by Zoe Chant
She was completely still. Statue-like, and even not looking at her eyes he could feel them on him. Pinning him in place.
“I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he said, his voice a faraway rumble. She jumped as though she hadn’t expected him to speak, despite just asking him a question. “I know you don’t like it. I didn’t know you were in here. Hannah, she said—”
He broke off. His excuses didn’t matter.
Olly’s cheekbones were sharper than he remembered. She’d lost weight. And her eyes were sunken, even if they still stung like knives to look at.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Her eye twitched and he could practically hear her berating herself for talking without taking in the whole situation first. Because surely, if she’d had any time to think, she’d have realized why he thought she wasn’t okay. She looked as though she hadn’t slept in months.
She was off-footed. And it was his fault.
Jackson took a deep breath. He needed to control the situation, to find a way to give Olly back enough control that she didn’t cut and run, but the words that came out of his mouth just sent it further out of hand. “For a start, you could hide a sack of presents in the bags under your eyes.” Shit. He was growling at her, now? First he startled her and now he was telling her off. No wonder she didn’t want anything to do with him.
He took a step forward. Gritted his jaw. Do this right. “Olly, you look like hell.”
“Well, you look like—” Her lips pinched shut and her eyes flew around his face. They landed on his forehead and skated over his scar, and even though he knew there was no way she’d be able to see it behind his hair it still throbbed. “Why are you here?” she burst out. “Why couldn’t you just stay away?”
Her voice cracked and Jackson’s blood rose. He took another step towards her and she strained forwards, as though her feet were frozen in place but some part of her still wanted to—
No. That couldn’t be real. He’d scared her, and now he was imagining things.
Jackson tried to make himself look as non-threatening as possible.
“Something’s wrong here. I know it. Whatever’s going on with you, you can tell me.”
He was growling, still, and he hated himself for it, but Olly’s pupils went wide. He swallowed.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I really, really can’t. I—”
There was a crash from behind him.
Jackson spun around, automatically putting himself between Olly and whatever had caused the noise. Yells of surprise filled the air.
The trestle tables were untouched. But outside…
Jackson swore as he strode forward.
The tent had collapsed. Cold air blasted through the front door and the festive party tent billowed and sagged like a swamped goose.
People were fighting to get free. Jackson breathed in the smell of singed plastic. Somewhere, Jasper Heartwell was shouting about small fires.
And in the middle of the giant mess was a gleaming, silver-winged pegasus. Its wings shimmered as though lit by something more than moonlight. It threw its head back, as though it was surprised to find itself in the center of such chaos, and its mane rippled like molten silver.
Jackson’s stomach sank.
He should have paid more attention to his mother’s warning. Mythic shifters weren’t exactly common. Jackson had seen one pegasus, once in his life. This would make twice.
The pegasus caught sight of him and whinnied excitedly. It tried to canter towards them, got its hooves caught in the canvas, and tripped on its shining face.
Jackson turned away, back towards the kitchen. “Olly, I—”
He was too late. The moment he reached the kitchen door there was an explosion of feathers and Olly was gone, flying out through the window into the night.
Jackson watched her go, taking the newly broken pieces of his heart with her.
The shouting behind him got louder. He ran both hands down his face.
This isn’t your problem, he reminded himself. She doesn’t want anything to do with you. You knew that already and now you know it for sure.
Another crash. His eye twitched. That? That is your problem.
Jackson straightened his shoulders and strode outside.
He stepped onto the crumpled roof of the tent and something squeaked under his foot. He bent down and hunted around until he found the tent’s entranceway. To his surprise, a long-haired sheep scuttled out, bleating.
He hadn’t known there were any sheep shifters in Pine Valley.
Abigail stumbled out next, elf-hat askew and eyes wide. “Ruby,” she said urgently. “She wanted to play with Cole—where did she—”
She tried to throw herself back into the crushed tent and Jackson held her back. “I’ll find her,” he said. Abigail put her hands over her face.
“I know she’s not hurt,” she said strangely. “I can feel it… here.” One of her hands drifted to rest just above her heart. “Like with Jasper. And—oh!”
She spun around just as a plume of flame erupted from the tent. A tiny, brilliant red snout followed it, and then a larger black one.
“Ruby!” Abigail put her hands over her mouth. “Cole! Come over here at once, and stop burning things!”
The two dragons—one the size of a large dog, the other the size of a cat—popped free and looked around, apparently delighted. The black dragon’s nostrils were trickling smoke. The little one looked at him and burped out another puff of flame.
“No,” Abigail said firmly. “Jasper—”
Her husband battled himself free at the far end of the chaos and called both dragonlets over to him. Abigail sagged against the doorframe in relief. “At least he didn’t panic and shift,” she muttered to herself. “Oh, Mrs. Lamb—let me help…”
Jackson left her helping people stumble free of the tent. He could have stayed, pulling people to their feet as they crawled out the escape-route door, but that would have been ignoring the bigger problem.
He picked his way over the heaving canvas, careful to avoid any moving lumps, until he reached the pegasus.
“You picked a hell of a time for a family reunion,” he growled at it.
