Grim and Bear It (Stay a Spell, #6)

by Juliette Cross

When I was little, I often escaped to the garden behind my father’s sprawling fifty-acre estate. Like everything else in his life, he kept pristine gardens. Toward the center, there was a long bed of wildflowers that attracted a particular kind of butterfly. The wings were yellow with delicate black trim. Beautiful. For some reason, this happened to be a place where I was never disturbed by the dead. I’d watch the golden-winged insects flutter about happily, mindlessly, and bask in their effortless beauty. Certain Native American tribes said that a yellow butterfly was a spirit of hope and guidance. I wasn’t so sure about guidance, but they’d always lifted the weight of my gift as a necromancer. For a short while. I’d found solace in the butterfly garden far too many times to confess to anyone. When I’d had to leave my father’s house, I went into a period of mourning, bereft of my yellow butterflies. Then one day, while I was standing outside of Ruben’s bookstore on Magazine, a woman stepped out of a shop and walked down the street, her lengthy blond hair streaming down her back. I’d felt it like a punch to the gut. I remember sucking in a painful gulp of air the second I laid eyes on her, knowing at long last I’d found my butterfly garden again. Only, she wasn’t a garden. She was a woman. A witch. A breathlessly stunning, beguiling one who began tormenting my dreams with aching frequency from that very day. As I watched her now, I wondered, not for the first time, if she ...

For a moment, he simply stared and blinked at me. I reached out with my Aura senses, but still…nothing. My magic had been a wonderful companion throughout my life, always showing me who needed help and guiding me by revealing the emotions of others in my vicinity. But Henry? Not a thing. Not a tiny inkling of emotion other than what I can read on his expression. Like normal people had to do. It was horrendous.

“Everyone deserves another soul who matches them, to walk beside them through this world, to be their best friend and true lover.” His pulse throbbed faster against my palm where I had it pressed to the side of his neck. He heaved a shaky sigh. “Do you mean soulmates?” “Yes.” Hesitantly, cautiously, he then asked, “Are you my soulmate, Clara?” “Of course I am, silly.” I sat up, meeting an astonished dark-eyed gaze. “I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up and realize it.”