The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

When Owen came in with Jones, Jones went straight to the food, and Owen to the beer.

Trey studied him. “Might have a shiner tomorrow.”

“I don’t think so. I’m not going to say she hit like a girl considering present company, but it didn’t have the punch she gave you that time.”

“We’re going to sit. Cleo, can that just keep doing what it’s doing so you can sit?” Sonya took her wine to the table. “We need to hear it all.”

“I can start by telling you it was a lot like the first time I went in there. Cold, wind, bed floating up and crashing, walls bleeding. Some smoke this time, and pouring out the windows. I caught a glimpse of her, like before. Owen got more than a glimpse.”

“Jones, too. He saw her. She’s a looker if you go for that type. I’d say sultry, but it’s more edgy. Plus, she’s crazy as fuck, and it shows. She was standing about a foot over the floor.”

He began to recap the rest.

“One night?” Sonya repeated. “Not an actual affair, but one night?”

“That’s how she put it, and went on about how she rules this house.”

“That’s where your ‘bullshit’ comment came from,” Trey assumed.

“It is bullshit, and she pissed me off. My family—ours,” he corrected, “built this place. It’s not hers, and it’s never going to be.”

“You went at her.”

With a shrug, Owen lifted his beer to Trey. “Well, I was pissed off. Plus, you went at her with me. Then bam, she took her shot. She was winding up for another, but… Something changed. Like that.”

He snapped his fingers.

“She spun like a, well, a top, and screamed, then gone.”

“Everything stopped,” Trey added. “Maybe she ran out of juice.”

“Maybe the smudging helped.” Cleo rose again when her phone alarm sounded, and this time got the shrimp out of the refrigerator. “I could see it trickling in under the door. The pissed off—and I’m not blaming you—feeds her, I think. Like fear, pain, sorrow.”

“It does. And Cleo and I stayed calm. She hates that.”

“I stayed calm after you ordered me to.” After adding the shrimp, she turned. “Blood.”

“Again?” Owen reached for his nose.

“No, not now, then. I bet some of it hit the floor. So theory.” She came back, sat, picked up her wine. “Smudge stick made by a good witch, calm, and blood. Blood’s life, it’s power.”

“And it was Poole blood,” Sonya added.

“You think that combination shut her down?” Sipping his beer, Trey considered. “Maybe. Interesting, and it makes as much sense as anything.”

“Add one more. Jones got a piece of her.”

Sonya widened her eyes. “He bit her?”

“I don’t think he managed that. But he gave it a shot.”

“He got this.” Trey took the scrap of black fabric from his pocket.

“Is that—it’s from her dress?” When he set it on the table, Sonya hesitated, then brushed her fingers over it. “How can it be real, besolid? What am I saying? How can Molly make the beds, clean the house? How can Jack play ball with Yoda, and all the rest?”

“He ripped her dress.” With no hesitation, Cleo picked up the scrap. “Good boy, Jones.”

“He prefersman.”