Books 1-3

by B. C. Burgess

  Steadying herself, she attempted a polite smile, but her lips were numb. “Hi,” was all she could say, and it squeaked out. It was all wrong, so she tried again. “Sorry… so inappropriate.” Her cheeks grew hot as she dropped her gaze, finding herself once again clutching the couch.

  “It was perfect,” a woman replied, and Layla looked up, watching Daleen approach. “Hi,” she greeted, reaching for Layla, but she didn’t touch her. She just curled her fingers into the air around her. “We’ve been missing you.”

  Layla trembled as the dam cracked, flooding her lashes with moisture. “I don’t know what to say,” she confessed, struggling with insufficient lungs as she searched Daleen’s face. It was beautiful and sincere and like her son’s in so many painful ways.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Daleen assured. “We owe you the world just for letting us get a look at you.”

  A sob broke through Layla’s clogged throat, and she dropped her head, squeezing her eyes shut on a swell of tears. “I’m sorry.”

  She heard the front door close and sobbed again, angry at herself for being too tender-hearted to face the people who sacrificed so much for her.

  She shivered as a hand slid down her hair. Then a woman spoke in a voice so kind and familiar it rocked Layla onto her heels.

  “Would you like to sit down, sweetie?”

  Layla looked up, finding her mom staring back at her through Morrigan’s affectionate expression; and her legs folded, dropping her into her grandmothers’ stealthy hands. She quickly found her feet, but she couldn’t stifle the tears or breathe without hiccupping, so she did her best to help them get her to the sofa. They sat her between them. Then Morrigan squeezed her shoulders while Daleen stroked her arm.

  “I’m sorry,” Layla gasped, burying her face in one hand, partly because she was embarrassed, and partly because everywhere she looked, her parents looked back through the faces of others.

  “Don’t be sorry,” Morrigan insisted. “We know this is hard.”

  Layla wiped her eyes, fighting to regain control, but her cheeks flamed and her hands shook. “I can see them… I can see them in you guys.”

  “We see them in you, too,” Daleen replied. “You’re a beautiful reminder of our children. It hurts to think about Aedan and Rhosewen, but we’re so happy we’re getting this opportunity. We’ve been dreaming about it for eighteen years. Now you’re here and you’re healthy and so lovely.”

  “Thank you,” Layla whispered, meeting Daleen’s stare. “I’m happy to see you, too. I’m just . . . overwhelmed.”

  Layla looked at her lap, wishing she had a tissue. Then an entire box was held out to her. She glanced at the large hand holding it then followed a tan arm to Serafin’s emerald eyes. “Thank you,” she breathed, absently taking a tissue. Whereas before she couldn’t make eye contact, now she couldn’t break it. She couldn’t look away from the gaze that was hers, her father’s and her grandfather’s.

  “You’re welcome,” Serafin offered, a sad smile curving wide set lips. “Can I get you anything else?”

  Layla shook her head no, still unable to look away.

  “I expected resemblances,” he added, “yet they stun the senses. You’re quite the beauty, my dear. It’s marvelous to behold you with my eyes instead of my mind.”

  Caitrin stepped closer, and Layla flipped her gaze from one wizard to the other, finding round eyes boasting shiny blue oceans. Caitrin’s fair face and colorful aura were so bright he could have been an angel. In fact, Layla felt like she was sitting on a golden cloud with a whole band of angels.

  “So beautiful,” she whispered. “All of you. It feels like a dream.”

  Caitrin smiled. “To see you is a dream come true for all of us.”

  Looking at them was getting easier. With each passing second, Layla saw more of them and less of her parents. Still an emotionally charged sight to see, but a happier one, unmarred by despair and loss. Her grandparents weren’t lost at all. She’d found them.

  A heavy weight she didn’t know she bore lifted, and her dizzy brain swirled as relief rippled from her head to her toes. The hasty flip of emotion jarred her senses, and her lungs yanked in air as she burst into tears. This time she covered her face with both hands and cried for several minutes.

  When the tearful episode subsided, she cleaned herself up then slowly looked around, focusing on their faces one at a time. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house, so she grabbed the box of tissues and passed them around.

