Page 47 of The Witch and His Crow

Time passed strangely here. It was as if the castle had its own time zone, where the days were shorter and the nights longer. I felt as though we’d been awake for hardly any time at all before dark clouds rode in on a cold wind, blanketing the sky in the impending cloak of early evening. Rain was falling—not the heavy type, but the pinpricks that soaked through clothes and encouraged a chilly ache into bones. It kept us inside the castle, trying to locate Jordan whilst staying close to the warmth of the newly lit hearths.

Who’d lit the fires was beyond me. Although maybe it was more proof that perhaps old magic did linger here.

Once the rain eased a little, we prepared to leave the castle’s warmer boundaries for the outside. The grounds were extensive, proof of which came from just looking out a window. Jordan could’ve been anywhere, but time was running out. Evening was close. If we didn’t locate him before my meeting, then we’d be onto plan two.

Romy torturing the truth out of Arwyn. Andthatwas certainly not a way to make allies in this competition.

We were just leaving the grand front doors when a figure came running in from the outside. There was no denying the stark white hair and tall-yet-wiry stature of Salem Tanner.

He almost ran directly into me, his hands planted in his pockets.

‘Hello, again.’ He stopped, rain falling down his twisted face.

Romy’s eyes flashed, ready to protect me from an enemy. I had to lift a hand to stop her. ‘It’s okay, Romy. Salem is a…’

A what?

He voiced the same question aloud. ‘Oh, I’d love to hear this.’

‘A friend, I think,’ I said, fighting the blush creeping up my neck. Salem didn’t take his eye off me, not once.

‘Salem,’ Romy repeated the name as if she was putting two and two together. ‘Salem Tanner?’

‘The one and only,’ he replied, still without looking at her. His eyes were fixed on me.

Romy’s silence proved that she’d worked out exactly where she remembered the name from. It was written on the letter planted in her mother’s grimoire.

‘Does my reputation precede me?’ he asked, filling the silence.

‘It does,’ I said. ‘Seems like something we have in common.’

‘I have no doubt, given the chance to properly catch up, we’d find a lot more in common, Hector.’

His comment was undeniably a hint towards our previous conversation. ‘When I’m ready, I will.’

‘Don’t give me false hope,’ Salem pouted, sticking his lower lip out, making the scar down the side of his face pull the skin taut.

There was an uncomfortable pang in my chest. I looked to Romy for silent approval for what I was about to say. Of course, she couldn’t read my mind like Caym could, but there wassomething knowing in her chestnut eyes that told me I had her permission.

‘Will you meet me, later?’ I asked.

Two men in one night—back home I’d consider this a win-win.

‘I’d love nothing more.’ Salem stepped in close, bringing with him the scent of copper. The harsh scent was undeniable. Not even the rain could dispel it.

‘Are you hurt?’ I asked, unable to stop myself. My eyes traced his body, looking for a sign of a wound but finding nothing.

‘Far from it.’ Salem smiled. ‘I’ll go and freshen up though, for later. You’re in the attic floor of the west wing, right? I’ll collect you.’

Discomfort at the fact that he knew where we slept came on sudden and fast. ‘How do you know?’

He leaned in, the smell of blood intensifying. ‘When it comes to you, Hector, I like to consider myself well informed.’

Noticing my discomfort, Romy put a hand on my back and guided me away. ‘We should go, before the rain picks up.’

‘Yes,’ I said, hating how meek my voice sounded. ‘See you later, Salem.’

He didn’t reply as we left the castle. But he stood and watched as Romy guided us outside to wet, muddied ground.

---