Page 24 of Poison Nights & Twilight Alchemy

“Do you believe in witches now that you know I’m one?”

“You’ve opened my eyes to magic.” Reed trailed a forefinger across his lower lip, his smile crooked in a way that made Dulce avert her stare. “You pulled off looking like your husband well. At least from the glimpse I saw of his bloody corpse.”

“Lumpish pignut is the preferred term,” she clarified. “Now, have you seen enough that you’ll accompany me to Alder Bay, or do you need more proof of magic?”

Reed contemplated the ceiling, the light from the window falling across his smooth neck, and she turned her gaze away once again. “In addition to payment,” he said finally. “I want you to teach me how to alter my looks the way you did.”

Dulce grinned. “Then we have a deal, Mr. Hawthorne.”

CHAPTER TEN

REED

Reed lay on a bed soft as clouds and thought about La Bisou Morte. How dangerouswasshe, really?

Dangerous enough to destroy the air, water, and land, according to Dulce.

But Dulce was also a witch, one who could alter her appearance if she wished, considerably dangerous herself.

Before today, if he’d given witches any thought at all, he would’ve said they were fabrications used to scare their children into behaving. Clearly, he knew very little of the world of magic.

All right, he knew nothing of it.

Which begged the question, how useful could hepossibly be to the heiress? Could an ignorant Glen-dwelling pauper whose only talents lay in beating a man to a bloody pulp really help to save the world?

“Not very fobbing likely,” he muttered. “But you’ve got nowhere else to go anyway, have you?”

This sudden willingness to put your life in danger couldn’t have anything to do with a certain pair of beautiful brown eyes, now, could it?

Reed waved the thought away like an irritating insect and ate the last piece of a chestnut apple pie Vesta had left on a tray for him. Its crust melted in a way that proved butter had been involved, and lots of it.

He’d had the first hot bath of his life. The first new clothing he’d ever donned. The first lambswool slippers he’d seen currently covered his feet. Though he wondered who’d worn them before him. Mr. Lumpish Pignut, no doubt.

Before Dulce could begin her quest to save the world from La Bisou Morte’s corrupt spell, there was much work to be done. And most of it—he was told—did not require his presence.

First, the deceased husband would need to be seen publicly leaving town. Reed volunteered to help pack his things, but Vesta shooed him out of the room, insisting most of Cornelius’s belongings were already packed, given that he’d only resided in the manor for a few days before the fool impaled himself. If Cornelius were still alive, Reed would’ve been hard-pressed not to push the deceptive toad off the roof himself, something he deserved after trying to murder Dulce.

Reed had offered to drive the carriage out of town—eager to try out a disguise—but Sylvan had lookeddisappointed in his cognitive skills.

“I am known around Moonglade to drive this carriage,” he’d informed Reed. “Actions that divert from the norm will only garner unwanted attention.”

“Like the lady of the housedyingon her wedding night?” Reed pointed out. “I’d say that diverted pretty significantly from the norm.”

Sylvan scowled at him as he piled more of Cornelius’s trunks onto the carriage.

“You can make yourself useful by bathing,” he’d grumbled as he returned inside. “You smell of swamp gasses.”

“Thank you,” Reed called after him with an exaggerated bow. “That was exactly my intention.”

If he had known bathing could be such a phenomenal joy, Reed wouldn’t have bothered attempting to be useful at all. The tub in his suite was the size of his and Philip’s entire house, the water miraculously hot, the rosemary, lemon balm, and calendula soaps leaving his skin soft as petals. If it hadn’t been for his hunger—and the knowledge that Vesta had delivered a meal to his room—Reed might’ve stayed in the bath for hours.

The bed of clouds, his entire body cleaner than he had ever felt in his life, his stomach full beyond his imagining, Reed slept.

By the time he awoke, the sun had set, its fading light casting deep shadows across the luxurious room, the gold filigree along the ceiling like the teeth of some giant beast in the gathering darkness.

At the sound of horses pulling a carriage along the drive beneath his window, Reed sat, wrapping his freshly washed cloak around his shoulders, and went to meetDulce.

He found only Sylvan driving an unpainted carriage led by a pack mule and a stranger on a massive Clydesdale horse.

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