A Little Wicked (The Bewitching Hour Book #4)(24)

He started to put things away, but she set a hand on his arm to stop him. “You’re not self-absorbed,” she insisted as she turned him to face her. “All of this shows how thoughtful you are. And you forgot because I work really hard to make sure I don’t walk around with a big ‘victim’ label on my forehead.”

Dante’s dark eyes looked at her forehead before he cupped her face and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m not really used to this,” he softly said against her hair.

“You’re better than I am,” she pointed out.

“I mean, I haven’t been in a relationship, a real relationship in a long time. You’re just... I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“A soul sucker.” She cuddled into his strength. She wanted to be mad at his invasion of her privacy, but she was too busy enjoying the feel of him.

“Strong,” he insisted.

She had her doubts, but this wasn’t the time to argue. He would just go on showering her with praise and she wasn’t fishing for compliments. She hugged him and looked over his shoulder and there, just as if it were real, Jackson stared at her. She stiffened and held Dante tighter but didn’t scream. It wasn’t real. Ghosts weren’t real and Jackson was dead. She was sure of this. More sure than she’d ever been of anything in her life.

She leaned back and smiled up at Dante. “I’ve never had shawarma.”

His eyes widened. “You’re in for a surprise,” he said as she grabbed the wine bottle. “Pick a movie and lead the way.”

Without even looking at them, she grabbed the one on the top of the pile and walked to the living room. Except this time, there was no Jackson in the doorway. Good. Maybe now he’d stay gone.





Sam threw the ancient text against the wall and fell back into her chair.

“Research getting the best of you?” asked Bastian from the doorway.

If she hadn’t been so angry and exhausted, she would’ve jumped at the interruption. But she didn’t have any emotion left in her to be surprised. She was just angry. Impatient. Vengeful.

“If you’re not going to help, go away.”

But instead of hearing retreating footsteps, they got closer as Bastian walked into the library. “We’re allowing you here. That’s helping.”

“Claudia knows more than all of these books combined and she’s not talking. How is that helping?”

Claire had gone home and Sam had practically begged Claudia to give her something, anything, to help her. To help Abigail. To help who knew how many people who might die if Abigail wasn’t stopped.

But she’d gotten the cold shoulder and had been banished alone to this room full of too much information, but nothing she could possibly use.

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but if Claudia doesn’t want to help you, maybe it’s because she wants to protect you.”

“Protect me? My sister is dead, my mother has been taken over by an evil entity that wants God knows what, and she is going around and infecting other witches with darkness. But, sure, giving me less information will protect me.” She didn’t have time to deal with this. She needed answers and she needed them like a week ago. “How can you do this?” she snapped.

Bastian stopped next to her but didn’t say anything to defend himself or Claudia.

“You stand by her no matter what. You know she’s wrong but you do it anyway. Let me help. I’m stronger by the day. I know you don’t always get along, but you respect Derek. Claire has already proved herself. We’re not nothing. Let us help.”

“I’m loyal to your grandmother,” he said simply.

She turned in her chair to face him. “What are you?”

Here she was complaining about half-truths and lies, and she was talking to Bastian, the king of omission.

“I can’t tell you that.”

For the love of— If she hadn’t already thrown her book, she’d throw one right at Bastian’s stupid face. “I don’t have to put up with this.” She pushed away from the table. “If Claudia wants to admit she can’t do all this alone, she knows where to find me.”

“Wait,” said Bastian.

Sam stopped and bit her lip, waiting to hear whether he was actually going to tell her something she could use. Or even something about himself.

“When I say I can’t tell you, it’s not a turn of phrase. It’s literal. I can’t tell you.”

She looked over her shoulder at him and tried to determine whether he was bullshitting her. She finally just sighed. Bastian wasn’t the one she was mad at anyway. “Tell Claudia to call me if she needs anything. Or if she wants to get her head out of her ass,” she muttered as she walked out of the hidden room and through Claudia’s empty office. She was just to the elevators when her phone buzzed. It was an unknown number. She debated ignoring it, but considering all the life-and-death situations she’d been in lately, she was willing to risk talking to a telemarketer right now. She answered with a quick, “Hello.”

“Hey, it’s me. Parker’s phone has better service out here. Do you have a minute?”

“Yeah, I’m just leaving Claudia’s.”

“Good. There’s been a murder I have to ask you about.”