Page 72 of Witches of Dubious Origin
I didn’t want to scare the raven, but the need to connect to another being was so strong that before I could overthink it, I reached out to stroke his feathers. I expected him to peck me and launch himself off the roof. Instead, he leaned morefirmly into me while I rested my hand on his back, the silky softness of his feathers beneath my fingers the only thing locking me into this moment.
“I’m sorry I described you as pesky to my coworkers,” I apologized, remembering my conversation with Tariq, Miles, and Jasper on the rooftop of the Museum of Literature. “You’re not. In fact, you’re really very lovely.”
The raven ruffled his feathers and preened his outer wing a bit while still leaning into me. We sat on the roof ledge like that for a very long time.
• • •
The hot shower I took might have been the best of my entire life. By the time I’d left the roof, I couldn’t feel my fingers or my nose. When I’d stood, my new friend had flown off into the night and I’d wondered if and when I’d see him again. I felt oddly certain that I would and I took comfort in that.
The clothes Olive had managed to acquire were actually very comfortable, even if they were the top and bottom of a tracksuit in an eye-watering shade of orange. I felt like a traffic cone. I wondered if Jasper had fared as well or worse. My curiosity and hunger propelled me downstairs to the main room.
Jasper, Eloise, and Olive were seated at the dining table and I could see they were in a video conference on Olive’s laptop with Claire, Miles, and Tariq. Claire paused whatever she was saying to greet me.
“Zoe, good to see you,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” I winced, as my throat hurt when I spoke.
“Jasper told us what happened.” Claire shook her head. “I would appreciate it if you’d see a doctor.”
“Oh, no, that’s not necessary.” I pointed to my neck. “It looks worse than it is.”
Claire didn’t look convinced, but Olive took me at my word, which I appreciated.
“You look like hell, but you’ll live. Eat.” Olive nodded to me.
Jasper handed me a plate and I noted his tracksuit was a blistering shade of neon green. His gaze took in my suit and we shared chagrined expressions.
“If you say this is my color, I’ll never forgive you,” he said.
My lips twitched. “Same.” His returning smile made a warmth unfurl inside me. At least I wasn’t alone in this fashion catastrophe.
I perused the options on the loaded food cart while listening to the others talk. I chose a piece of cake. In my defense, it was coconut cake. Coconut was a fruit, so that made it practically a fruit salad.
“We have no idea who activated Moran,” Miles said. He sounded exasperated. I glanced at the laptop screen as I took my seat and noted that his customary tufts of hair were higher than usual, as if he’d been running his fingers through them repeatedly.
“I checked the whereabouts of every known necromancer in the area and none of them was anywhere near Mystwood Manor,” Tariq said. “Whoever brought Moran back is unknown to us.”
“Is there any way to make them known?” Jasper asked. He was working his way through a plate of fish and chips, which looked excellent but wasn’t what my body was craving.
“We’re working on it,” Miles said.
“I don’t like it,” Claire said. “If we don’t know who it is, we can’t protect you. I think you need to come back to New York.”
I picked up my fork and went to stab a mouthful of cake. The tines hit the granite tabletop with a plink. Olive had whisked away the slice of cake and was shoving a plate of salad in its place, all while keeping her gaze on the laptop.
“Hey!”
“You can’t fuel your potential with fat and sugar,” Olive said. “Salad first, cake later.”
“That’s bullsh—” I began, but her scarred eyebrow went up and I took it as the warning it was. I stabbed a spinach leaf and stuffed it in my mouth to keep myself from saying anything else.
It occurred to me that Olive was even worse than Agatha. At least I wasn’t afraid Agatha would turn me into a toadstool or a chair if I displeased her. I worked on the salad, eyeing the thick slice of cake and counting the seconds until it was mine.
“We’re not coming back,” Olive said. “Not right away. Instead, we’re taking the ferry out to Hagshill Isle, off the coast of Rhode Island. It’s where Toni Donadieu raised her daughter, Juliet. Eloise thinks someone there might remember something about Toni or Juliet.”
That did it. I abandoned my salad and reached for the cake. I needed the decadent buttercream to soothe my jagged nerves. I hadn’t been out to Hagshill Isle since the night my mother and I had fled after the terrible fight she’d had with Mamie.
I bit into the cake, ignoring Olive’s exasperated glower.
