Obliviate Book Two

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Maeve was seated in a comfy, ornate wooden lounging chair in the back sunroom of her Grandmother Agatha's lavish cottage.

The doors to the main room were open, letting sunlight pour onto the old dark walnut floors.

Maeve had been avoiding Agatha for months now. A pot of tea and two teacups appeared on the table between them.

"So," said Agatha in a business-like voice. "I hear you nearly died."

"Which time?" Asked Maeve, with the hint of a smirk on her lips.

"Some dark magic you're dabbling in," said Agatha. "Though I expect nothing less from my youngest son's offspring."

Maeve didn't respond and let Agatha speak.

"Speaking of death," said Agatha, waving her wand to pour herself another cup of tea. "I heard Silas Crump died."

Maeve turned her head to her Grandmother slowly. "What does that name mean to you?"

"No one kills my blood and gets away with it," said Agatha, answering Maeve's actual, unasked question.

Maeve sat up in her seat. "You? You found him?"

Agatha sipped her tea with a vacant expression and didn't answer Maeve.

"How did you know I've nearly died three times this year? Did Father tell you or someone else?" Asked Maeve, beginning to understand that Tom and Agatha were communicating with one another.

"I don't really need to answer that question, sharp as you are."

Maeve had been foolish to assume Tom wasn't closing in on her Grandmother, just like he was the rest of the most powerful purebloods. Of course, he had been.

"Why don't you ever come to parties anymore?" Asked Maeve.

"Ambrose, keep me informed."

"Don't you miss it?"

Agatha chuckled, "No, dear, it was a welcome relief, truth be told. Not having to face all those arrogant bastards."

Maeve laughed. "I suppose you do want for nothing."

Agatha raised her teacup, toasting Maeve.

Maeve's attention was drawn to the giant portrait of her grandfather, who had just stood up from his armchair and began walking in the field of wildflowers mounted next to him.

"So," said Agatha. "Tom Riddle."

Maeve felt a flush in her cheeks at the mention of his name.

Agatha continued, "Though, I hear you call him by another name at times. Quite an affectionate name from the sound of it."

Maeve remained silent.

"Well?" Pushed Agatha.

"What would you like to know?"

"Well, for starters, I'm wondering how I missed the addition of the name 'Riddle' on the list of suitable pureblood men for you to marry, wonderful as the boy is."

Maeve placed her teacup down, folding her hands into her lap.

"You didn't."

"And so I'm to understand you're aware the boy's half-blooded? Regardless of his blood heritage from centuries ago, the son of a muggle on paper is unfit for a Sinclair."

While the statement was true from Agatha's perspective, Maeve couldn't help but feel ill at the reminder of Tom's father. Maeve chose her words carefully, wondering if Tom would ever see this moment through her memories.