“Tell me,” I whisper to Andrew the second we walk out of his mother’s kitchen.
He taps his index finger to his lips and then points to the stairs.
Sam’s laughter and Sarah’s soft voice tempt me to stay up with them. Fear of missing out is real, especially with the info bombs dropping around here.
Threading his fingers between mine, Andrew gives me a gentle tug and leads the way up to his attic lair. He steps through the secret door behind the bookcase, and I follow, closing the door behind us.
“I have a million questions.” I sit on the side of the bed, then scoot myself up to the headboard.
Andrew lies down next to me. “What are the odds that you’ll be able to sleep without getting all the answers tonight?”
I shiver when he trails his hand along my thigh. Even through the thin material of my pajama bottoms, I can feel the warmth of his palm.
“I’m not tired.” Rolling to my side, I face him. “How can anyone be sleepy after the catfight and Philips showing up?”
His dark brows lift and he tilts his head. “I guess it depends on how much tea you drank.”
“Why?” I snuggle into my pillow.
“Have you heard of valerian before?” His hand rests on my hip when he leans closer to brush his mouth over mine.
I shake my head, my lips pressing against his.
He smirks before kissing me for real.
More than I want answers to all of the questions swirling inside my head, I want to make out with Andrew. Maybe even go for round two.
He must have the same idea when he slides his thigh between mine and pulls me tight against him.
My body has other ideas, because I yawn and duck my head into his neck. “Sorry.”
“It’s the tea.” His chuckle rumbles deep in his chest.
“Your mother spiked the tea?” I’m too tired to be surprised.
“You should know by now she’s a master herbalist and is never going to pull out a box of Sleepy Time.” He kisses my forehead.
I think back to the first time I visited her shop and she made me a cup of mint tea, and I thought it was a potion. “She’s devious.”
“Her powers make her an interesting mother.”
His words ping a memory in my mind from the earlier conversations. Despite being tired, I still have questions.
Andrew presses his finger to the space between my eyebrows. “Nothing more needs to be shared tonight. Trust me.”
I do trust him.
The feel of his hand slipping under the shirt I’m wearing further distracts me from seeking answers. Before sleep drags me under, I decide I’d rather be naked with Andrew than fretting over secret societies and suspicious professors. Banishing the questions to a cubby in the corner of my mind, I kiss him as my fingers seek the waistband of his pants.
* * *
“You have time for two questions on the way to campus, if you’re quick.” Andrew knots my scarf twice and bops the tip of my nose.
“Are you a mind reader now?” Standing in Sarah’s foyer, I adjust my hat and then slip my hands inside my super-soft black, cashmere gloves.
“No, but I’m good at reading your body language, remember?” He ducks his head to give me a quick peck on the lips.
My cheeks flame with heat thinking about last night and early this morning. “Let’s go. I’m too bundled up to stand around in heated spaces.”
He doesn’t move and his aquamarine eyes pierce mine. “Is that what’s causing you to blush? All of your layers? Too warm in here?”
The man can light fire with his hands. I’ve seen it done. Now I’m thinking he can also cause spontaneous combustion in me. Thankfully, he retreats a few feet and allows me some breathing room.
“You have questions, I may have answers. Or at least ideas.” He buttons his coat and then opens the door for me.
Sam and Tate left earlier this morning, giving me zero chance to grill her. Hopefully, no houses will land on any local witches and zero flying monkeys will be unleashed for the rest of the weekend, so I can catch up with my best friend.
When I step through the doorway, a flash of black near my feet catches my attention. Mistoffelees dashes across the porch and leaps down the steps. I tense expecting him to go on the attack, but instead, he pounces on a leaf.
“Your mom’s cat is strange.” I keep my eyes on the black fur ball as we walk to the gate.
“Understatement of the year.” Andrew chuckles, reaching for my hand.
Distracted by the cat and Andrew’s touch, I momentarily forget to be obsessed by the unanswered questions swirling in my head. We’re already at the corner when I ask, “Dr. Philips talks to his cat and his cat talks back?”
He squeezes my fingers with his. “Something like that.”
“Do you think Mildred’s been following us for months?”
“It would seem likely.” His tone is completely nonplussed about this fact.
“Doesn’t that bother you? Cat spy reporting back to Philips on our goings-ons and whereabouts.” I turn my head to check his reaction. The more I think about Mildred trailing us and then reporting back to her owner, the more I freak out. “Super creepy.”
“I never thought about it that way.” He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Cats are everywhere in this town. I haven’t given much thought about them. It’s completely normal to see cats in the streets or shops.”
