Page 18 of Her Dreadful Will
“Of course.” Soleil said it sweetly, but her heart twinged at the mention of Tarek’s fiancé. “What else have you been up to?”
She regretted asking the question almost instantly, because it preceded twenty straight minutes of Tarek flooding her ears with tales of London, and the new “flat” he and Devon had “let,” and the concerts and plays they had attended, and the circles of “mates” they’d been forming. Clearly he was working hard to adopt the local lingo and fit in with Devon’s friends.
Finally, after a lengthy description of the off-beat poetry night Devon had participated in, Tarek said, “I also wanted to circle back to you about that ring you found—the one from the flea market.”
Soleil tensed at the memory. “Were you able to find out anything about it? I know photos aren’t the best reference point, but I thought if anyone could successfully research the thing, it would be you. Your lexical powers are so damn versatile.”
Tarek reacted to the compliment as she’d known he would—by subtly preening. “My lexical powers are handy for many things. I’m happy to exercise them for you, chickadee.”
Soleil frowned at the nickname. She had never liked it, despite his claim that it referred to their comparative sizes—his six-foot-four stature and her five feet and six inches. “So you found something?” she said crisply.
“There’s a sketch in the Institute’s digital archives of the French witch Catherine Monvoisin wearing an identical ring,” Tarek told her. “La Voisin was burned for witchcraft in 1680. If that ring is authentic, it’s an important piece of our history, a valuable artifact. You should surrender it to the Eldritch Convocation.”
“But—I bought it.”
“Illegally, right? Did you ask the seller if they were licensed to deal in magical artifacts?”
“No...”
“Didn’t think so. You really need to be less careless, chickadee. And unfortunately, with a piece of this historical significance, you’ll need to send it in. I’ve already spoken with Megara Bonham about it. She’s a Witchlord living here in London, and we’ve become friends. She’ll be expecting a parcel from you. I’ll text you the address.”
Soleil noted the pride in his voice—the significant pause following his words. He expected her to comment on his connection to an actual Witchlord. He wanted her to be impressed. Ever since she’d known him he had been like this—craving attention and connection with those who were higher ranked, whether at the university or through the Institute.
“So I have to give up the ring?” she said. “I don’t have a choice?”
“Afraid not. Promise me you’ll send it right away. The ring is too valuable to be floating around the American South. Ugh. I don’t understand why you chose to live down there, with all the rednecks and white supremacists.”
“Not everyone is like that,” she said. “You’d be surprised. You should come for a visit sometime—you and Devon,” she added as an afterthought.
“London is much more our speed. You’re coming for the wedding, of course?”
“I will certainly try. Halloween, right?”
“Yes. Send in your RSVP, would you, chickadee? Devon hates it when people don’t RSVP.”
“I will.”
“Promise you’ll send La Voisin’s ring to the Convocation. I’ll text you the address to use. Promise me, Soleil.”
Again with that melty chocolate voice. Somehow it didn’t have quite the same effect on her this time. “Sure. I’ll send it.”
“I knew I could count on you. Cheers!”
Only after Tarek had hung up did Soleil realize he hadn’t asked her a single question about her work, or how she was. Whether she was okay, whether she was lonely, scared, or overwhelmed. But that was Tarek. Talkative, intelligent, handsome, and capable of unintentionally making himself the primary subject of every conversation, the admiration of every crowd, the center of every room.
Her phone jangled again, and Soleil groaned when she saw “Mom” on the screen.
Of course. Saturday night. Her parents were calling for the weekly check-in. Eight-something in the evening her time, nine-something the next morning in Japan.
“Hey Mom.”
“Bébé? Is that you? Why is there no video?”
Because I look like death. “Weird connection issue, Mom. Don’t worry about it, we’ll just do audio, okay?”
“But I wanted to see my baby girl’s face! Can you use your laptop?”
“It’s not charged,” Soleil lied. “Mom, seriously, please. Just tell me how your visit to Kiyomizu-dera went.”
