Page 66 of With This Witch
“I’m sorry, this is completely unexpected.” Petra shakes her head, still confused. “Why should we trust you?”
“Because I know more about his going-ons than you could ever imagine. He selected me for a reason—more my family than me—but he doesn’t know that I don’t want this. I’ve never wanted to be the Premier Witch. I know Grog’s hands are dirty, and I know how to settle all this”—she waves her hand in the air—“so that you two can go about your lives again as if no one cares. Because, frankly, we don’t.”
Lachlan laughs humorlessly. “Give us a minute to chat, please,” he says to Sloan before turning to Petra, grasping her hand, and attempting to move her away so they can talk in peace.
“No need. Here’s my number.” She hands them a business card with her details. “Send me a text when you decide to get your heads out of your asses. And don’t worry, that card has been charmed, so no one will know we are working together.” Sloan spins on her pointed red heel, attempting to walk away before remembering where she is. “Would you be so kind as to send me back?”
Lachlan smirks before snapping his fingers and sending her back into the abyss.
Petra and Lachlan remain in the center of the room for a minute as they process what happened.
“I think we need to go for drinks and figure out what we want to do,” Lachlan eventually suggests.
“Lach, it’s not even nine a.m.,” she reminds him as frenzied laughter bubbles up from her chest. She covers her mouth in surprise.
“Right. Breakfast then?”
“Sounds lovely.”
They turn and exit the room, fingers intertwined, with an almost imperceptible pep in their step and the slightest ray of hope blossoming in his chest as he leads her into his realm.
Maybe they could fix this after all.
* * *
They spend the rest of the morning at Enchanted Garden of Eve, one of Lachlan’s favorite diners in the underworld. The interior appears just as one would anticipate when they hear witches run it. The tables and chairs are old, dark stained wood, with loosely draped fabric framing windows, creating a welcoming contrast of airiness to the heavy feeling of the wood furniture. Tincture bottles filled with various spices appear on floating shelves throughout the space, and hand-drawn chalkboard signs list the menu items by the cash register. But best of all, regardless of the time of day, a mystical light streams in through the front door and windows in perfect beams, highlighting the golden accents throughout so that no matter where you look, you are greeted by the “spark of life,” or so the owners say.
Much to the surprise of others, the underworld isn’t a place filled with only death and darkness. Life exists here, too. It can prosper here. While many inhabitants here have arrived due to punishment, a not-insignificant portion of the population chooses to live here. They select the underworld for its warmth and opportunities for growth; because so few wish to venture here, opportunities abound. The land is lush and fruitful, and it is cherished for all that it provides.
“So what do we think about Sloan?” Petra asks, poking at her salad.
“I think she can be a bit standoffish, but she’s got potential.”
“Ha, ha,” Petra replies dryly.
Lachlan huffs a short laugh, pleased with himself, even if Petra isn’t. “I think it’s worth seeing what she has to say. We don’t really have much else to go with right now, and she clearly wants to help—though only the Goddess knows why.”
Petra hesitates. “I don’t know if I trust her, but okay. We can see what she has to say. However, I am curious about what she said—that she never wanted this. Why go through all this if she didn’t want to be Premier Witch?”
Lachlan nods as he leans back in his seat. “I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe her family was pressuring her?”
Petra picks up her napkin and starts picking it apart, her telltale sign that there’s something on her mind that she’s afraid to say. Rather than force her, he sits quietly, giving her time to work up to it. Knowing her as he does, and after being married and living together for a while, he knows that she will get there when she’s ready. He will wait for her. For as long as she needs.
As their plates are taken away and their coffee is refilled, she finally opens up. “Can we talk about something? About us?” she asks, almost at a whisper, as if she’s afraid someone will stop them.
“Absolutely. What’s on your mind?”
“I want to preface this by saying I’m glad we’re working together on this, but I’m struggling with what happened between us last week. The blackout shadows, the running off. The not-communicating,” she says.
Lachlan lets out a long breath. “I know. I’m sorry. I let my anger get the best of me, and then I was too ashamed to come back right away.”
“I know I am at fault too. Please don’t think I’m blaming you. I didn’t reach out to try and fix it, and instead I left you a cowardly note.”
He reaches out a hand to touch hers but stops himself and instead rests it in front of himself. He wants to give her the chance to decide where they stand and how much contact she is willing to accept. “I think we both could have done better. I’m sorry I was an ass and left when you were upset, and that I scared you in the process. How about going forward we can take the moment away if needed but then we come back and talk about whatever is bugging us?”
“I think that sounds like a good plan. And no more dramatic exits? From either of us?” Her eyes find his, and he feels himself falling into them, unable to pull himself away. “What do you think? Does that sound okay?” she asks, shaking him out of his stupor.
“Yes. No more dramatic exits. We always come back to each other.”
