Page 52 of Witches of Dubious Origin
When Jasper joined us and explained the magic he’d used to trap the Viking, Agatha released a sigh and reached out to hug me. My second hug of the day when I usually got one hug per year from Agatha on my birthday. I wasn’t sure what to do with this overabundance of affection.
When Agatha released me, she cupped my face in her hands and said, “I don’t care about the Lively tomb. I’m just glad you’re all right.”
That made my throat tight and my eyes sting. I nodded,incapable of speaking, and disappeared into my room with my bag of stuff. I unpacked the grimoire and put it in the top drawer of the dresser on the far side of the room from my bed. When I closed the drawer, I got the feeling it was relieved to be safe. Maybe that was just me.
Shockingly, I slept like the dead—for lack of a better description. I had no dreams that I remembered, and when I awoke, the sun was already shining and the day was that clear, crisp cold that was particular to early November in New England. Most of the leaves had fallen and the bare limbs of the trees looked stark against the vibrant blue of the sky.
I dressed in jeans, lace-up brown boots, and a pale pink cashmere turtleneck sweater. I fastened my thick honey-brown hair in a ponytail at the crown of my head, letting the shorter wisps fall around my face, softening the severity of the hairstyle. With a need to feel a semblance of control, I swiped on some mascara and lip gloss. I wasn’t a big one for makeup, but even I knew it gave a woman a smidge of confidence when she wasn’t feeling her strongest, and that was certainly me today.
I hurried downstairs, stepping around the Lively family odds and ends that filled the house, and strode for the coffeepot in the kitchen, which was by far my favorite room in Agatha’s house. It was the only clutter-free space, because it was Agatha’s primary area for practicing her kitchen witch skills.
The quartz counters were a soft white with deep veins of gray. The cupboards were also white and the appliances steel. The flooring was a waterproof, scratchproof, luxury type of vinyl made to look like planks of gray-and-cream wood that would likely outlast us all.
I pushed the swinging door open and abruptly came to a stop. Seated at the large dining table were Olive and Miles. Jasper was leaning against the deep steel sink and Agatha was at the stove, whipping up fluffy blueberry pancakes and crispy bacon.
“Good morning, Zoe.” Miles popped up from his seat and came at me with his hands outstretched. He clasped my fingers in his and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “We were just discussing the events of last night.”
I glanced past him at Olive, who was sipping her coffee, looking bored. Really? An undead Viking was boring? I shuddered to think what she might consider exciting.
“I’m sorry about bringing forth an undead Viking,” I said.
Olive frowned. The eyebrow with the scar lifted ever so slightly. “How exactly do you believe you managed that?”
“Eat first.” Agatha’s voice did not invite argument, and I thought she might be the only person alive who was not intimidated by Olive. She placed a plate of pancakes in front of me. “I know it’s not up to your usual nutritional standards, but today you need something more substantial than Rice Krispies Treats.”
“I’ll choke them down just for you.” I winked at her and Agatha nodded in satisfaction.
I poured a hearty amount of maple syrup over my pancakes and took a seat at the table. Jasper delivered a hot cup of coffee to me and my eyes met his for the briefest moment. I could have sworn I saw sympathy in his gaze. How mad was Olive going to be about having to deal with my undead Erik the Red?
I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”
I got through half of my short stack before Olive ran out of patience. “All right, you’ve had enough to take a break. Explain about raising the dead.”
I put down my fork and took a sip of the hot coffee. It washed the sticky syrup residue from my mouth and I dabbed my lips with my paper napkin. “Fine.” And then I explained everything from placing my hand on a random page of an old section of the grimoire to feeling a bond form between me and the book. Olive and Miles stared at me while I spoke as if trying to find any subtext that might exist. There wasn’t any. I was merely doling out the facts.
“That sounds very hypothetical,” Miles said.
“That’s all I have right now, a working hypothesis.” I shoved another bite of pancake into my mouth.
“But it’s predicated on the belief thatyouconjured the Viking,” he added.
“And?” I prodded.
“I don’t think you did,” Miles concluded.
17
I put my fork down and took another clarifying sip of coffee.
“I agree with Miles,” Olive chimed in.
No surprise there. Her opinion of me seemed to be one of barely concealed impatience. She found me tiresome and useless and had never made any secret of it.
“But I was bonding with the grimoire. I could feel it and I heard the same voices in my head that spoke to me in my dreams when it first arrived. It can’t be a coincidence that suddenly there was an outraged Viking on my porch,” I said. “Where else could he have come from?”
Olive rolled her eyes. “You seem to think you’re the only necromancer in the area.”
I stilled with my fork halfway to my mouth. I glanced at Jasper. He had told me there were others, but I decided to play dumb just to see what Olive and Miles said. “I’m not?”
