Page 44 of Vintage

I felt my jaw drop in disbelief.

My eyes widened as I stared at Reginald across from me, who raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. He seemed to be silently questioning what had just happened.

"Oh, that must have caught you off guard. Amir was just as shocked when I told him about my wife after I submitted a commission request shortly after her passing."

"I see... I have one final question... Can you tell me how Amir’s cousin died?" I couldn’t shake the curiosity.

If Willow was Amir’s sister-in-law, did his cousin live with his grandparents and marry in Willow Crest? Why had I never heard of this cousin before?

My gaze fell on the ring resting on the table, its metal glinting in the light, clouding my thoughts.

"He was murdered in their bed on their first night in Nevada. According to Willow, someone broke in, stole money, and killed her husband while she was in the shower."

I swallowed hard. Everything felt utterly confusing to me. "I get it. I appreciate all the details you've shared. I would also be grateful if you could send me a picture of your wife." I reiterated, more for my own reassurance, as the weight of acceptance hung over me like a double-edged sword.

"Of course. I hope we can meet when Amir finally decides to finish and deliver the sculpture."

I said my goodbyes and ended the call, and almost immediately, my phone buzzed with a new message.

I opened it cautiously, and there were those grey eyes looking back at me.

Chapter Eighteen

The night air was thick with mist, a chill resting on my spine as I walked through the old, narrow streets, feeling an eerie presence at my back. The sound of my footsteps echoed softly, a rhythmic tap on the cobblestones that was oddly calming, yet unsettling. Ahead of me stood a girl. I didn’t know her aside from the little note Polly shoved in my hands at the bakery, but something about her presence drew me in, like a thread tugging at my heart. Like she was my answer to the truth.

Her pale skin almost glowed in the dim light of the street lights, her long, raven-black hair falling in waves around her shoulders. She was waiting for me, as if she knew I would come.

I found myself here not by choice, but out of necessity, as she represented my last chance to uncover the answers I desperately sought. She had to know everything. Polly insisted that I needed to meet this girl, but considering her packed schedule and how overwhelmed she sounded during our call, I realized my only option was to come to her in person to finally get the clarity I needed.

"Amery," she said my name softly, with a peculiar knowing in her voice, her gaze fixing on me with a certain intensity. "I’ve been waiting for you."

I stopped in my tracks, a chill crawling down my spine. "Hi…?"

"My name is Abella," she replied, a faint smile curving her lips. "And I have something to show you. Polly filled me in a little about your predicament."

“She told me about you.” I confessed, trying to pass on my awkward smile.

With a nod, she signaled for me to come along, and I did, climbing the stairs with her to her little apartment above the convenience store. "Come on in," she welcomed me, and I entered.

We headed over to the small sofa, where I settled in as she went into her room and emerged with a set of files and paper. "I can’t give you a lot of my time, but I’ll do my utmost to share whatever information I have." She stepped forward, her hands gently unfurling a piece of old parchment—frayed at the edges, stained with age.

She held the map out to me. My fingers brushed against the paper, and a strange sensation fluttered in my chest. This map wasn’t just a map. It felt like it held a secret, a mystery I wasn’t ready to uncover but couldn’t resist.

"Do you know the story of Willow Crest?" Abella asked, her voice quiet, as if the words themselves carried weight. "How it all began."

I shook my head, unsure of why the mention of the name Willow had anything to do with this town, and why it caused a knot to form in my stomach. But there was no turning back. Not now.

Abella nodded, the flickering lantern light casting shadows on her face. "There used to be a girl named Willow who owned this town—owned it, in a way. People feared her, Amery. They called her a witch." She paused, her eyes darkening, then leaned closer. "But that’s not the whole story. Not the real story."

The mention of the wordWitchsent a tremor through me. It was a word I had heard before, whispered by strangers who avoided looking me in the eyeafter Willow arrived in this town, and friends who passed it on as a joke. I held my breath as Abella continued.

"Willow was beautiful," she said, her voice soft but filled with an intensity that made me hang on every word. "She had silver eyes, the kind that seemed to see through you. And her hair was brown—like the color of rich earth after rain. She was kind, a healer. People loved her. She cared for them, nursed them back to health when they were sick or wounded. But there was one thing she wouldn’t do. To give her body or to use her beauty. She refused the town lord’s hand in marriage."

My stomach twisted. I knew where this was going. The town’s lord, the same man in the history of Willow Crest, who had made countless advances toward women of beauty, who had killed husbands, fathers and brothers, just to kidnap women for his sickly desire, trying to use his influence to manipulate anyone and everything.

Abella’s eyes met mine, a knowing glint flashing in them. "Willow wouldn’t marry him. She couldn’t be bought. She loved her freedom, loved her work. But when she turned him down, rumors started. They said she was a witch. They called her dark, twisted names, as if they had to find some reason to explain her beauty and her power over them."

I could hear the anger in her voice, the way the injustice of it still lingered. It mirrored something inside of me, a feeling I couldn’t quite name, but it gnawed at me.

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