Chapter
One
I got your letter.
Blinking, I look at the woman before me. She introduced herself as Ruby, and she looks as real as can be standing here on my front porch. Still, I can’t be too sure after a demon made me hallucinate and go crazy only a few weeks ago.
“That…that’s impossible,” I say, breath leaving in a huff. Slowly, I shake my head back and forth, looking from Ruby’s brown eyes to the crumpled paper in her hand. She smoothed it out the best she could and folded it in half. I can see my messy handwriting sprawling across the page.
It is my letter—the one I burned.
Ruby gets an amused look on her face and tips her head slightly to the side. “Were you expecting someone else?”
“I, um, I…” Inching back, my mind races with what to do. If this woman is a demon, she’d have charged in after me by now, right? There’s still too much light out for her to be a vampire, and she has my letter. “I didn’t expect anyone,” I finally say. “I burned it because I thought it was stupid.”
Ruby holds my gaze for a moment as if she’s trying to get a read on me, too. Then she looks at the letter in her hand. “When you said you were new, you really meant it.” She looks back at me with kind eyes. “This is Estelle Fowler’s house, and judging by your red hair, you’re her…not daughter…niece?”
My heart jumps to my throat. She knows Aunt Estelle. “Great niece, technically.”
“Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?”
“Estelle said the magic in her family line ended with her, but that’s not the case, is it?”
“It’s a funny story.” I’m still holding onto the doorknob and the door is only open halfway. I’m fully aware of how I give people the benefit of the doubt and how I want to see the good in everything. I know my desperation to find out info about my past can cloud my judgment, but I’m not getting any bad vibes from Ruby. “I’m sorry, I…I don’t understand how you got that letter. I watched it burn.”
“You put it in a fireplace, right?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s still spelled, then,” she says, and my blank stare is enough to let her know I have no fucking idea what’s going on. “It’s how we send messages back and forth from our houses to the…how much do you know?”
I laugh. “I thought I was figuring things out, but, um, now I’m questioning everything. I know my great-aunt taught at Grim Gate Academy, right?” I add, suddenly unsure.
“Right. And her old office is mine now, which explains why your fireplace is spelled to automatically send stuff to her office.”
“Oh.” I blink again, still staring at Ruby. “I’m sorry, I’m just…I’m really shocked right now. I had no idea spelled fireplaces were a thing. Do you…do you want to come inside?”
“Sure.”
I step back and let Ruby in and suddenly can’t remember what to do when a guest comes over. After a few awkward seconds, I shake myself. “Would you like a drink or anything?”
“I’m good, but it looks like you might need one.” Her lips curve into a smile and I laugh, feeling a bit of relief wash over me.
“Yeah. I’ve been needing one a lot recently, it seems.” Raking my fingers through my wet hair, I lead her into the kitchen and get a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge. I’m not thirsty, but I need something to do with my hands.
“In your letter…,” Ruby starts, sitting at the kitchen table. I hardly remember what I wrote and I’m certain I’m going to cringe. “You say you’ve never met another witch from the coven. What about your aunt?”
“You knew her?” I ask again, needing to be sure.
“I did. She was one of my professors when I was a student at the academy. I believe she retired maybe ten years ago, right?”
“You would know better than I would.” I pull two glasses down from the cabinet. “She took all my memories that have anything to do with her or magic.”
Ruby gapes at me for a second. “That sounds like something she’d do.”
“I’m starting to think she gave off that vibe.” I nervously turn my glass around on the table.
“I didn’t know her well,” Ruby said thoughtfully, “She was a member of the coven, my professor, and then for maybe two or three years, a colleague.”
“You’re a professor at the Academy?” I rush out, knowing her outfit looked familiar. The style hasn’t changed much over the years. The knee-length black skirt and white, collared shirt are classic. Her coat, though, looks more old-fashioned, hanging loose around her arms, buttoned at the neck with a red gemstone brooch. She takes it off and sits at the table across from me.
“I am.”
“What do you teach?” I’m getting off track, I know, but I don’t care.