“Elspeth,” Adelaide hissed, putting a hand on my arm.
I shook her off, my anger sparking all over again. “Yes, well, you’re just like every other man who thinks they’re above reproach. Men who think they can just act however they want and get away with it.”
Exactly like my ex.
His gaze turned molten, so searing he could burn me on the spot, but I held my ground, jaw locked.
Elm’s mouth had dropped open. “Let’s start over.” He cleared his throat. “Elspeth, this is Draven Darkstone. Draven, this is Elspeth Moonflower. Maybe we can sit down and talk this through?”
“With the flying mugs that might kill us? No.” I stepped away from Draven. “I won’t sully your establishment with my presence any longer.”
“Thank the Witch Superior,” Draven mumbled.
“Draven,” Elm said, his tone reproachful. He looked at Adelaide. “He’s not usually like this.”
“Yes, he is!” the young woman I’d attempted to save yelled out in a singsong voice.
Elm shot a look at her. “Georgie, be nice.”
Georgie shot him a sickeningly sweet smile, and Elm just shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Perhaps Elspeth is right.” Adelaide looked at her feet, hands twined in front of her. “We should go.”
Elm’s eyes widened, disappointment flashing in them. “I could walk you?—”
“That won’t be necessary.” I looped my arm through Adelaide’s, and we walked out the front door and into the pouring rain.
Eight
ELSPETH
Thunder boomed and lightning flashed as the five of us huddled in our tent. We’d found a spot to camp right outside Thistlegrove, though we’d had to walk in the pouring rain. Now we were all soaked and shivering, trying our best to dry off before we laid down to sleep. We hadn’t had time to grab our food or bedrolls, and even worse, after we’d gotten the tent set up, we’d discovered a huge rip in it, which meant the protection spell that shielded us from the elements was broken.
Mama flipped through our family grimoire, looking for any spells that could help us fix it. But the Moonflowers had never been powerful or wealthy witches. None of our ancestors attended the revered Coven Institute, where witches learned powerful magic, magic like the one used to spell this tent.
Prue looked over Mama’s shoulder, brows furrowed. “Maybe you could try this spell?”
Mama pursed her lips. “That is a drying spell, but it’s not permanent. I can dry all our clothes, but the rain will just soak them again. To make it permanent, I’d need... well I don’t know what I’d need to do. I never learned that from my mother.”
The Moonflowers had a long history of potion making. Mamamight not have attended the Institute, but she learned how to make potions from her own mother, and she inherited this grimoire full of family spells. Many of them were useful for small things like drying clothes, heating up soup, making a fire, mending a tear, cleaning a wound, commanding a door or window to close, but I doubted any would help us in this situation.
“Well, just try something.” Auggie’s teeth chattered. “I’m freezing.”
Mama picked up her wand and pointed it at Auggie, saying the words of the spell. A golden glow erupted from Mama’s wand and spiraled through the air toward Auggie. It surrounded her, then disappeared, Auggie’s clothes now dry.
My younger sister breathed out a sigh of relief until a gust of wind blew open the tent flap and brought rain with it, soaking her all over again. She groaned.
Mama snapped the grimoire closed, a crescent moon on the earthen-green cloth cover—our family crest.
The wind battered the tent, whistling through the flaps as we all sat with our knees drawn, shivering.
Auggie pursed her lips. “We could be in an inn right now with a luxurious bed and a warm bath. And space.” She glared at me. “Lots of space.”
Prue sniffed, a pile of books beside her that she shielded with her body as droplets of rain splattered inside. “I agree with Auggie. I can’t believe you turned down Elm’s offer. He was willing to let us stay in a nice inn at no cost.”
I sighed. “I didn’t feel comfortable with that.”
Adelaide sat by Mama, looking out the crack in the tent flap, face drawn and mind distant. She hadn’t said hardly anything since I’d stormed out of The Brewhouse earlier. I bit the inside of my cheek, guilt bubbling up at how I’d acted. My intentions might have been good, but I’d been harsh on Draven, too harsh. I’d made a scene and drawn attention to us, which was exactly what I was trying to avoid.