The pegasus was still trying to find its feet. It clatter-fluttered towards him and he got a face full of silver feathers. The smell of whiskey was even stronger than the smell of burning plastic.
“How much have you been drinking?” Jackson gasped. “Come on—shift back, why don’t you?”
The pegasus whinnied and slumped its head over his shoulder. His knees almost buckled under the weight. One of its wings thwapped the ground. The other almost took off Jackson’s head.
Step by step, each more difficult than the last, he managed to lead it onto clear ground. The fallen tent buckled and slumped as the rest of the party pushed their way free, either through the flattened doors or ripping their way out with claws and teeth. A few shifted back into human form, shivered in the cold, and shifted back into their safely furred or feathered forms.
Jackson turned away.
“You sure know how to make an entrance,” he muttered to the swaying pegasus. It hiccupped and stared at him with huge, confused eyes.
“Jackson.” Jasper had the orange dragon in one arm and Abigail tucked under the other. He looked as close to unhappy as Jackson had ever seen him. “You want to tell us what the hell is going on here?”
Jackson took a deep breath. He gestured towards the pegasus.
“Jasper, Abigail… everyone.”
He winced.
“Meet my father. Andrew Petrakis.”
8
Olly
Fuck.
Cold crackled against the owl’s claws as it landed on the frozen branch. Olly sank down inside its mind. If she’d had fingers, she would have been gnawing at them.
Fuck shit fuck.
She was in the best vantage point of the best tree on the best ridge above town and it still wasn’t helpi
ng. No amount of perspective was going to fix this.
That didn’t go right, her owl chittered, as disturbed as she was. You said—but he was—what happened? A wave of suspicion. What have you been hiding from me?
What have I been hiding? How did—whatever-that-was—crash into the tent without you even noticing?
Guilt and panic welled over her owl’s suspicion. I was focusing on—on—
On what? Not telling me that he was coming?
She couldn’t even think his name. Not yet. Her owl was right, she had been hiding something.
She’d been hiding everything.
What was that, anyway? she asked wretchedly. That… thing. That crashed through the roof.
I don’t know. Her owl crackled with discomfort. It hated not knowing. It was big and it had wings.
I’ll ask Meaghan—
No! We’ll figure it out!
Okay, okay. We’ll figure it out. By waiting until Meaghan or someone else brings it up, she added to herself, wishing she had a forehead to rub and knuckles to rub it with.
I heard that, her owl told her sulkily.
Olly groaned. Of course it had. Her owl heard everything that was in her head. Which was why she’d been so careful to—
I knew it! You are hiding something from me!
I’m not! Olly cast around for an escape. She had it at once. The same distraction that had let her escape the kitchen. I just wish I knew what it was that crashed through the roof. It would make me feel safer if I knew what to look out for in the future.
Yes! Safety! That’s what’s— Her owl hesitated. Important?
She breathed out, so hard her owl let out a puff of misty vapor. Yes. That’s what is important here.
Her owl jumped on the problem at once. Images flickered at the edge of Olly’s mind as it clawed over what it had seen of the chaos through the kitchen door, and the sliver of a glimpse as it had flown away as fast as it could.
While it was distracted, Olly concentrated. She hadn’t done this before; she wasn’t even sure it would work.
Instead of thinking, she hovered lightly over memories. Memories of her owl muttering to itself so quietly she couldn’t hear it, and how it mentally turned its back when she was doing something disgusting like baking.
Slowly, with all the care her owl would have taken in stalking the movement and trajectory of prey, Olly un-stalked her owl.
The sensation was… odd.
Olly still had an awareness of what her owl was doing. Claws on icy branch, feathers ruffling in the breeze. But the sensations weren’t as immediate as they usually were. It was as though she’d drawn a blanket around her mental self.
She remembered how her owl would rustle its wings or blink at her from inside her head, and drew her legs up into the blanket too, until she was completely burrito’d inside the cozy cocoon of… of… her-ness.
I love Jackson Gilles, she thought experimentally.
Her owl didn’t respond. It didn’t even hear her. Exactly as she’d hoped. Because her owl wasn’t in love with Jackson.
But she was.
Fuck.
9
Jackson
What was left of the party had moved inside, except for the gatecrasher, who leaned against a car and whinnied dismally to itself. Outside, doing his best to ignore his drunken father, Jackson was helping Jasper and Caine put out fires and fold away the singed tent.
“Almost done!” Jasper gestured to the black-scaled dragonlet and pointed at a smoldering patch of canvas. “There—can you unlight that, Cole? Since you probably lit it in the first place,” he added in an undertone.
Cole bore down on the smoking fabric and sniffed it hard. The fire went out.
Like magic, Jackson thought, and snorted at himself. Of course it was magic. The kid was a dragon shifter. They were all magic.
“And that’s everyone out. Come on, everybody—one, two, heave!”
They all hauled on the tent. The fabric folded, skidding across the frozen ground—and stuck.
“Not quite everyone out,” Abigail remarked from the door. She was supervising their progress from what Jasper had announced was a safe distance. Her dragon daughter Ruby was snuggled in her arms, puffing smoke happily.
