One problem at a time, Belinda. First, you need to get through your date tonight. Your date with a raven.
Four o’clock rolled around, and I was almost sorry to put out the CLOSED sign. There were plenty of people outside keen for a pie, but we’d sold out of everything, and I needed to start baking if I had any hope of opening the next day.
It wasn’t just the high sales that kept the smile on my face. With Cole in the store, I’d had more fun than I had in months. He made me laugh, he put the customers at ease, he wiped down the tables and cabinet without me even having to ask, and every time he accidentally brushed past me or touched my hand, sparks of electricity flew through my body.
After we closed, Cole helped me do some prep for the following day. I showed him how to bake the pastry for the pies and prepare the fillings, and he took charge of that while I whizzed and stirred and boiled and blitzed to prep all ten different slices and cakes for the following day. Even with two of us working, it took hours. With every glimpse at the clock, all possibility of our date that night faded into oblivion. By eight-thirty, even Cole was starting to look tired. “You do all this work, every single day?” He asked me. “When do you have time to have a life?”
“Bewitching Bites is my life. At least at the moment. As soon as my debts are paid off, I’ll be able to afford to get some staff in to manage the shop, and then I’ll just do the baking, and things will be a lot easier.”
“When will that be?”
“In about seven years’ time.”
“I really hope you’re joking.”
“I am not joking. And I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Are we done here?’ Cole pulled out the last batch of pies and slammed the door on the oven.
“Sure, for now.” I wiped a line of chocolate brownie batter off my cheek. “We’ll have to do the bread and the final prep tomorrow morning.”
“Go upstairs and have a shower,” Cole said. “I’ll finish cleaning up down here. And then, I’m taking you out.”
My stomach flipped. “Are … are you sure you still want to go out? It’s really late.”
“That doesn’t matter. I haven’t forgotten my promise from this morning. Come on, you look as if you could do with eating something that wasn’t filled with jam and cream.”
His comment stung. I already hated the little stomach I saw when I looked down at my body, the mound of flesh around my belly reminding me that I had been subsisting on a diet of bakery cast-offs for months. Cole looked at my face, and realisation dawned on his. “Damnit, sorry, Belinda. I didn’t mean that the way it came out. Honestly, I think you look smoking hot. I just meant, perhaps a good steak will buck up your spirits a bit. It usually does for me.”
He thinks I look smoking hot? HE THINKS I LOOK SMOKING HOT? I stared down at my shoes, so he wouldn’t see the smile plastered across my face or the burn in my cheeks. “Really? I thought ravens were more into carrion and eyeballs.”
“A rare steak is almost as good as some fresh carrion.” Cole grinned. I screwed up my face in disgust. “Sorry, my brother would’ve appreciated that joke. You do still want to go? You aren’t rethinking our bargain? You tell me your secrets, and I’ll tell you mine.”
I raced upstairs, leaping over the steps two at a time. I frantically searched through my closet for something, anything, suitable for a date with a hot biker raven. I found a long black maxi dress in the back of my closet, one of the only nice items of clothing Ethan hadn’t taken from me, since it had been in the wash at the time. I set that out on the bed, along with a red scarf and some black pumps, and went into the bathroom.
In the shower, I dragged a razor over my legs and armpits, wincing as I cut my skin tugging at the thick, curled hair. I’d been so stressed and tired lately that hygiene had gone out the window. I sprayed myself with perfume, hoping it would disguise my permanent bread smell. I wrapped a towel around my body, and pushed open the bathroom door.
Cole was in the living room, grinning at me from the couch. “If you insist on dressing like that, I’m not going to want to take you out. We can just stay right here and …”
I raced into my room so that he wouldn’t notice the fact my whole body was blushing. “You’re disgusting.” I called out of the closed door.
“You love it, Nightingale.” I opened the door a crack and watched as he grabbed his towel from the back of the couch and entered the bathroom, whistling a tune. I leaned against the wall, my heart flipping. When he called me that name, my whole body flushed with pleasure.
