Page 15 of Wedded Witch
I swipe through a few emails, confirming some appointments and making minor tweaks to a couple of ongoing projects. It feels good to have something to focus on, something that grounds me in reality.
For a moment, I almost forget about Oland and the marriage, the weight of those magical bonds tying us together. Almost. Even though I slipped my wedding ring off when I ran away, I can still feel the weight of it on my fourth finger, like a ghostly brand shackling me to a life I don’t want.
But the guilt lingers, creeping in at the edges of my mind. I shove it aside again, determined to enjoy this brief reprieve. Maybe once I break the curse I can return to Oland and we canexplore the connection that sparked between us, without any pressure or expectations.
The growl of my stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten all that much for a couple of days, and I remember the guy at the front desk, Kel, mentioning the pancakes at the diner across the road.
He was so enthusiastic about them, I didn’t have the heart to tell him I already went there before finding the motel. Anyway, I can’t help but feel a flicker of excitement at the thought of pancakes.
I wish I’d spent a little longer with him now. He was… charming, in that kind of playful, boyish way that’s hard to resist. There was something about him – his energy, his easy smile – that made me feel at ease, despite everything else going on.
And, if I’m being honest, he’s exactly my type. Dark hair, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and a physique that suggests he could take on the world if he needed to.
God, I’m screwed.
I shake my head, trying to clear those thoughts. This isn’t the time for flirtations or getting distracted by some cute guy at a motel. Not when I’ve got much bigger problems to deal with – like the fact that I’m running from my own family and a husband I didn’t exactly plan on marrying.
The thought of Oland sends a pang of guilt through me, sharp and unrelenting. I can’t be thinking about someone else, not when I’m still trying to figure out what the hell is going on with my life.
I slip on my boots and grab my bag, double-checking that I’ve got everything I need. My hands linger over the strap as a nagging voice in my head tells me I’m forgetting something.
Passport. Check. Money. Check. Phone. Check. Okay, I think I’m good.
I’m just reaching for the handle when a loud knock echoes on the door.
“Housekeeping.” The voice is raspy, like it belongs to someone who’s smoked fifty a day for the last seventy years.
My pulse kicks up, and I freeze for a second. I wasn’t expecting anyone.
Could it be my family? Have they found me already?
Cautiously, I open the door just enough to peek through. A small, elderly woman stands there, leaning heavily on a cart stacked with towels and cleaning supplies.
Her bright white hair is piled high on her head coiffed to perfection. She’s wearing what looks like a housekeeper's uniform, but it’s mismatched, as if she grabbed whatever was on hand. The tunic style top is completely unzipped, revealing a low-cut, skin tight leopard print top and a gravity, age-defying bust underneath. I think this is the animated smoker from the diner last night, but I can’t be sure.
Then again, in a place this small and remote, how many leopard-loving pensioners are there likely to be?
And she’s eyeing me like she knows something I don’t.
“Need your room freshened up?” she asks, voice gravelly and laced with sarcasm. Her sharp bright blue eyes study me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.
“I... no, thanks. I was just leaving,” I reply, gripping the door handle tighter. Something about her feels off, like she doesn’t belong in this place.
The woman tilts her head, amusement flickering in her gaze. “Leaving already? Huh. Thought you’d stick around longer. People like you usually need more than just one night to figure out where they’re going.”
I frown, unsure how to respond. “Excuse me?”
She waves a bony hand. “Oh, don’t mind me. Just an old woman talking nonsense. But if I were you, I wouldn’t be in sucha rush to leave us. Places like this... they have a way of holding onto people longer than they mean to stay.”
Her words feel weighted, more than they should be. “Who are you?”
The woman smiles, a flash of sharp teeth. “Name’s Mavis. You could say I’m the resident caretaker of sorts around here. Keep an eye on things, make sure people don’t get too lost on their way out.”
“I’m not lost.”
Her grin widens. “Oh, darling, we’re all a little lost. The real question is whether you’ll find what you’re looking for before it’s too late.”
My heart skips a beat at the cryptic tone in her voice. There’s a heaviness in the air now, like the room itself is holding its breath. I step back, suddenly feeling like I’ve opened the door to something far more dangerous than housekeeping.