Page 63 of The Witch and The Cowboy

As my last defiance of my mother’s wishes, tears rolled down my cheeks. I read more, even though part of me wanted to stop. My world was about to change yet again—I could feel it.

I have to write this cleverly for I can’t reveal powerful truths to clouded minds. Still, I offer this warning—you must trust your foes and not your friends. Trust the one you’d rather not, for in his history lies answers.

And Freya darling, do not forget to keep your chin up.

With all my love,

Sybil

“What in all the realms does this mean, Mother?” I snapped at the letter.

My mind raced. I hadn’t trusted my friends—that was why I’d been on the run all week.

Because of Walker.

It was his history I needed to learn. He was from a family of witch hunters after all. I had wondered about his true heritage ever since discovering that Cadence was a witch. Not to mention, I still didn’t understand his involvement in Mom’s death. Her blood stained his jacket, but I knew in my bones he hadn’t been the one to end her.

I needed to unravel Walker’s history, but, even if I did, I was still left with a slew of questions.

Mom and I had both been wary of some coven members before her death. Namely, the Elders. I’d practically blamed their inaction for her murder.

Maybe they’re not the problem.

Perhaps, they were foes who were actually friends.

“But who are the true betrayers?” I wondered out loud.

I didn’t have many real friends to choose from. Arion was my familiar—he couldn’t do such a thing. We were magic-bound. I wasn’t particularly close to any of my peers. Thea was my friend, but I didn’t trust her enough not to suspect her. The werewolves were innocent.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

It couldn’t be Josephine.

But the letter was placed in a jar of flowers—surrounded by earth magic.

“Freya,” Walker said from behind me. I glanced at him. He’d put on his jacket, boots, and hat. “You need any help? Cadence is cleaning herself up, but she already informed me she’s practically starving.”

I quickly wiped the tears from my face. I couldn’t find the energy to lie so I said nothing. Something was still amiss in the letter.

Keep your chin up. My mother never spoke in clichés.

“Keep your chin up,” I whispered.

“What?” Walker asked.

I lifted my chin and stared at the wood-paneled ceiling.

Each panel was in perfect condition, thanks to the magic that coated every inch of the cottage. I searched and searched the panels for any sort of discrepancy.

A shiny cobweb grew in the corner of the room, where the ceiling met the wall.

Impossible.

All insects were magically repelled from dwelling inside the cottage, yet there it grew. Silky strands stretched across the corner of the space. A black widow trailed over the web. Her large, dark body moved with unnatural grace, and the red spot on her stomach gleamed like a ruby.

“Shit,” Walker said.

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