By the time I was dressed, my hair combed and pinned, and a light dusting of makeup on my face, Cole had showered and pulled on the pair of tight black jeans, and a black t-shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders and thin waist. Black and grey tattoos curled around his forearms, disappearing beneath the edge of the shirt.
“Whoa, you clean up nice, Nightingale.” Cole grinned when he saw me.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I grinned back, my heart doing that flipping thing again. “I have great taste in clothes. That shirt looks great on you.”
“You should see me with my feathers on.”
I set down a bowl of food for Chairman Meow and locked up the shop. Cole leaned against a lamp post, keeping his weight on his good leg. “I was thinking we could go to the pub down the road. It’s dark there so less chance of anyone seeing me, and we really need to talk without some snooty waiter interrupting us to talk about the wine list. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all. But Cole, I don’t have a lot of money and your clothes kind of wiped me out—”
“Hey, I asked you out, remember? Don’t worry, I’ve got it under control.”
Cole took my hand, sending a shiver up my arm and right through my chest. I reached into my bag and clicked my phone onto silent mode. I didn’t want anything interrupting this night.
I turned to point Cole in the direction of the pub, and out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of a figure hunched up in front of the crystal shop across the street. He wore dark grey jeans, and a grey hoodie, the hood pulled tight around his face, a few wisps of dark hair fluttering across his forehead. He turned away as I looked at him, but not before I’d caught a glimpse of his face.
My whole body convulsed, the reaction visceral. I would have recognised that sandy blonde hair, slightly crooked nose and baby blue eyes anywhere.
It was Ethan.
8
Belinda
“What’s wrong?” Cole squeezed my hand.
“I …” I looked up again. The hooded figure was gone. I blinked, suddenly not so sure. There were plenty of blonde-haired, blue-eyed guys around. The jeans and hoodie didn’t look like the kind of clothing Ethan would ever wear. And besides, Ethan wouldn’t be so stupid as to come back to Crookshollow, especially not to hang around outside my shop.
“Belinda, talk to me.” Cole’s voice was gentle. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
“It’s nothing,” I shook my head, trying to ward off the awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s not him. It can’t be him. Ethan would be in the Cayman Islands, or Jamaica, or some other paradise where he could fritter away his ill-gotten gains. I was obviously nervous about being around Cole, so my mind was concocting the image of Ethan as a way to deal with my fear. “I thought I saw someone I recognised, but it was just a coincidence.”
Cole ran his fingers over my knuckles, making my hand buzz with energy. “We don’t have to go out, you know. We can just stay here and—”
“No.” I said firmly, forcing the image of the figure from my mind. “I want to go. Please, Cole. Let’s not speak of this anymore. I’m just overtired. I’m freaking myself out over nothing.”
At Tir Na Nog – an Irish pub at the end of a dark, narrow alley just around the corner from the bakery – Cole asked me what I wanted to drink. While at the bar he had a hushed conversation with the man behind it – another tall, dark-haired, muscled and heavily tattooe
d guy. While they were having their discussion, I forced myself not to look around the pub for the grey-hooded man. He’s not here. It’s not him. Now calm down and enjoy yourself. This is the first real date you’ve had since Ethan left.
Cole came back to our table a few minutes later carrying a beer and my G&T.
“What did you do?” I asked Cole as he set down our drinks. “You didn’t pay for these? He didn’t ask for any money? I hope you’re not intending to do a runner on our tab, because I’m not wearing the shoes for that.”
“See that guy behind the bar?” Cole leaned toward me, his voice lowered. “He’s another Bran. His name is Mikael, and his masters are the Carnarvons, sworn enemies of the Morchards. He owes me a favour, so he’s not going to tell anyone we were here, and he’s not going to charge us for our meals.”