“Is anything in Salem truly normal?” I ask, scrunching up my nose.
“Good point.” He laughs.
“Are there more familiars beside Mildred?’ I ask, not excited to find out there’s a secret network, a feline FBI, roaming the streets.
“As far as we know, she’s the only one. Although there was a shifty-eyed seagull near the pier last week. I swear she gave me a dirty look full of disdain.”
His joke doesn’t reassure me.
“And Philips?” I ask, dread churning my stomach. “Do you trust him?”
“He’s my godfather.” His voice is soft, but holds zero doubt. “My mother wouldn’t have asked if she didn’t trust him.”
“Have you never seen the Godfather movies? Not exactly comforting. And what about Whitey Bulger? Wasn’t he some poor soul’s godfather? I think that person ended up dumped in the harbor or an unmarked shallow grave.”
Andrew stops abruptly, jerking my arm behind me. “You’re confusing your English professor and his cat with the former Boston mob boss? I’m going out on a ledge here, but I’m confident he’s never ordered a hit on anyone.”
“As far as you know.” With a smirk, I echo his earlier caveat. “Don’t give me that face.”
“What face?” He lifts his eyebrows into a neutral expression.
“The ‘you’re crazy’ face. I recognize it from the night I smudged myself and ended up smelling like a roast chicken.”
His lips curl into a half smile. “Mmm, I happen to love a delicious roasted chicken. And by chicken, I mean you.” He pauses and his brows draw together. “Wow, that was really horrible.”
Rolling my lips together, I attempt to not laugh at him. Attempt and fail.
“Don’t laugh. You find my awkward charms irresistible.” He releases my hand to sling his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side.
“You charmed me with your brooding silence. I had no idea you had a chicken obsession.” My shoulder bumps his side when I laugh. This is nice. Normal. No random threats or strange cats that are super cats. No Lucy Kitty or magic books. Or blue haze of the past. Just us. Two people in love.
I give myself permission to enjoy the moment instead of trying to solve all the mysteries.
We walk the rest of the way to campus, not asking questions. Not talking at all.
* * *
Our happy bubble lasts the rest of the weekend and through the beginning of the week. Mostly because I intentionally avoid asking questions about anything related to the coven or magic. Andrew keeps giving me openings, but I wave him off. Or distract him with kissing, and if we’re alone, more.
Finally, on Tuesday, Sam and I reconnect in our dorm room.
Flopping on my twin bed, I surround myself with pillows and stare at Sam, who refuses to meet my gaze.
“Ahem,” I say after an awkward few minutes of being ignored.
“Nothing’s happened.” She sighs with frustration as she sits in her desk chair.
“Define nothing.” Oh, she’s not getting off that easy. “Something seemed to be going on at Sarah’s.”
“You’d think so, but if you were paying attention, and not getting freaky with Andrew in the attic, you might’ve picked up on the tension. Of course, Tate kept smoothing out the energy, as he does.”
I study my best friend until she squirms. “Nope. Not buying it.”
“I notice you didn’t deny getting freaky with Andrew. About time.” She grins at me.
Even though I agree, I still throw a pillow at her. “Not nearly enough. We’ve been distracted. There’s a secret book and I can see dead people. Life’s full of cockblocking.”
“Do you see the past all the time now?” she asks.
“No, I have to concentrate, or be kissing Andrew, for it to happen.”
“What about on campus? Have you seen anything here since we’ve been back?”
“I haven’t tried lately. I’m keeping the ghost light on a low simmer for now.”
“Aren’t you curious?” Sam leans forward. “Could be fascinating.”
“Or horrible. I’m not sure of how much I can control. What if I see ghosts of dead students?” Pressing my lips together, I shake my head. Andrew and I have talked about testing my abilities, training myself to move easily between the past and present, but I’ve been resistant, hesitant. And a little afraid.
“You won’t know unless you try.” She stands and then walks over to her dresser. Pulling out her cards, she takes a seat on her bed. “Let’s see what the cards say. They’ll guide us.”
When she hands me the tarot deck, I take it, sitting up and crossing my legs.
“Shuffle,” she instructs. “And think about your questions.”
I close my eyes and concentrate. Images flash through my mind. The book. Lucy Kitty. Mildred. Andrew. Sarah. Philips. Boston. My grandmother. The farm. The graves. Blue haze. Money. Rope. Bones. Too many bones.
Whoa. That went dark.
My hands stop shuffling and I open my eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Sam sounds concerned.
“Nothing. Why?”
