“It is the one place we haven’t christened with our lovemaking in this house.”

He crawls between my legs, inching up my torso until his face reaches mine. His goatee tickles me, and the warmth of his breath heats my skin. The aroma of his woodsy cologne still lingers and ignites the fire between my legs. I fumble for his pants zipper and pull it down.

“How’s your bum, professor?” I ask, caressing him.

“Sore as a sunburnt bottom. But I don’t care.”

He kisses me, and our tongues intermingle, stroking my desire. But I’m worried all the stress will stamp out the yearning building inside. After tonight’s incident at the Pumpkin House, the kidnappings clutter my brain.

I break from the kiss and whisper. “Take off my panties.”

“As you wish, my love.”

Archie pushes up on his knees and flips my skirt up. As he slips my black lace panties off, a wicked grin stretches his mouth. He unbuttons his chinos and shoves them down, catching his boxer briefs on the way. I stare at this would-be vampire in his white face makeup and slicked back hair, his manhood ready for action, and attempt to suppress my laughter. But I snicker and snort at the sight.

“Why are you laughing?” His eyes dart all around.

“I’m sorry. I looked up at you and realized I was about to get nailed by a vampire.”

“Then prepare for a proper nibbling of your neck, witch.”

He lowers his body and searches for me, entering with a grunt. Placing his mouth on my neck, he licks and nibbles on the skin, pinching it with his teeth.

“Ouch,” I say, grabbing the back of his head. “You better not give me a hickey.”

He replies in a vampirish accent, “I want to leave my mark.” We pause to chuckle into one another’s shoulders, and he whispers, “I cherish how much fun sex is with you. That it doesn’t have to be romantic every time. I love you, Gwynedd.”

“Mmm…I love you, too, honey.”

I slide my hands across Archie’s bandaged butt cheek, encouraging him to continue. He pushes into me, each thrust becoming more forceful than the one before. I want so badly to enjoy this, but the embers have died out. My mind keeps wandering to the sorrowful faces of the mothers who lost their babies to evil Unremarkables—and maybe a nefarious witch. His panting becomes irregular until he can’t hold back any longer, releasing with a final shove.

“I apologize for the shortness of that session,” he says, caressing my face. “It’s been so long, I couldn’t control myself. Let me catch my breath, and I’ll make you writhe with joy.”

“No, it’s OK. I’m too stressed out to get there.”

He rolls off me and rests on his side, stroking my upper arm. “I wish I could do something to help.”

“The stress won’t leave until everything is resolved. Finding a spell to close the portal. Discovering the supernatural monster in my vision. Graduating. This year is gonna suck.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Well, I am a vampire.”

He leans down and sucks on my neck. I chuckle and push him back.

“Thank you for trying. But there’s even more. Spence spilled the tea on me talking to Richard that first Samhain. In front of Tyler.”

“Fawk. What did he say?” He pulls up his pants and zips them up.

“Nothing. I told him we would chat later in the week.”

“I realize you’d rather he hadn’t learned about the incident, but it’s for the best. You should be honest with him.”

“He already has mixed feelings about his dad. I didn’t want to add fuel to the fire.” I roll on my side to face him.

“Speaking of conversations. What did you and Alys Morgan talk about?”

“Och. Nothing consequential. Don’t get angry, but I think she was coming on to me.”

“What? I hope you set her straight,” I say, rubbing his pecs through his T-shirt.

“Aye. I was clear we’ve been together for years. I don’t count the months we were apart.”

“She resembles Courtney, a fortyish version, anyway. You can admit you’re attracted to her.”

He passes a finger over my lips. “I have the witch I want. What will it take for you to believe me? To feel confident enough to move in here?”

“I believe you, but I’m not ready. Please, don’t pressure me.”

He kisses me, and I ask myself, Why am I waiting?

Chapter elevenA Mother’s Confession

In typical Delaware fashion, a cold front blows through overnight, soaking the ground with rain and sending our warm weather packing for good. By Friday morning, the temperature has dropped twenty degrees. Yesterday, it was too hot to wear my witch’s cape. Today, I’m shivering in a long-sleeved tee and jeans. What a way to celebrate the first day of November. Archie cooks us breakfast, and we head to campus for class—him to teach, me to attend.

After my course ends, I rush home in the rain, struggling to keep my umbrella from flipping inside out, and eat lunch. Mr. Yeats scuttles into the kitchen, transforming into his human persona.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Crowther,” he says, writing on his clipboard. “I wanted to remind you to schedule training with Mr. Wolfe. To learn how to conference with his grandparents.”

Shit. I forgot. “I don’t know if it will happen anytime soon. He’s pissed at me.”

He straightens his vest. “Whatever did you do?”

“Never you mind. Plan on the training happening in the distant future for now.”

He drops his clipboard. “Well, if you aren’t in need of my assistance, I’ll be in the magic room.”

“Just as well,” I say, placing my dishes in the sink. “I have a research meeting with Dr. Duffy at his house now. Have a pleasant afternoon, Mr. Yeats.”

“May the rest of your day be productive, Ms. Crowther.” The familiar strides to the magic room.

I put on my fleece jacket, grab my backpack and umbrella, and walk briskly up Drummond Lane to the brown bungalow. When I get to Seamus’s, I raise my fist to knock, but the door opens wide before I do.

“Please, Gwynedd. Come in out of this damp, dreary weather.” Seamus motions me into the foyer. “Let me take your umbrella and coat.”

“Thanks. I can’t believe it was warm enough for shorts yesterday,” I say, rubbing my arms vigorously. “I’m so cold.”

“Then a cup of hot tea is what you need. Please, find a seat at the dining room table, and I’ll bring us a pot. The cups and tea bags are already there. Pick whatever you like.”

I set my backpack on the floor and sit while he retrieves the teakettle from the kitchen. I choose an Irish blend to try something new. When he returns, limping without his cane, he fills our cups. He places the kettle on a trivet and sits down, smiling at my choice.