“Thank you. I’d like that.”
He pets Nera and follows me into the house.
“Have a seat,” I offer, pointing to the barstool at the island. “You can chat with me while I cook.”
“I’m at your service,” he says. “I can cut and prep, but I’m not a great cook.”
“No need. You’re a guest. I hope you like fish and chips.”
“I don’t remember the last time I had them,” he admits. “Sounds great.”
“Okay, then.”
I pull the fish out of the fridge and set the oil on the stove to heat up.
“So, we established earlier today that I’m a witch,” I say as I break an egg and toss the shell into a jar for later, then whisk the white and yolk with a fork. “Now my question is, do you realize that you’re one, as well?”
I glance up and see Jonas’s eyebrow lift. “You think I’m a witch?”
“I know you are, Jonas. The power comes off you in waves.”
He sniffs, exhales, and narrows his eyes at me. And then, without looking away from me or moving, lights the candles all around the kitchen, one at a time.
I grin. “I never could master that one.”
“How nice it must be to be who you are. Not having to hide your gifts or worry about persecution.”
I narrow my eyes at the statement and reach for the flour. “No one is going to burn us at the stake. Not in this lifetime, anyway.”
But he doesn’t laugh as I intended. His expression is sober as he watches me dredge the fish in the egg mixture and then the flour before sliding it carefully into the oil.
“You said you’re not from Salem,” I say as I put the fries in my air fryer. “Where are you from?”
“Honestly, I’d like to hear more about you,” he says. “Tell me more about your Craft and your business.”
“Well, that’s easy.” I smile and flip the fish over. “I was born here in Salem, as were my parents and theirs, going back for as long as recorded history of such things—all witches, of course.”
“Were your ancestors killed in the witch trials?”
I still and then look over at him. “Of course, not. No actual witches were murdered in those trials, Jonas.”
“I know. I was wondering if you knew.”
I nod and get back to the task at hand. “My dad passed away when I was a kid. He was a fisherman, and his ship went down about ten miles out on the Atlantic, along with my two aunts’ husbands, as well.”
“That’s tragic.”
“It was a horrible time,” I agree. “I have two cousins, Lorelei and Breena. Each of the three sisters had one child. A girl. The six of us have always been extremely close. Then, my mother passed away last year.”
I say the last few words on a whisper.
“I’m sorry, Lucy.”
“Me, too.”
I look over at him and feel close to tears. I never cry, and certainly not in front of sexy strangers.
“I don’t usually get this emotional,” I admit, brushing the heel of my hand over my cheek to wipe away the tears that managed to fall. “Have you heard of the Salem witch murders?”
His eyes narrow, and he leans in, listening intently. “No.”
“Each year, a witch is killed, usually during the Harvest Moon near Samhain. Everyone in my community lives in fear that they could be the one chosen next. A year ago, it was my mother.”
“You don’t work any protection spells against it?” I see that his hands have tightened into fists, but it’s the only sign that he’s anything but calm.
“Of course, we do,” I say and pull the fries out of the air fryer and plate our meals. “Jonas, I’ve seen a lot of stuff in my life. Hell, a few months ago, I helped send the evilest entity I’ve ever seen to hell—or wherever things like that go—after the same entity killed me, and I came back from the dead.”
Jonas just blinks at me as if he can’t believe what I’m saying. I continue.
“Anyway, I’ve seen a lot, and I’ve studied the Craft all my life. Our coven is old, deeply rooted here, and is made up of some powerful people. Of course, we cast circles, protection spells, and carry crystals. And yet, it still happens.”
Jonas blows out a breath and stares down at the plate I just slid in front of him.
“I’m sorry if I put you off your appetite,” I say quietly. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“No, I’m just…absorbing,” he replies and takes a bite of the fish. “This is delicious.”
“Thanks.” I fill Nera’s bowl with his food and settle next to Jonas to eat my dinner.
“How did you do it? Come back from the dead?” he asks quietly.
I turn my back to him and lift my hair so he can see the tattoo on the back of my neck. It looks like a simple Celtic knot.
“It’s a death ward,” I inform him and then turn back to my plate. “I cast a spell that prevents me from dying from any paranormal entity.”
“You’re joking.”
I shake my head and take a bite of fish. “Absolutely not. I don’t believe in interfering with the natural order of things, but there’s some crazy stuff in Salem, and most of it isn’t normal. My three cousins and I all have the ink.”
“I have a lot of questions,” he admits as he eats. “But I won’t bombard you with them tonight.”
“What is your affinity?” I ask him. “Obviously, as a green witch, I can control nature. And I’m a little psychic. I’ve always been told that I know more than most. Lorelei is a very talented psychic sea witch. She sees just about everything and speaks to those on the other side of the veil.”
“And the other cousin?” he asks.
“Breena is a hearth witch. She has no interest in her psychic abilities, although she’s a strong clairalient. She smells things all the time that aren’t there. Drives her a little batty. So, how about you?”
He takes a deep breath and wipes his mouth with a napkin.
“I’m a healer,” he replies slowly. “And I can move through time.”
I tilt my head, completely fascinated.
“You can time travel?”
“Sort of,” he says. “I can also manipulate fire, as you’ve seen, but at the heart of things, I’m a healer. Your apothecary is beautiful, Lucy. The products you sell are powerful and magical. I hope your customers understand that.”
“Some do,” I admit with a nod. “Some are just curious. And, honestly, I don’t mind selling to either or both because it serves a need.”
“So it does,” he says with a sigh. “You fascinate me. What’s your full name?”
“Are you going to Google me?”
His lips twitch with humor. “No. I’m just curious.”
“Luciana Finch,” I say at last. “But everyone calls me Lucy.”
“Luciana,” he whispers, and the sound of it on his lips doesn’t bother me in the least. “What a beautiful name for a breathtaking woman.”
“And what’s your last name, Jonas?”
“Morley,” he says.