“You’re pale and have a wild look in your eyes. Like you’ve seen a ghost.” She swallows visibly. “Have you? Is there a ghost in our room?”
“No?” My words come out a question.
“Maddy. You have to be honest with me.” She sets the cards on her comforter.
“I saw rope and bones when I concentrated on the cards. Piles of bones. No ghosts.” A shudder passes through me.
“What else?” She flips over the first two cards to reveal the Hanged Man and Death.
“Money.”
A knock on the door interrupts us. We both turn our heads toward the sound but don’t move to get up.
“Expecting Andrew?” she asks, returning the cards to the deck.
“No. Tate?”
Shaking her head, she says. “He has an RA meeting.”
“Maybe it’s Grace?”
“Madison? Are you here?” Lucy Kitty’s voice carries through the door.
I hold my finger up to my mouth, silently telling Sam to keep quiet.
“Sam?” More knocking follows and then the door handle turns. I don’t remember locking the door, but it doesn’t open.
“I don’t think they’re here.” Lucy Kitty tells someone. “Let’s check the library. If I were a book, I’d be hidden in a library.”
My eyes bug out, mirroring Sam’s expression. Barely moving, I reach for my phone and text Andrew.
*Lucy’s here and knows about the book.*
* * *
A few minutes later, Andrew and Tate show up in our room.
“Did you see Lucy?” I scan the hallway.
“No sign of either her or Hamilton.” Andrew sits next to me on my bed while Tate remains standing.
“Talking about a book doesn’t mean they know about the book,” Tate says.
“True.” I try to let his words comfort me.
“How could she know?” I ask.
“Mrs. Howe is her grandmother, right?” Sam asks.
“They’re estranged and don’t speak,” I remind her.
“Or so we’ve been told.” Andrew stands and paces. “I think we need to check in with Philips and visit the society this week. They might have answers.”
“Can we trust him?” Sam asks the question that’s been weighing on my mind. I know what Andrew said, but I’m in a “trust no one” kind of mood lately. Except of course the people in this room.
“You and Madison with your doubts. I’ll tell you what I told her. My mother trusted him with my soul. I think that’s enough reason we don’t have to worry about him.” Andrew pauses. “He helped us when the curse was activated, he’s on our side.”
I meet Sam’s eyes.
“I trust him too,” Tate confirms. “Mrs. Howe and her granddaughter on the other hand …”
He doesn’t need to finish his sentence.
Andrew taps away on his phone. “Texting Sarah. We need to go to Boston as soon as possible.”
* * *
On the following afternoon, the most unlikely of road trip crew ever gathers at the train station in Salem. Sarah and Dr. Philips arrived together and have been speaking in hushed voices. I keep trying to eavesdrop, but haven’t heard anything of interest.
“What can you tell us?” I ask, once again impatient for answers.
“The Wicked Society is located in a brownstone off of Charles Street. We’ll be meeting with the current director, Geoffrey Gardner. He’s been briefed about recent events.” Sarah gives me a warm smile. “I’m optimistic we’ll have their full support.”
“Can you back up? What or who is the Wicked Society?” Sam asks. “I searched online and nothing. Not a single mention or address.”
“Of course, there won’t be anything online. The building is registered under another name.” Philips gives Tate a pointed look.
Tate gives us a single nod. “It’s a Winthrop property. One of the less important nineteenth century acquisitions. Too small to be of much interest to my greedy cousins if they bothered to check the family records and discover it.”
“A secret society of witches housed in a forgotten brownstone?” I can’t hide my trepidation.
“Most covens prefer to stay off the public radar. This is really no different. They’re not the only ones who keep a low profile. Whoever Stanford is working with, or for, would be known to the Wicked Society.”
“Why don’t you know already?” I ask. “Aren’t you the most powerful witch in Salem? Shouldn’t you know what’s going on in Boston?”
“I never pretend to know everything.” After my accusations, her tone is defensive. “Because I prefer to focus on the light, I only know the local gossip about the darker corners of witchcraft. I have my suspicions, but no confirmation. This afternoon should provide you with more of the answers you seek.”
The train rushes into the station, cutting off all conversation.
We board and find seats close together. Andrew and I sit across the aisle from Tate and Sam while Philips and Sarah sit in the seats facing each other at the back of the train car.
“Are you nervous?” I ask Andrew.
“A little. I’ve never been inside the Society’s headquarters before. This should be interesting.” He gives my hand a comforting squeeze that fails to reassure me.
“Interesting is one way to put it,” I mumble, staring out the window.