“And you can trust this guy?” I glanced back over at the bar again. Mikael scowled at a customer as he poured another pint, his thick arms slamming glasses down on the bar with unnecessary force. He looked as if he could rip someone’s head off without expending much effort, and also as if the thought of doing so appealed to him. “He doesn’t look that trustworthy to me.”
“I don’t look very trustworthy, either.” Cole sipped his beer. “Do you trust me?”
I took a second to think about that. Despite Cole’s rough appearance, and his ridiculous overconfidence and his annoying tendency to make me blush, I did trust him. He had been kind to me. Even though we were from two different worlds, we both had secrets, we both had situations we wanted to escape. He had a way of smiling that made me feel as if everything in the world was going to be OK. I knew I was moving too fast, that I was putting myself at risk of getting hurt again, but I didn’t care. I needed this, I needed to believe things could get better.
“Fair point.” I conceded.
“It is, and don’t worry. Bran aren’t liars. Mikael may be an enemy of my masters, but he’s not my enemy. I learned long ago that at the end of the day, you have to be able to trust your own kind.”
“That makes sense.” I leaned in closer. “So what else were you talking about with this Mikael?”
“He was giving me some news.” Cole said. “Mikael’s master’s make him work here at the pub so he can report town gossip to them. He has a real ear to the ground for anything unusual going on. Mikael and I were actually planning to go rogue together. We’ve been plotting it carefully for months, but my impromptu disappearance has messed things up. I was hoping he’d found the witch he was looking for, who might’ve been able to rid me of this.” He tapped his ring angrily against the table. “But no such luck. He says I have to be careful. Apparently, my disappearance has caused quite a stir locally. There aren’t many rogue Bran around these days. Most of the known birds were killed in … an accident, some months back.”
I decided I wasn’t quite ready to hear more about witches. “Sounds intense. What’s a rogue?”
“Rogue Bran don’t serve a master. They either were born of rogue parents, or they find a way to sever the bond with their master. In rare cases, their masters grant them freedom, but that hardly ever happens. Mine certainly wouldn’t.”
“What happened in this accident? Did it only affect rogues?”
“A few months ago, there was quite a convergence of shapeshifters in Crookshollow, and they were all rogues or other kinless beasts: foxes that had left their packs, stags that had no herd, hundreds of rogue crows and ravens. All these creatures served a powerful lone wolf, named Isengrim.”
“What happened? Where is this Isengrim now?”
“Dead, as are most of the rogues. Isengrim was killed at a gallery opening, although no one knows that’s what happened. You might have seen something about it in the paper, the artist claimed it was a piece of performance art.”
“I don’t remember—” I choked on my drink as something clicked in my mind. “Hang on a second, was this at the Raynard exhibition opening at the Halt Institute?”
“That’s the one. Were you there?”
“No, but my friend Alex was. She’s Ryan Raynard’s financée.”
Cole leaned back in his chair. “That is interesting. She never mentioned anything to you about Isengrim being a werewolf?”
“She certainly didn’t. She just said a man came uninvited to the opening, and he had some grudge against Ryan for something that happened in art school. There was a scuffle, and it very nearly interrupted the performance art piece Ryan had planned. Ryan’s work is all about nature, so there was a symbolic fight between a fox and a wolf … are you telling me that was real?”
“Oh yes, and before that there was a huge battle on the outskirts of the town. It all ended in a big smoking hole in the earth. It’s interesting that your friend hasn’t told you about it.”
“I guess she never thought I’d believe her.” I shrugged. I couldn’t believe Alex knew about this world of shifters and magic. “I can’t imagine why. Plus, Ryan spent years living as a recluse. I imagine he prefers to keep things private …” A thought suddenly occurred to me. “Hey, are you suggesting that Ryan is some kind of shifter?”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Cole smirked, downing the rest of his beer and passing me the menu. He cracked his open and surveyed the options. “Should we order? They’re going to close the kitchen at ten.”
“Why is this going on here? Why in Crookshollow this hotbed of shifter activity?”
“I’m going to have the steak.” Cole put down the menu. “What about you?”
