Free Lost Souls (A Caitlyn O’Connell Novel) by Delilah Devlin

never trust him. And trust, she’d discovered, was something she couldn’t survive without.
    Morin moved around the counter, choosing a plain earthen teapot, which he rinsed with a dash of boiling water from the kettle sitting atop the old-fashioned gas stove. Then his hand hovered over a row of painted tins until he selected the desired blend of tea.
    She watched, knowing he was up to something, but with his back to her, she couldn’t see what else he might be adding to the brew.
    Shifting in her chair, she cleared her throat. “We have another problem.”
    “You do seem to attract exciting sorts of problems, Caitlyn,” Morin murmured, still turned away and swishing the teapot.
    Sam stirred, muttering under his breath.
    His impatience was evident in the curling of his hand on the tabletop.
    She cupped her hand over his fist and gave him a single shake of her head, telling him silently to behave. They were here because they needed help. Maybe she shouldn’t have accepted the tea, allowing Morin to extend her visit. But they weren’t wasting time. Not really. While inside Morin’s domain, time outside the shop stood still. Part of her understood her old mentor’s need to prolong their stay. He was lonely and bored. No one but those he invited—and whohad the magical skills to find him—ever came. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like for him, day after day, locked inside this prison he’d created for himself as penance for one tragic mistake in his past.
    Morin returned to the table with cups he set in front of her and Sam. Despite the fact he knew Sam wasn’t fond of tea, he poured him a cup, his focused stare daring her ex to complain. At Sam’s grudging nod of thanks, Morin’s mouth twisted, as though disappointed he hadn’t gotten the reaction he wanted.
    Cait’s lips twitched, and she raised her cup to hide a smile. A couple of small yellow blossoms floated in her tea, and her gaze whipped to Morin’s. “Tormentil flowers?” What was it about the herb? She couldn’t quite remember.
    “Sam’s tea is pure oolong,” Morin murmured. “In yours, I added powdered tormentil root. Take a sip. I also added chamomile to flavor it.”
    Still hesitating to drink, she asked, “And I need tormentil root
why
?”
    Morin shook his head. “Such a terrible student,” he chided cheerfully. “It’s a protection spell. Keep in mind I didn’t have to tell you. Your palate isn’t very discerning. The blossoms are only decorative. They were a clue I left for you, my little detective. Didn’t want to sneak anything into yours without your knowledge.” One dark brow rose, and his gaze held hers for a moment. “I’ve adopted a policy of full disclosure when it comes to you.”
    Sam sputtered and put down his cup with a thump.
    Ignoring his sideways glare, Cait narrowed hers on Morin, wondering how he could have known she and Sam had argued about that very same topic.
    Playing innocent, Morin raised his cup and sipped.
    “It’s more than a protection spell,” she said with a stony stare.
    “Ah, maybe you do remember something. When you enter the land of the dead, whether a graveyard or the mystical place, you need a protective shield. Do you want to be a lightning rod again?” At her glower, he tapped the rim of her cup. “Drink down the tea like a good girl, then hold out your hand.”
    Sam cussed under his breath.
    Cait blew on her tea, then drank it as quickly as she could. Setting aside her cup, she reached across the table.
    The moment his hand enclosed hers, she felt a spark of power, a warm tingle that traveled up her arm and spread like a brushfire.
    “Close your eyes.”
    Just as she had all those years ago when she’d practiced her magic with him in this very room, she obeyed instantly. Another flash of warmth enveloped her, this one more like a soothing wave, traveling through her arm, prickling her skin, sinking deep within her feminine soul.
    “Not fair,” she muttered, not wanting to