Page 2 of Starlight Witch

I turned back to Grams. “You’re right. I know I need to be patient, for Faron’s sake. That’s not an easy thing for me, but I’ll wait and hope.”

“Has Bran been pushing you about the issue?” She returned to her seat.

“Yes, but he’s not being obnoxious about it.” I changed the subject. “On other topics, my mother called last night. She’s asked us to join her and Aunt Ciara for Thanksgiving next week. That means we’ll be making dinner, given Catharine doesn’t cook.”

My mother really didn’t do much of anything, especially if she didn’t enjoy it. I’d grown up on a diet of sandwiches, frozen dinners, and canned food. It hadn’t hurt me, but there had been no cozy Sunday dinners with roast beef and mashed potatoes, or whatever it was close families ate when they gathered together.

“Oh, that sounds like a joyful time,” Grams said, rolling her eyes.

“I’d rather invite them here, but at least, when it gets to be too much, we can leave. And Ciara needs us more than my mother does. Losing Owen has been hard on her. So I think we should go, if you’re willing.”

My cousin had committed suicide the month before. He was an addict, and he had taken one too many pills, finally. The drugs had chased him into a depression, and at the end, he couldn’t find his way out. None of us had known he was mired so deep, and his death had been hard on my aunt and me. Owen and I grew up together. We used to be best buddies, but we had drifted apart. I felt some guilt over that, though logically, the past year had been hell on me, too, and I had barely been able to drag myself out of my own depression, let alone help anybody else.

“All right, we’ll go. But I’m cooking. Those two can’t cook their way out of a paper bag,” Grams said. “Tomorrow I’ll go shopping for everything we’ll need. Otherwise, the shelves will be bare if we wait till next week. You can help me cook some of the dishes in advance, like the pies. Tell your mother we’ll be there.” She gave me a smart-assed grin.

I snorted. “All right. At least dinner will be good.”

My mother was a narcissist—albeit a harmless one—and she didn’t really pay attention to the comfort of others. That was one reason I’d left Port Townsend, beyond the grim memories that remained there for me.

“Well, I’d best get my creaky old bones in gear if I’m going house hunting today.” Grams stood, carrying her dishes to the sink.

She might call herself old, and truly, she was, at one hundred and twenty-six. But Grams was in good health and would probably be around for at least another quarter century, if not longer. Witches lived longer than regular humans, though we weren’t as long-lived as most shifters. But we aged well, and Grams looked and acted like a human half her years.

“Get on with you. You can outwalk me any day.” It wasn’t true, but she did give me a run for my money. I handed her my dish.

“Have you thought about whether you’re going to reopen your shop? I know you’d have to rebuild it, but…” Grams rinsed our dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I want to see what happens with the magic you’re teaching me, first. It feels like my life is shifting, and I want to see how things go.” I slid into my black leather jacket and pulled on a pair of matching gloves. “All right, I’m off.” I turned to Fancypants. “Be good today. Watch the cats after Grams leaves.”

“I will,” he said, flying over to land on my arm. “Your great-grandmother is right about Faron. Don’t stress him. Brain injuries are dangerous.”

“I know,” I said, holding my arm out for him to hop atop the counter. “Later.”

As I headed toward my car, a midnight blue Chevy Equinox, I wondered what would happen today. Would Faron remember anything about us? Had he remembered anything? How would he act? I’d only seen him for a few minutes here and there since he woke up, trying not to put any stress on him by visiting too often. Now, as I started the ignition, butterflies took over in my stomach and I bumped my way down the graveled driveway, trying to think about anything else.

Starlight Hollow was the sort of town that grew slowly. People would come through, and a few were pulled to stick around and explore, but most felt a gentle shove that moved them through quickly. It wasn’t a dangerous town, or scary, but there was a certain energy that crept through the land it was on. While a number of shifters lived in Starlight Hollow, witchfolk were the most common, and we infused our magic in the town, igniting the aura of the community.

What a lot of people never understood was that every town had its own essential self. Some communities, like Starlight Hollow, evolved self-awareness, becoming semi-sentient. Other towns and cities remained silent, the collective consciousness slumbering in a state of perpetual hibernation.

Bree Loomis, my best friend and a puma shifter, had moved here in her twenties. When my fiancé and I were attacked by a sadistic vampire a little over a year ago, I knew I couldn’t stay in Port Townsend. Rian’s death had scarred me. His torture had been physical, mine had been mental and emotional. The beautiful artistic town had taken on a dark gloom and I ran to escape the memories, to Starlight Hollow. But running never works, and I soon fell in love with the town. I had grown, emerging from behind the massive wall I’d built to protect myself.

The Olympic Wolf Pack lived across the road from the main part of Starlight Hollow, in a self-organized commune. They were still part of the town, but they were an insular group, and they had built their own subdivision. Composed of pretty two- and three-bedroom single-story houses, the neighborhood was known as Rosewood Hill. The houses were built up the eastern slope leading toward the Olympic National Park. The trees were thick here—not the oldest growth in the park, but there were giants among the already towering firs and cedars, their mossy trunks soaring into the sky.

I had plugged in my GPS because the twists and turns of the streets in the Rosewood Hill neighborhood were enough to confound even a person with the best sense of direction. It led me along the tangle of streets and alleyways until I came to Kyle’s house. He lived a few blocks over from Faron, but it might as well have been all the way across town, for all the deadends and private lanes.

As I brought the car to a stop in front of a pale blue house with white trim, I turned off the ignition and stared at it. Faron’s home was larger, given he was the king of the Olympic Wolf Pack, but right now he needed watching until the doctors determined he was out of danger.

When we first met, Faron and I had been at odds, butting heads and trading insults. But that had given way as an inexplicable connection spawned between us. For an alpha, he turned out to be considerably more level-headed than I had expected. He was arrogant, but he had the goods to back it up, and once we had put aside our differences, the attraction flourished. Then he had been attacked. Or rather, we had been attacked while helping Bree.

I took a deep breath, grabbed my purse and the bouquet of flowers I had bought at the grocery store, and headed for the door. As I stopped to glance at the sky, the rain began to fall—chilly fat drops splattering to cover the ground. I ducked my head and sprinted to the porch.

As I rang the bell, I tried to figure out what to say, but I had nothing. I had no clue what would happen.

Kyle opened the door. Where Faron was lean and muscled, Kyle was stocky and burly. Faron was regal, where Kyle was everyman. Kyle was pleasant and logical, but he wasn’t magnetic like Faron. But the resemblance between them was there, beneath the differences, the biggest of which was that Kyle didn’t want the throne. He was eager to hand the reins of power back. That I knew from the hours of talks that we had had, sitting outside of Faron’s room at the hospital, waiting for news about his health.

Kyle gave me a hug. “I’m glad you could come.”

“I’m nervous,” I said. “I admit it, I’m not sure what to expect, so…”

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