  She figured there would be a quiet moment while everyone gathered themselves, but as she set the tissues aside, Morrigan pulled her into a tight hug. Layla’s first reaction was to tense, but she didn’t want to disappoint her grandma, so she turned and nervously slid her arms around her waist.

  “Layla,” Morrigan sobbed, “it feels so good to hold you.” She leaned back, stroking Layla’s cheeks like she’d never see them again. “Thank you for finding us. We’ve missed you more than words can say.”

  Layla swallowed and blinked back tears. “I had no idea how much I was missing.”

  “Oh, sweetie,” Morrigan exclaimed, pulling her back in.

  It didn’t take long for Layla to find comfort in Morrigan’s embrace. She was being held in motherly arms and felt as if she belonged there. In fact, she never wanted to leave, but after several seconds of cuddling into loving warmth, she wondered if hugging the others would feel as fantastic. Embarrassed to test the theory, she blushed when she left Morrigan’s arms and faced Daleen.

  “Your blush is lovely,” Daleen noted, taking her hot cheeks, “but unnecessary. We would cross the earth a million times for the chance to hold you again.” And with that, she pulled Layla in.

  The embrace didn’t disappoint, and soon Layla was buried in Daleen’s shoulder, floating in a sea of contentment.

  “Thank you,” Daleen whispered, smelling and kissing her curls. Then she leaned back and dried their tears.

  Layla stared at Daleen’s beaming face with wide eyes, feeling dazed as a smile tugged on her lips, but her nerves flared at the prospect of hugging her grandfathers. The idea was as foreign as the final frontier. But as scared as Layla was to make the journey, she burned with curiosity, so she cleared her throat and got to her feet.

  Serafin offered a hand, and she timidly took it, letting him pull her into a strong hug. One large palm urged her cheek to his chest as the other encircled her shoulders, and she hesitantly wrapped her arms around his torso.

  As wonderful as a mother’s hug, but completely different and brand new, Serafin’s embrace flooded Layla with another wave of emotion. She choked on a sob, and he rested a cheek on her head, strengthening the sanctuary encasing her. His chest vibrated as his heart thrummed in her ear, and she listened closely, finding peace in its rhythm.

  If she’d known how natural and wonderful it would feel to hold her biological family, it would have saved her a lot of worry. They shared a connection not even eighteen years apart could stifle. It was right. It was the way it should be. It was magical and perfect and she was home. Katherine had been her home for seventeen fantastic years and one very lonely year, but this was Layla’s home now, and she knew, without a doubt, that she belonged there.

  “Layla Love,” Serafin whispered. “You just made me the happiest man on earth.”

  Layla squeezed her response, unprepared to let go, but one grandparent remained.

  She turned to Caitrin without hesitation, and he happily pulled her into a cozy hug filled with security and love.

  What a day! Layla couldn’t believe it. In mere minutes, she’d obtained four loving relatives and was already comfortable with them. Another whoosh of relief lightened her body and mind.

  “You’re as sweet as your mom,” Caitrin offered, leaning back to find her face. “Thank you for giving us this opportunity. We could speak a million words and still not express how much this day means to us.”

  “I had no idea it would be like this. You guys are more wonderfu
l than I ever imagined.”

  “You’re every bit as wonderful as we imagined,” he countered.

  In a flash of movement, Morrigan and Daleen were at Layla’s side, brushing her hair from her face and tenderly touching her arms. Apparently they couldn’t get enough of her to satisfy their neglected maternal need.

  “We want to get to know you,” Daleen insisted, laying her cheek in Layla’s hand. “We’ve been missing you so much for so long. We want you to stay here with us, so we can learn who you are and give you all the love we’ve been saving up.” She paused, hopefully searching Layla’s eyes as she swept a curl from her forehead. “Is that something you’d like?”

  Layla had no problem committing to her grandparents. In fact, she was ecstatic about it. “Yes. I want to stay and get to know the life I’ve been missing. You guys are wonderful. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

  “Oh, darling,” Daleen approved, pulling her into another hug. “You have no idea how happy you’ve made us.”

