Chapter Eleven

Grey killed Kaios’s warlock because the guy had murdered his wife.

How she knew for sure that that’s who he’d been talking about—the warlock Kaios had used along with Rowan—she didn’t know. But it had been plain to her as he’d told the story.

Pain, for Grey, for his wife, for their sweet girls, had oozed through her like Mississippi mud, and Rowan had had to close her eyes against the hard look in his eyes.

But what does that mean for me?

The thought had been swirling around in her head since Grey had told her about it. Plaguing her. Making her question everything she believed. The Syndicate hadn’t sanctioned that execution. What if…

Except, Tanya believed they were dangerous. Believed they’d had Rowan’s parents killed. Had she been wrong?

A low murmur brought her attention back to where she was, and Rowan observed the girls’ lesson with their Aunt Persephone in total silence.

This was the first time she’d come along, because Greyson had to go into Denver for work on Monday and wouldn’t be able to take the girls. Since it was Friday, he’d wanted to introduce her to the girls’ aunt, his sister-in-law, ahead of time. Persephone lived “next door,” which meant in the Rocky Mountains, but on the other side of the divide. If they drove, the trip would take over an hour.

Hooray for teleporting.

A few glances snuck in Grey’s direction—granted, he had his laptop going the entire time—showed he found nothing amiss with the lesson. Was this really how most witches were schooled?

As soon as they had arrived at a cabin not unlike Greyson’s with dark brown log siding and natural stone accents, a woman had come out onto her front porch. Rowan pegged her age around thirty, tall and elegant, with dark hair pulled back in a perfect ponytail and wearing three-inch stilettos. In the mountains. In the snow.

Meanwhile, beside her Rowan suddenly felt like a dowdy frump with her red curls a wild halo about her face, and her jeans, black blouse, and black boots way too casual. After the burned lasagna and hiding incident, she hadn’t bothered to upgrade her wardrobe all that much, opting for blouses instead of T-shirts. Grey hadn’t said anything, but now she questioned her decision. Maybe she’d go shopping again on Sunday when she had her day off.

Only she’d stopped that thinking in its tracks. No way was she changing who she was just to compete with this woman. For what?

The introductions went fine, Persephone asking her to call her by her first name and welcoming her to the area. Then, as the girls tromped inside and they followed, the tone changed subtly. “I do ask that you don’t interrupt the lesson.” Persephone turned to Greyson. “Remember the last nanny who insisted on helping?” She gave a delicate chuckle.

Grey’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t comment.

“I wouldn’t dream of interfering,” Rowan assured her. Really. She wouldn’t. Not having grown up among witches, she hadn’t a clue about how they learned their magic.

“Good. Several of your predecessors have been inclined to offer suggestions. I’ll tell you what I told them. I’ve been licensed to instruct for ten years now, and I teach the six- and seven-year-olds at the Denver Coven’s gifted academy. I certainly don’t need advice from a…” She paused and gave Rowan a cool once-over. “I’m sure you understand.”

Amazing how a reasonably worded request could be altered by a tone that spoke volumes. Basically, Persephone had just called her an inept magical user who could never compare to a licensed teacher. Did Grey catch it? A quick check of his expression told her no.

He knew Persephone better than she. Maybe the other woman hadn’t meant it that way.

The next few minutes proved that notion wrong. In that short span of conversation, Rowan pegged Persephone as a self-important snob with—if her simpering attitude toward Grey gave any clue—designs on nabbing the widower brother-in-law for herself. Meantime, he, like every other man on the planet, failed to notice the female cattiness happening under his nose, taking the comments at face value.

Rowan schooled her expression to be pleasant. “I’ll just observe quietly from the corner. Perhaps I’ll even learn something new.”

Persephone’s smile came across full-on condescending. “Just don’t try anything without help.”

Wow. The woman meant to be a bitch. Persephone’s message came across loud and clear: I’m the better witch and hands off.

