Free The Problem with Promises by Leigh Evans

over to the remains of a long dead maple. Its trunk lay split in two, half covered by vegetation on the slope of the hill. “That will do. Use them to make a bridge over the stream. But you’ll have to seal any chinks between them with mud, or the ward won’t set.”
    “Mud?” Trowbridge repeated. By the light of the lamp I could see his expression. Testy, he was. Very testy. “Why can’t we just put a tarp over the logs?”
    “It must be organic.”
    The gas lamp highlighted Trowbridge’s sharp cheekbones. He stared at the duckweed-choked water with acute distaste.
    “I’m out,” said Cordelia.
    “No you’re not,” he growled, turning for the hill. “Help me with these logs.”
    She straightened her cardigan. “This is a Simon Chang.”
    “I’ll buy you two new tops. One in pink.” Trowbridge used his boot to flatten the burdocks that grew thick on the slope. He bent them at the base, creating a passage for Cordelia. “One in a blue to match your eyes—”
    “You’ll buy me four.” She huffed as she stepped gingerly into the path he was making for her. “In fine wool. With pearl buttons. From Holt Renfrew.”
    He half turned. “Can’t I pick up a few sweaters from the Bay?”
    “Four,” she sniped. “From Holts.”
    The witches had requisitioned one of the gas lamps and had climbed halfway up the narrow trail that led to Trowbridge’s house. A small landing of sorts had been created by a huge flat outcrop of rock.
    Elizabeth put the lamp on it and shed her coat. “We will need absolute silence as we concentrate. Nothing must interrupt us, or break our focus. We are calling to elemental magic.”
    Mortals playing with that stuff?
    “It is powerful here,” Natasha murmured. “Stronger than I’ve felt before. If we lose control of it, it will be very bad.”
    “How bad?” Cordelia turned.
    “Bad,” Nastasha said baldly.
    “Wonderful,” Cordelia drawled.
    “Come on, Cordie.” Trowbridge gave her a little shove. “The sooner we make their damn bridge, the sooner they can enclose the pond with the ward.”

 
    Chapter Four
    Casperella was having a spook-out. There was no other word for it. The Fae ghost kept bouncing from end to end of her little home on the spit of cemetery land that overlooked the pond, for all the world resembling one of those shameful Canadian flags that had been left out all winter to become national eyesores. Taunting relics of a brighter day; tattered edges fluttering with each stiff breeze.
    I rubbed my ear looking for ease.
    The parameters of her final resting place were delineated by a low wall, built so long ago that whatever time and effort the original builder had invested in the careful placement of each fieldstone was now moot. The barricade had fallen sometime long ago, and now pine needles accumulated against the low imprint of the once-firm wall.
    A sigh was building inside my chest.
    I could go inside. Then I wouldn’t have to watch her fluttering back and forth like a demented moth.
    I had mixed feelings about the Fae ghost. Two days ago, she’d stolen some of my magic. Fortified by it, she’d transformed herself from a mute, ghostly apparition to a far more substantial specter. With form came voice, which she’d used to call the Fae portal.
    Yes. A damn ghost knew the song and I didn’t.
    However, Casperella’s summons had set Trowbridge’s and Lexi’s homecoming into motion, as well as serving as a hell of a distraction when it looked like it was curtains for me.
    Technically, I wasn’t sure if I owed her or not. She did thieve from me, but stealing isn’t really a big, black negative on my moral checklist. Perhaps that was the reason I couldn’t escape the feeling that I should tell her the Merenwyn-bound train was pulling into the station. The gates were going to be called in an hour or two. It could be her last chance to go home.
    Karmawise, it seemed like a good idea.
    I know I said that I’d never be Karma’s bitch again, but