  Indeed. The room glowed with delighted auras and golden clouds.

  Chapter Seven

  Portland’s urban buzz faded as the stranger entered the downtown hotel and scanned the lobby. Dishes clinked in an adjoining restaurant, and a stream of voices flowed from the service desk as a large group of tourists checked in.

  The stranger meandered to a guest coffee station and fixed a cup of brew. Then he sipped while watching two female receptionists distribute keys. One was older with a stern expression, and the other was younger with short spiky hair and too much makeup. Neither were his type, but the younger one had a nice rack and a friendly smile.

  The busty woman sensed someone’s eyes on her and looked over, meeting the stranger’s stare. He smiled, unconcerned about being caught, and she blushed as she resumed her task. From then on, she couldn’t help but sneak glimpses of her admirer, and the stranger knew he had an ally.

  When the rush dissipated, the young receptionist told her coworker to take a break then began shuffling through papers.

  “You work too hard,” the stranger noted, trashing his coffee on his way to the counter. He glanced at the cleavage peeking from the woman’s white blouse, then to her name tag. “Chelsea.”

  Her cheeks flushed as she set her work aside and fidgeted with a pen. “Welcome to the . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, flashing a smile as he leaned on the counter. “I know the spiel. Take it easy. I’m not going to report you to your boss.”

  Chelsea’s chest stuttered as she shifted forward and lowered her voice. “My boss is in the office behind me, and he happens to be my boyfriend.”

  “Then you have nothing to worry about,” the stranger whispered.

  Chelsea forgot to breathe as she stared at him with wide eyes and parted lips. Then she shook her head and straightened her shoulders. “What can I do for you, Mister . . . ?”

  “Callaway.”

  “Callaway. Do you have a reservation?”

  “No. I’m meeting my sister here, but I forgot her room number.”

  “I’ll give her a call,” Chelsea offered, turning toward the computer. “What’s her name?”

  “Layla Callaway.”

  Chelsea’s fingers paused over the keyboard as she looked over. “I remember checking her in.”

  “Do you keep track of all your check-ins?”

  “No, but your sister is . . . memorable.”

  “Yes she is.”

  “You two look nothing alike.”

  “So you’ll forget me when I’m gone?” he laughed.

  “That’s not what I meant,” she stammered. Then a man’s voice floated through a partially opened door behind her.

  “Chelsea.”

  “I’m with a customer,” she called back, focusing on the computer screen. After a short search, she picked up the phone and looked across the desk. “Do you want to talk to her?”

  The stranger leaned forward, giving Chelsea the impression he was scanning her body as he searched for the phone’s keypad, but it was hidden under the lip of the desk. “So that’s your boyfriend?” he asked, reaching for her lapel.

  “Uh… yeah..

  He slid his hand up her collar, grazing her jaw with his thumb as his fingertips slipped into haphazard locks of tawny hair. A touch to her skull and he’d see what she saw, know what she knew.

  “Chelsea,” the manager repeated, flinging open his door.

  Chelsea whipped her head around, and the stranger withheld a growl as he narrowed his eyes on the intruder – a man in his thirties with hair to match his girlfriend’s.

  The manager eyed the scene as he walked forward. Then he yanked the phone from Chelsea’s hand and took her place at the computer. “I need a list of check-ins for housekeeping,” he ordered. Then he looked at the customer. “What can I do for you?”

  The stranger glanced at the man’s nametag as he smoothed his expression and straightened from the counter. “Chelsea was doing a fine job, David. She should get a raise.” He winked at the receptionist, whose red face framed a grin as she looked away.

  “I’ll take that into consideration,” David simmered, trying with little success to maintain his professionalism. “Are you a guest here?”

  “No,” the stranger answered, turning his undivided attention on the man standing between him and Layla. “Chelsea was just ringing a room for…”

  David suddenly grunted and clasped his chest, ripping the phone receiver from its base as he stumbled backward. White fingers reached for the stranger, who calmly watched as David’s tense body toppled over a stool.