“I think she gets the point, Persephone,” Grey said in a voice that brooked no argument. “I wouldn’t have hired her if I didn’t think she was capable.”

Okay. So maybe not quite so unobservant. And the warmth that bloomed inside her at his defending her was dangerous.

“It’s fine,” Rowan said, only to be on the receiving end of his frown.

The other woman paused, then smiled kindly. “I didn’t mean anything—”

“I should hope not,” Grey said.

Persephone turned to Rowan. “It’s nothing against you personally. The other nannies have all had ideas. I’m sure you understand.”

Were all traditionally trained witches this competitive? “I can see how frustrating that could be. You have no worries from my side. I promise.”

She received a simpering smile for her troubles. “The chair in the corner is comfy.” Persephone waved a careless hand.

“Of course,” Rowan murmured and moved to the spot on the other side of the room from where Grey had chosen to be.

A childish urge took hold, and she stuck her tongue out at Persephone’s back.

A choked sound had her jerking her gaze to Grey, who straightened out the amusement curling his lips and gave her a look that reminded her of Tanya when she was unimpressed.

A sheepish shrug and she’d turned away, wincing as she did. Caught acting like one of the girls when she was supposed to be the adult in charge of them. Just sad. Now, sitting in a literal corner so she wouldn’t be “in the way,” Rowan couldn’t decide which was more difficult—hiding her growing dislike for the woman, hiding her incredulity at the rudimentary lesson taking place given what she’d seen the girls do at home, or hiding her amusement at the girls’ obvious boredom with the exercise. Persephone had them growing flowers, but in fast-forward, like watching a time-lapse video—a trick Rowan had learned at the age of five.

“Good job, Atleigh,” Persephone praised the now beautifully blooming violets.

Lachlyn rolled her eyes behind her aunt’s back. “Aunt Persephone, can we try something else now?”

Persephone ran a critical eye over Lachlyn’s single bloom. “Let’s focus on getting this spell right first. Once you master the basics, then we’ll move on.”

It didn’t get much more basic than growing a few flowers in a pot.

Rowan bit down on a laugh as Persephone turned her back on Lachlyn to help Chloe, and Lachlyn suddenly showed her true aptitude. With a wave of her hand, the girl grew a bunch of flowers at ten times the speed, resulting in a bouquet similar to her sister’s. At Atleigh’s warning glance, Lachlyn pulled a face, then reversed time and returned the plant to a single bloom.

Both girls checked the adults in the room—first Persephone and then Grey, who was busy on his laptop. Then they glanced toward Rowan, who raised her eyebrows and again struggled not to laugh out loud at the rueful expressions turned her way. In answer she sent them a conspiratorial wink. Atleigh and Lachlyn blew out silent breaths of relief even as they exchanged a glance. Persephone chose that moment to turn back to them, and Rowan remained quiet in her assigned corner.

After all, Persephone had been quite clear about not wanting any help.

Twenty minutes later, torture in the guise of a lesson finally over, the group made their way out of the house. “Great job, ladies,” Persephone praised her nieces. “Lachlyn, I expect you to be able to bloom more flowers by the time I see you on Monday.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the girl grumbled.

Persephone turned to Rowan. “Lovely to meet you. I hope you last longer than the others.”

Sure you do.

Before Rowan could respond in a suitably nanny-like manner, a hummingbird appeared and hovered before her, staring right at her.

“Look at that,” Grey commented. “I’ve never seen a hummingbird do that.”

“Oh,” Rowan gave a self-conscious giggle, which sounded forced to her ears. “It must think all this red hair is a really big flower.”

Of course, that wasn’t what the hummingbird thought at all.

Danger, the tiny bird whispered, and Rowan clenched her fists against a spasm of fear. Pricklies hit in a shiver-inducing wave spiking through her skin, and she had to physically keep herself from glancing into the surrounding woods for someone secretly watching.

The wolves aren’t coming for you. Greyson is the bigger problem.

