Page 33 of Who Owns You?

“The humidity is no joke,” I grumble as I look at the screen.

Eloise is calling.

“Son of a witch,” I chuckle. “Hello?”

“Daughter of a witch, actually,” she says around a yawn. “I was about to go to sleep with my wife when she kept divining that someone was in desperate need of a chat, and since everyone else in town knows that, after seven p.m., I spend time with my wife, I knew it must be you.” She sounds exasperated, and I can’t blame her.

I wasted the day with useless research when I should have just come to her instead of tiptoeing around it.

“I’m really sorry.”

“No, that’s not necessary, we’re practically coven—” Another yawn steals the end of her words. “Just tell me what I can help you with so I can get some rest.”

“Did I wake you?” I ask softly, biting at my nails.

“No, I was halfway to it on my wife’s lap, but you caught us just in time. Now, enough of the waste-of-time questions. What do you really want to know?” Eloise asks, leaning into the word “want.”

I swallow, lick my lips, bite at my nails, and think.

What’s the real question I want to ask?

“It doesn’t need to be ‘What is the answer to the universe’—” She yawns again. “Maybe start with how you’re a witch?”

“How am I a witch?” I squeak.

“Well, when a mommy witch and a daddy— Ouch, Dara, why did you whack me?” Eloise hisses softly.

“Stop being so grumpy. Answer the confused girl’s questions, and be nice,” an unfamiliar voice, who can only be Dara, says down the line.

“I’m always nice,” Eloise grumbles. “Alright, you’re a witch because one or both of your parents were witches. You need direct blood connection to inherit a line of magic. That or there has to be a binding contract signed by a divine body.”

“And the castle? Does the bloodline come from Ireland? My aunt? What is a divine body?”

“Those are more nuanced questions, if I’m honest. I believe that the person who left you with the deed was in the same coven as your parents rather than a blood relation,” she explains, her tone bordering on that you would use with a toddler. “As for divine bodies, think of it like this: from heaven, from hell, from the place in between that we cannot access without magic and a death wish.”

“Got it.” It’s simple enough, even if it’s scary as hell. “So I have magic?”

“You do indeed. My coven might be small”—I can hear a smile in her voice—“but I’ve got an eye for this stuff. You might be powerful, or you might have some eyes on you. Divine beings are right nosy bastards.” She snickers.

There’s a softthudbefore Eloise laughs.

“A pillow, love, really?”

“Yes, hurry up. I’m your wife, and I desire snuggles.”

Shuffling sounds over the line before their words become more muffled.

Biting my lip, I do my best to focus on other things. Like the swell of anxiety clawing its way up from the cheeks of my ass to the back of my throat. I want to vomit, and I want to chew my nails; I want to run away and scream, but I’ve got nowhere to go in Ireland but here.

“Excuse us, Charlotte. Eloise is being a tosser,” Dara says with a lower chuckle over the phone.

Her voice is rich like a full-bodied wine, with a bite of sweetness.

“It’s OK. I didn’t realize you guys turn in so early. I’m a city girl who’s used to insomnia,” I say with a nervous laugh.

“What is your next question? I know a good deal about all this myself,” she says, her voice laced with tenderness and an understanding of my confusion and hurt.

“Did you find out you were a witch later in your life too?” The question is barely a whisper. I’m surprised my phone even picks it up.

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