Page 13 of Witch's Moon
“Yeah,” he drawled, “she’s a real marshmallow. I can see that.” He took a swallow of coffee then put his mug down on the counter.
He was leaving. She should have been glad—she didn’t need him. She didn’t need anybody.
But she didn’t feel glad.
A hard lump formed in the pit of her stomach, her eyes ached, and she had to bite back the urge to beg him to stay. She didn’t know why. He’d made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her, and that was for the best. So instead, she lounged against the counter, sipped her coffee, and tried to appear nonchalant as he strode across the room.
Catrin put her own mug down and hurried after him. She took a card from her pocket and held it out.
“The house number. And my cell,” she said. “Call if you need anything.”
He took the card and shoved it in his own pocket without glancing down. At the door, he turned around and looked back at Regan.
“Just—” he paused, then shook his head. “Be careful and remember what I told you.”
The door closed behind him. Regan stood unmoving. She listened as the truck started up, and he drove away. For a moment, she couldn’t believe he was gone.
Catrin came up beside her, took Regan’s mug, and placed it on the counter, then put her arms around her and hugged her tight.
“Don’t worry,” Lola said from behind them. “He’ll be back.”
Regan pulled away and turned so she could see into her little sister’s eyes. “You’ve seen this?”
Lola shrugged. “Not as such.”
“Then he won’t be back. And you know what—that’s good, because Idon’t want him back, and I certainly don’t need him back.”
She took a deep breath. Time to try and sort out this mess. “Come on. Let’s go find a spell that will stop me from turning furry. I reckon we have ten days to do it in.”
Regan slammed the spell book closed and sat back in her chair, running a hand through her long hair. Her scalp hurt, and her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep.
“There’s nothing here,” she muttered. She thumped her fist down on top on the book. “How can there be nothing? It’s like they don’t exist.”
Over the past nine days, she had read every book in the library. She’d been expecting a simple “How to counteract a werewolf bite” sort of spell to jump out at her. But there was nothing.
She sprang to her feet, paced the room. Finally, she came to a halt by the window and stared out into the darkness. The night was cloudy, but as she watched, the wind blew the clouds aside, revealing the almost perfect circle of the moon. It pulled at something deep inside her, called to her, and she reached out and savagely dragged the curtains closed.
She didn’t need any reminders that tomorrow was the full moon. She could sense it with every fiber of her being.
“You know, you could try praying to our mother.”
Catrin’s voice came from behind her, and Regan stiffened at the words. She whirled around. Catrin was lying on the maroon velvet sofa, an enormous leather tome balanced on her stomach. She looked as tired as Regan felt, with dark shadows under her eyes. Lola was fast asleep in the armchair opposite—an open book on her knee.
“That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it?” Regan asked. Then she sighed—there was no point taking this out on Catrin. “Anyway, do you think I haven’t? And a totally pointless exercise it was, too. Just like always.”
She sank onto the sofa next to Catrin and lifted the book slightly, so she could read the title. “A History of the Supernatural Races. Any good?”
“It’s fascinating.”
“I don’t suppose there’s anything about werewolves in there.”
“Actually, there is.”
Regan perked up. “Anything useful?”
“No, not really.”
“Why doesn’t that come as a surprise?” She pushed Catrin’s legs out of the way and sat back, leaned her head against the sofa, and closed her eyes.
