Chapter 68: Personal Handling

ASHES TO ASHES

BOOK THREE: THE HAYLE COVEN INHERITANCE

He smelled like oranges and peppermint and if those pale, gray eyes didn't stop looking into my soul I was going to blush so hard he'd know I was having inappropriately hormonal thoughts for a sixteen-year-old faced with the model-handsome visage of a guy her mother's age.

Sigh. It had to be Piers Southway himself who took my case in hand, right? Not that I'd want anyone but looking into the particular conundrum I'd found myself in, all transmuted into an old gold locket with an increasingly bitter and cranky girl who might or might not be losing her mind.

No comments on who was which. Or witch? Sigh.