“You’re ignoring me.”
“I’m just trying to have a date with a gorgeous woman,” Cole grinned. “And all you want to talk about is your friend and her famous artist fiancé. I’m starting to worry I won’t measure up.”
“I thought we were supposed to be sharing all our secrets. You have to tell me about Ryan! Why was there a huge fight? What explosion?”
“This isn’t my secret. It’s your friend’s secret, and I’m not spilling any more. The rest of it is ancient history. It has nothing to do with me or why I left the Morchards. I thought you wanted to know about me.”
“I have to understand your world, which is quite new and scary. My world is very small, and since you spent the day in the bakery, you’ve pretty much seen all of it. I’m just trying to get a sense of it all. And I’ll have the pulled-pork sandwich, thanks.”
“There’s also a peanut butter cheesecake on the dessert menu.”
I grinned. “Sold.”
Cole took the menus up to the bar, ordered our food, and returned with another drink for each of us. As I sipped the G&T, the alcohol and Cole’s gorgeous eyes making my head spin, he started to talk again. “Fine, if you want a history lesson, we can talk about Crookshollow. What do you know about the town’s paranormal history?”
“Not a lot.” I shrugged, taking another long sip of my drink. “We studied it in school, of course, but I was never that interested. Home economics and chemistry were more my subjects.”
“Chemistry?”
“Sure. All baking is chemistry – mixing different things in a controlled environment to produce reactions. It’s delicious science.”
Cole laughed. The sound made my insides flip around again. “Delicious science. I like that. I hope we can do more delicious science together tomorrow.”
He rolled his tongue over his bottom lip. I nearly dropped my glass. “D-d-definitely.” I managed to stutter out.
“Good. So, if you think back to your history lessons, you probably remember that the whole of Loamshire was famous as a place where witches congregated? Crookshollow village itself sits at the crossroads of two important ley lines.”
“What are those?”
“They’re lines across the landscape that link important ceremonial or spiritual sites. In some cases they are simply veins of energy coursing through the earth, but here in Crookshollow, they are actual lines – straight pathways linking important sites of the worship of the old gods. Ancient peoples gathere
d here to worship deities of the earth and the stars and the seasons. And with them came their familiars, and the other magical races, who have lived in secret among humans since the dawning of our time.” His eyes darkened, their smouldering depths holding all kinds of secrets. “My master’s family came to this land with their horses and weapons and Christian god, and they made it their mission to drive out the infidels.”
“You don’t like them much.”
“They’re hypocrites, first of all. My master boasts of his ancestors being some of the most prolific witch hunters in all of Britain, and yet they have kept Bran for centuries. They don’t give a fuck about religion and what it has to say about magic and witches, until it suits them. What they want is control.”
“Cole … why did you run away?” I nestled my hand on top of his, and was surprised to feel it shake slightly beneath mine. “I mean, I know your master was cruel, but I gather he’s been that was your whole life. What made you finally decide to just leave?”
He sighed, and retracted his hand, his fingers going to touch the black ring, then jerking away again. “I was given an order, and I don’t want to obey it.”
“But couldn’t you just say that?” I gestured at all six foot of gloriously muscled him. “I mean, there can’t be that many people in the world who could argue with you, could there?”
“A Bran is not allowed to disobey an order from his master. That powerful piece of magic was bound into our DNA. My brother thinks it was placed there by Odin himself, to prevent his ravens Hugin and Muninn from using the secrets they heard throughout Midgard to make their own fortunes.” Cole must’ve seen me looking blank, because he added. “Odin was an ancient Viking god. He had two ravens who he sent out every morning to fly across his kingdom and bring him back all the news. But no one ever thinks about what that life must have been like for those ravens – what happened to them when they brought Odin news he did not like? How did people react when they saw the ravens and knew Odin was watching them? It is not a happy life, to be someone’s servant.”
Watcher: A raven paranormal romance (Crookshollow ravens Book 1) Page 8