Twenty minutes later, bathed and dressed in a white sundress, with jasmine flowers entwined in her hair, she watched Andrew from the top of the stairs as he dusted his hands on a pair of slightly oversized, paint-splattered trousers. He proceeded to pull out the t-shirt that dangled out of his trouser pocket and dragged it across his forehead, wiping away glistening beads of sweat, completely oblivious to her watching him. He was lean, broad-shouldered and easily six feet tall. Alexandria was still amazed at being able to see him after sunrise, although they had quickly discovered that this phenomenon was only possible when Andrew was inside the house. The moment he stepped out of the house, and into the sunlight, he completely vanished. There was obviously something about the Witchwood house that temporarily freed Andrew from the witch’s curse, and there was a large part of her that wondered what that might be, and whether the house held answers to removing the curse altogether.
Alexandria also knew that it was going to take more than just one witch to remove such a powerful spell, and from what she had learned reading her mother's grimoire, she'd need a circle of witches. The Saken Circle, the grimoire said, had consisted of five witches. There was Kat, of course, who had turned out to be not only a witch, but also a Harvey witch, making them cousins, which only presented Alexandria with even more questions, like why hadn't Kat's parents taken her in when her parents had been murdered all those years ago. She certainly didn't have any regrets about growing up with the Barnabys, not at all; she loved them as though they were her real family, and for most of her life, that was exactly what they had been, and continued to be. Perhaps Kat's mother's grimoire or one of her journals would hold more clues about finding other witches to complete the circle. She would have to read it, and perhaps in doing so she would discover more about forming the Saken Circle of witches.
"You're up bright and early," she called, sitting on the polished banister then riding it all the way down to the bottom of the stairs, just as she had done as a child. Andrew caught her midair as she flew off the end, then set her down on the ground. She squealed and laughed in delight, then added, "Considering how late you got home from the party, I thought you'd sleep until noon."
"How late did I get in, do you know?" Andrew asked, trying to fill in the blanks in his head from last night, worried that the blackouts were happening more frequently now. He pulled the sweat-drenched t-shirt over his head and collapsed into the nearest lounge chair, a plume of dust billowing up all around him. He knew he should say something about his blackout to Alexandria, but decided that she had enough unanswered questions of her own to add his to them. To his surprise, though, Alexandria looked like a girl without a care in the world this morning.
Alexandria sneezed, then sneezed again.
"Bless you," he said, smiling.
"Thank you, and late," she said, dragging a powdery white sheet off the chair opposite him. She sat down slowly so as not to disturb any further dust, although she had to admit that the dust motes looked particularly pretty this morning, dancing lazily in the golden sunbeams filtering in through the open window. She sniffed the air and studied Andrew's white, paint-splattered hands and trousers. "You look like you've been busy. Painting, I presume, by the coat of paint you have acquired?"
He rubbed his hands together, then set them on his knees. "Couldn't sleep, so I got up," he said, pulling his fingers through the brown, shoulder length hair that he'd pulled back into a ponytail with an old shoe lace. A loose strand of hair fell across his face and he pushed it back behind his ear, only to have it come free once again. "You will be really pleased to know that the west wing is now completely livable and has received a fresh layer of paint. Bedroom, bathroom, and sitting room. No squeaky doors, floorboards or rattling window shutters to keep anyone awake on a wet, windy night."
"Is that the room you've decided to take?" she asked, getting up and walking toward the kitchen. "Coffee?" she called over her shoulder. "Where did you get the paint?"
"Attic, and no to the room, yes please to the coffee." He rose from the chair, following her into the kitchen. At the kitchen sink, he scrubbed his hands with a bar of sand soap and scouring pad until most of the paint was gone.
"Why not, about the room?" she asked, nudging him aside with her hip to fill the old kettle at the sink. How many cups of tea had her mother made with this very kettle, she wondered. Andrew nudged her back, dried his hands on the sides of his trousers, then slid up onto the kitchen bench.
"There's an electric jug in the cupboard over there, you know," he said, hopping down from the bench and retrieving two coffee mugs from an overhead cupboard. "And I hope you don't mind, but I found some old clothes in the attic when I was having a look around," he said, indicating the pair of trousers he was wearing that had long ago been splattered with various colors of paint.