Collecting her calm like pulling a cloak around her, Rowan focused. She was the only one here who could understand the small bird, unless any of the others were Anevals—witches whose magic was strongest in connection to animals. She couldn’t talk to the bird, though. Not here.

Being an Aneval was more power than a barely magical user like she was pretending to be should have. Worse, if the Syndicate found out the weakness inherent with the power, it would be just one more nail in her coffin as far as they were concerned.

“Aren’t you beautiful. But no nectar here. Come back later and I’ll have some flowers for you.” She held her breath, hoping the creature understood.

Danger is coming, it whispered before zipping away with a high-pitched hum of its beating wings.

Spider eyes and ghost tears. Maybe she should’ve been listening to those pricklies all along?

“Do animals often come to you?” Grey asked, his dark brown gaze assessing.

Rowan hitched a shoulder. “I guess.”

Relief whooshed through her as the small frown between his eyebrows eased. “You must have a touch of Aneval in you.”

“I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,” Rowan hurried to say.

“Such a rare and valued gift,” Persephone murmured. “I’m sure Rowan’s right. Coincidence.”

But Grey wasn’t dropping it. “Do they ever talk to you?”

How to answer without directly lying? Ironically, Persephone’s disdain for the possibility of a nanny possessing such a skill gave her the answer. “If they did, I probably would be doing something else.” She took the sting out of the response with a cheerful smile.

At that he laughed, and Rowan sucked in a sharp breath. Normally Grey’s expression tended toward stern, unmovable. But when he smiled, like now, he showed an entirely different side—boyish, fun-loving. She had the strangest urge to laugh with him.

“Let’s go,” Grey said.

After a parting kiss on his cheek from Persephone, the five of them stood in a circle in front of her house, hands clasped tightly. “Home.”

Just the one word from Grey and they disappeared. Rowan had heard of others getting violently ill from the trip. Still others indicated teleportation to be a frightening practice. But she’d always loved the sensation. Instead of nausea or terror, Rowan found the experience fascinating.

They didn’t appear to be moving. Rather, the five of them stayed still while the world whooshed by in a silent blur of colors. Here in the mountains, shades of greens and browns and grays, the white of the snow with the blue of the skies overhead streaked with white from the clouds, surrounded her.

In moments they arrived in the front yard of Greyson’s home. The trees and brown winter grass around them flattened for a moment beneath the gust of wind generated by their arrival. Rowan released her grip on Chloe and Lachlyn and turned to head inside.

“Have you teleported often?” Grey asked.

“Um—” She hesitated to answer. How rare was teleportation anyway? Did most witches do it a lot? “Not often,” she hazarded. “But I do enjoy it.”

Interest lingered in his dark eyes as he walked beside her. “Oh? Most find it disconcerting. What do you enjoy?”

Had that been the wrong answer? Too late to change it now. “It’s like the universe comes to you, and I love all the colors. I imagine setting up a room of Monet paintings and then spinning in circles might have the same effect.”

“I’ve never heard that description, but I do see what you mean.”

“Do you like it?” Curiosity always had been a weakness of hers. Grey was quickly becoming another weakness.

As he unlocked the door, he flicked her a glance she couldn’t interpret. “I do.”

He let them inside, then promptly disappeared into his office. She frowned after his departing form. What had she said wrong this time?

It doesn’t matter. Distance is what you wanted.

She gave herself a shake. As long as he believed her story, his feelings about her, one way or another, should make no difference. The more important question at this moment was how she was going to find time to get away today. She needed to talk to the hummingbird.

Normally, she’d take her Sunday to disappear for a bit, but this weekend, the triplets were staying home for once. Grey had already asked her to stick around, saying he’d give her both Saturday and Sunday off the following weekend. She couldn’t wait that long.

Danger is coming, the hummingbird had said. Had the witches discovered her, and Grey played it cool? Or did a different danger lurk in the woods?