Jackson followed her gaze and pulled up the roof of the tent so he could see what was in the way. A massive brown bear was sleeping peacefully in the middle of the mayhem: one of Hannah Holborn’s nephews.
Jackson’s eyebrows shot up. “He’s right where my—where the pegasus landed. Is he all right?”
Abigail shrugged at him, as though to say, I’m not a shifter either, why are you asking me?
“He’s fine,” Jasper announced. “Just sleeping.” He paused and his gaze went vague for a second in the way Jackson had come to recognize as meaning a shifter was speaking telepathically. Then his face went red. “And he’s told me to shut up and let him keep sleeping.”
“I guess med school is even more exhausting than he let on,” Abigail said dryly. She shot Jackson a shy smile and hoisted her daughter into a more comfortable position.
Jackson smiled back at her. Plenty of shifters forgot their human friends couldn’t hear telepathic speech, or didn’t bother letting them in on conversations. Abigail had better luck than he did training her friends and family to actually talk to her if they wanted her to hear what they were saying.
Olly’s uncle Bob appeared at the door. He’d managed to escape the collapse without shifting, but Jackson thought he might have looked better if he had: his nose was red and raw-looking, and his eyes were bleary. “I guess that could have gone worse,” he grumbled, and blew his nose. “What was that you said about no fires, Heartwell? When I said you could use the Express for your shindig, I didn’t realize I needed to specify not to destroy the whole place.”
“A Christmas pegasus crashing through the roof wasn’t exactly part of the plan,” Jasper retorted. “A Christmas pegasus! I’m going to be out of a job.”
“I’m so sorry!”
A young woman ran through the crowd. Jackson had never seen her before, but from the way she dodged past Cole without a second glance, she had to be a shifter.
She had shoulder-length honey-blonde hair, and eyebrows shaped like crescent moons that gave her whole face an urgent, nervous look. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated as she reached them. She had an English accent. “I was just parking the car—a bit further away than expected, but I didn’t realize he’d had quite that much to drink…”
“You know my—him?” He gestured to where the pegasus was leaning against the Puppy Express building, absently trying to eat a string of tinsel.
She looked at him and her expression brightened. “Yes! And you must be Jackson. Phew! That’s one good thing tonight, at least. I’m Delphine, your father’s PA.” She held out one gloved hand for him to shake. “Delphine Belgrave.”
He was instantly suspicious. “PA?” He rubbed his face, then caught himself and shook her hand. Her grip was firm, through her bulky glove, and she held on a millisecond longer than was normal. He put it down to her still getting over Andrew’s no-doubt hectic escape. “What’s this about?”
Delphine pursed her lips. “I’d… better let him explain that,” she said. Foreboding gathered in Jackson’s chest. If he’s come back into my life after twenty-five years to introduce me to my new step-mom…
He cleared his throat. “Right, well, that will have to wait. We need to get rid of all this mess before first shift tomorrow. Right, Bob?”
He turned away. He was itching for something to do, or else frustration would boil out of him. The young woman didn’t deserve to be at the pointy end of whatever feelings he had about his father, and God, throwing heavy things into a tidy pile right now sounded like a great idea.
How could he have already ruined everything again?
A hand fell on his shoulder. Jasper. The reason he was here in the first place. He’d almost forgotten the house paperwork, on top of everything else.
“We’ll be fine here,” the dragon shifter said. “You—er—did you see Olly, earlier?”
“She left.”
“Oh.” Jasper looked too innocent. Pieces started to fall together in Jackson’s mind, and he didn’t like the picture they formed.
He opened his mouth to accuse Jasper of choreographing this whole thing—him coming back to Pine Valley, surprising Olly—and shut it again.
Jasper might have brought him here, but this was his mess. He needed to deal with it.
“If you’re happy managing here, I’ll get rid of the gatecrasher,” he said, and turned to the pegasus.
“I’ll bring the car around,” Delphine said brightly.
Jackson’s stomach would have dropped as he saw the car, but it was already firmly lodged in his boots. It was the same new-looking car he’d seen turn down Rabbit Road earlier. If he’d followed the sense of unease it had given him earlier, maybe he could have avoided this whole nightmare.
Well, this isn’t awkward at all, Jackson thought once they were all on the road.
Getting Andrew into the truck had been easy enough. He’d been still dazed from crash-landing on the not-so-solid roof of the tent, and had tucked himself into the back seat with minimal fuss. Then he’d sat and stared voicelessly at Jackson and Delphine in the front of the truck while Delphine drove to their accommodation.
Jackson caught his father’s soulful gaze in the rear-view mirror. “You know I can’t hear you, right?”
Delphine stifled something that sounded like laughter. He glanced at her questioningly.
“Oh—nothing. I’m sure you’re missing out on a scintillating conversation.”
“Your duties as PA don’t include translating?”
Delphine’s eyebrows pricked upwards. “That isn’t—er, that is, if he is speaking, he’s speaking only to you. I’m not getting anything.” A quick smile. He wondered if it was meant to reassure him, or herself.
“Given the bottles we found back there, I doubt he’s making any sense anyway.”