Not that I could see,” he grumbled.
“You just don’t want to open the windows,” I goaded him.
“You’re right, I don’t, and I definitely don’t want to stay here and close them all again afterward,” he said belligerently.
“We only need a few open,” I soothed him as I began the process.
He helped, he always did, and when he returned, I took his face in my hands.
“Oh,” he whispered, his eyes closing as I kissed him. After a moment, I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he opened for me so I could rub my tongue over his, pushing, tangling as I felt the connection spark between us, the magic that flowed back and forth, a living pulse.
One of his arms slid around me, tight, pressing my body to his, as his left hand cupped the back of my head so I couldn’t move away. He wanted to be kissed.