Page 3 of Whisker me Away
The line went dead, leaving Kieran alone with the stench of dying magic and the weight of community expectations. He'd come to Hollow Oak fifteen years ago as a broken teenager fresh out of foster care, carrying nothing but a duffel bag and a reputation for trouble. Miriam Caldwell had taken one look at his sorry ass and decided he needed more than just a place to sleep.
She'd given him a home, a purpose, and eventually taught him everything from basic carpentry to advanced garden magic. Under her patient guidance, he'd learned to channel his restless energy into useful skills: security work, handyman jobs, crisis management, even some basic magical theory. The council never officially appointed him to anything, but somehow he'd become the person everyone called when supernatural problems needed solving.
Maybe because he didn't have family complications to navigate. Maybe because his tiger gave him an edge in dangerous situations. Or maybe because he'd spent enough years proving himself that people finally believed he wasn't going anywhere.
Whatever the reason, this felt different from his usual jobs. Personal in a way that made his tiger pace like a caged animal, especially with the harvest season approaching and the whole town's magical energy at stake.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel path behind him. Two sets, moving fast. Kieran turned to see Maizy Thornwick approaching with someone behind her, copper hair catching the morning light like spun gold.
Freya Bloom. He'd known her most of his adult life, watched her grow from a studious teenager who helped her grandmother tend their famous garden into a confident woman whose presence could make something stir deep in his chest. She'd always kept her distance from him, though. Even back when he was twenty-two and stupid enough to think charm and good looks were enough to win over any woman in Hollow Oak.
The memory of her polite but firm rejection still stung, even after all these years. She'd been kind about it, which somehow made it worse. "I don't think we'd be a good match, Kieran." Delivered with that gentle smile that took the edge off while making her position crystal clear.
He'd shrugged it off at the time, moving on to console himself with Sarah McKinney and then half a dozen other women who were happy to enjoy his company without asking for commitment. But watching Freya hurry toward the ruined garden with worry etched across her delicate features brought back that same restless hunger he'd tried to forget.
Her scent reached him before she did, cutting through the decay like sunshine breaking through storm clouds. Lilacs andsomething uniquely her, something that made his tiger rise with interest and his eyes flash with awareness.
Not happening,he told himself firmly.She's got Rowan sniffing around, and you've got bigger problems.
"Oh no," Freya whispered, stopping short at the garden's edge. Her hand flew to her mouth, green eyes flecked with gold widening with horror, the gold seeming to dim with her distress. "It's worse than I thought."
"Much worse," Maizy agreed grimly. She nodded at Kieran. "Any theories?"
"Working on it." He studied Freya's reaction, noting how her magic seemed to recoil from the corruption the same way his tiger did. The autumn breeze ruffled his sun-streaked brown hair, and he pushed the waves back from his face with fingers that still smelled like corrupted earth. "When did you notice the first signs?"
"This morning." Freya's voice shook slightly. "My grandmother's heritage roses were the first to turn. Then it spread to the mercantile."
"Heritage roses?" Kieran's attention sharpened. "Those have been in your family how long?"
"Five generations. They're..." She swallowed hard. "They were the foundation of our family's botanical magic. Especially important for harvest season preparations."
Were.Past tense. Whatever had done this had specifically targeted the Bloom family's power source, and at the worst possible time of year. That narrowed the suspect list considerably.
"Can I see them?" he asked.
Freya nodded, though she looked like she'd rather do anything else. "They're behind my shop."
As they walked back toward town, Kieran found himself studying her profile. She still carried herself like someone who'drather be underestimated than deal with unwanted attention, shoulders straight but not aggressive, chin lifted with quiet determination. Her canvas messenger bag bounced against her hip with each step, probably filled with the kind of tools that marked her as a serious practitioner, not just someone playing at herb magic.
When she stumbled slightly on the uneven path, his hand moved to steady her before he could think better of it.
The contact sent electricity shooting up his arm. Freya gasped softly, her green-gold eyes meeting his with surprise that mirrored his own before jerking her arm away.
They walked the rest of the way in charged silence, past storefronts decorated with pumpkins and corn stalks, windows advertising harvest festival preparations and autumn remedies. By the time they reached Bloom & Blossom, his tiger was practically vibrating with awareness of the woman beside him.
The shop was exactly what he'd expected from Freya: warm, inviting, and smelling like every healing herb known to magical practitioners. Jars lined the walls in perfect order, and dried flowers hung from the ceiling in artful bundles. It felt like stepping into a fairy tale, especially with autumn sunlight streaming through windows that overlooked what should have been a magnificent garden.
"Around back," Freya said, leading them through the shop to a door that opened onto botanical carnage.
The heritage roses had been magnificent once; he could see that from the size of their root systems and the elegant way they'd been trained along a trellis. Now they hung like broken bones, their thorns turned brittle and black, their petals scattered on the ground like drops of blood against the autumn earth.
"Jesus," he breathed.
Freya knelt beside the largest bush, her hands hovering just above the corrupted stems. She began whispering in what sounded like Gaelic, her voice soft and musical despite the pain threading through every word. The old tongue made Kieran's skin prickle with awareness, his tiger responding to magic it recognized as both powerful and pure.
"It's not responding," Freya said after several minutes. Tears tracked down her cheeks as she rocked back on her heels. "My magic can't even touch whatever did this."
"Because it's not a disease," Kieran said quietly. The pieces were falling into place now, forming a picture he didn't like. "This is a curse. Specifically designed to target your bloodline's magic."