  Chelsea turned to find her boyfriend on the floor, and at first she struggled not to laugh. Then she noticed his pale knuckles and purple face and her paperwork went flying as she dropped to her knees. “David!”

  “What a shame,” the stranger mumbled, leaning across the desk for a glimpse of the computer screen, but he was interrupted by the older receptionist, who chose the most inconvenient time to return from her break.

  “What happened?” she blurted, eyes bulging at the scene.

  “Call 911,” Chelsea yelled, and her coworker jumped to obey, using the phone at the other end of the counter.

  The stranger stretched over the desk, as if trying to see the chaos on the other side. Then he darted forward and shifted his agile gaze down and to the right. The computer screen came into view, and his focus quickly landed on Callaway, Layla – Room 358.

  Bystanders flocked to Chelsea’s yells, crowding the reception area, so the stranger slipped away with ease. He entered the dining room, passed the patrons craning their necks to see the turmoil in the lobby. Then he dodged a frantic restaurant manager and made his way into the kitchen. A few cooks looked at him in confusion, but he ignored them, pretending he belonged there as he grabbed a steak dinner off the line and loaded it on a room service tray. On his way to the service entrance, he grabbed a blazer off the back of a chair, the kind the wait staff wore – maroon with ridiculous tails.

  With the tray in one hand, he magically donned the stolen jacket while riding the elevator toward his goal – a witch unlike any other, a witch with incomprehensible power. If he played his cards right, she’d be sharing that power with him very soon.

  The elevator halted, and the stranger took a right down the hall, following the signs to room 358. He stopped on the threshold, straightened his collar then knocked on the door, inwardly cursing the nerves tightening his stomach.

  Several seconds ticked by, and his impatience flared as he knocked again. Nothing.

  Glancing left and right, he reached for the doorknob and magically disarmed the lock. Once he was in, he quietly closed the door behind him and scanned the room. The lights were off, the TV was silent, and the bed was made.

  “This isn’t right,” he mumbled, moving further inside.

  There wasn’t any luggage, no trash in the bins, and no clutter on the tables. He walked to the bathroom and flipped the light on. The vanity held n
othing but complimentary soaps, and the sink and tub were dry. “Shit.”

  She hadn’t stayed there last night. Where was she? And why didn’t she check out before going? Damn. This wasn’t what his visions showed him.

  He returned to the main room and sat at the desk with the tray. No sense in wasting a good steak.

  As he ate, he observed the chamber, watching the bed in which she may or may not have slept. Why did his prophesies consistently deny him the most important piece of the puzzle? It was as if the ethereal souls guiding his visions were deliberately thwarting him. Perhaps he would question them the next time he sought answers, which, apparently, would occur sooner rather than later.

  As he loaded empty dishes onto the tray, he decided he would return to the front desk and see if Chelsea remained at her post. He could give her a sympathetic shoulder to cry on about David’s sudden misfortune, listen to her sob about how her boyfriend’s too young to suffer a heart attack and how fragile he looked as the paramedics wheeled him away. Then the stranger would offer reassurances interspersed with flirtatious sweet talk, and soon Chelsea would be spilling her guts about any information she held on his… sister.

  If that didn’t work, he would get a room and wait for Layla’s return. He’d conceal himself and sit outside her door if that was the price to lay eyes on her again, to find the trail he lost in Oklahoma. Every thread of his existence was intertwined with hers. The witch shaped his life; he would travel to the ends of the earth and stoop lower than the deepest ocean if that’s what it took to shape hers.

  Chapter Eight

  Fresh coffee in hand, Layla sat between her grandmothers while facing her grandfathers, concluding a brief rundown of her life. “And that’s when I quit my job at the diner and left Oklahoma. You guys pretty much know what comes next. It didn’t take long for me to find my way to Cinnia’s once I reached Oregon.”

  Morrigan and Daleen couldn’t keep their hands off Layla’s arms and hair, and she didn’t want them to. With the exception of Katherine, Layla had never felt so comfortable letting another person touch her so freely. Quin liberally touched her, but his touch made her nervous, flustered and excited; nothing like her grandmothers’ calming caresses.