When the Curse Draws Near: A Murder, She Witches Mystery by Kat McGee

Author:Kat McGee [McGee, Kat]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Towering Pines Publishing
Published: 2024-05-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Sardonick’s suite swallowed us into its plush handwoven rug grandeur, the scent of ancient books and dried herbs permeating the air. The grandfather clock against the far wall ticked loudly in the pause, its hands moving backward as a stark reminder of the strangeness gripping Hollowcrest Manor.

Cassius, with a look of both concern and curiosity etched on his face, broke the silence as he slid into the second guest chair. “Did you think the curse had taken her? Or was it the magic of the maze that spirited her away?”

Sardonick rose to his feet and went to pace before the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back. “At first, yes. I thought it could have been either,” he admitted. “But then there were sightings in Knoxville, Pigeon Forge, and Gatlinburg.”

“Left to buy milk and never came back, did she?” Elzadora sat on the desktop, her eyes half-closed yet likely missing nothing.

Sardonick shot her a weary glance but continued, undeterred. “She left me. And for years, she kept herself hidden, along with our son. I searched for them tirelessly until it became clear that they did not wish to be found.”

My heart tugged at his admission. The pain of such a profound loss was something I knew all too well. “You gave up the search,” I said softly.

He nodded, the lines of defeat momentarily etched across his forehead. “I had to let go... for my own sanity.”

Elzadora’s tail swished as she chimed in again. “And then little Grisham comes knocking for Daddy’s coin? How quaint.”

A spark of something fierce flashed in Sardonick’s eyes as he turned to face us fully. “He sought me out. As an artist who sought my patronage a few years back.”

I frowned, piecing together the puzzle before us. “What led you to believe he was your son?”

“The resemblance was uncanny and the magic he had was far more than any shifter or mage could have wielded.”

“You believe he approached you without knowing who you really were to him?” Cassius asked.

Sardonick ran a hand through his silver hair, a gesture that conveyed uncertainty and hope intertwined. “Or perhaps he knew and chose not to reveal himself.” His voice wavered between conviction and doubt.

I leaned closer to examine the photograph as Sardonick stood by silently as a father haunted by ghosts of past and present.

The ticking of the clock filled the room once more as we paused. I contemplated this new revelation as time moved backward and secrets slowly came undone.

Sardonick’s suite, an ornate space bathed in the glow of antique gold and rich mahogany, shrank as the grand mage’s stride shortened. His foot caught on the edge of a Persian rug with a dragon in the design, baring its teeth as if to snare him.

Cassius lunged forward, his reflexes honed from years of tending to the unexpected in his practice. “Steady now,” Cassius said, sliding an arm under Sardonick’s armpit, steadying the mage with a strength that belied his usual gentle demeanor.

“I may be younger, but I’m still dying.

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