It can’t mean anything.
“No problem. Now stop blubbering, throw on one of those ugly hairnets, and come help me. And don’t you dare go upstairs to change your clothes. You’re going to have to take care of the cakes. I tried to ice one but it ended up looking like some strange modern-art piece.”
I couldn’t believe how many people showed up at the bakery. When I threw the doors open at 6am, there was already a small group waiting outside. Word about Finn’s dismissal must have spread like wildfire through the village.
Or, perhaps the bakery’s newfound popularity had nothing to do with the fact Finn was no longer behind the counter. Perhaps it had more to do with a certain sexy raven who was serving up coffee and cakes with a cheeky grin. Not only were the Knit ‘n’ Bitch club in for an “impromptu brunch meeting,” but the Crookshollow Floral Society had decided to hold their AGM at the table in front of the sweets cabinet, and the local historical walking group had popped in for a post-workout treat. The bakery looked like it was the set from an episode of Last of the Summer Wine.
I left Cole to deal to his adoring fans, and kept myself busy behind the counter refilling the displays, answering the phone (which was ringing off the hook with cake orders) and whipping up five batches of cookies. I could see just by the scone demand that we were probably going to sell out early today, too.
I pulled another tray of melting moments out of the oven and set them out on the cooking racks. I took down the cake stand that had once held a batch of lemon scones, (but now held only a few crumbs), and cleaned that before loading it up again. I was busy repositioning the stand on the counter, when a deep voice broke through my thoughts.
“Hey, gorgeous.”
I looked up, startled, and stared into the eyes of a dark-haired, leather-clad biker. His strong jaw and deep brown eyes reminded me of Cole, but he was older, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. Even though his smile was casual, his whole body seemed tense, a snake coiled before the strike. The way he kept his eyes glued to mine gave me an uneasy feeling, and his presence smacked of déjà vu. It was only two days ago that I was standing in the same spot and staring gape-mouthed at Cole.
“Can I help you?” I asked, trying to keep myself poised.
“I heard you have a new assistant in here,” the biker said. “I’d like to speak to him.”
Cole? My body froze. The old biddies asking about my sexy new counter boy were one thing, but if this guy was asking for Cole by name … it had to be connected to Cole’s escape from his master.
“Um, I—” I flicked my eyes over to where Cole was standing. He was in the middle of packaging up a small cheesecake for a grinning single mum, but his eyes kept flicking over toward me and the tall biker. Cole finished the transaction, then sauntered over to us, his eyes blazing.
“Go away.” Cole hissed across the counter, as he filled a bag of melting moments for a customer.
The biker shook his head. “I have to talk to you.”
“You can’t be here. They will be following you, especially after what happened. You’ll lead them right to me.”
“So you heard about Harry? Shocking stuff. Don’t worry, I was careful. Come on,” the man shrugged his shoulder toward the back of the shop.
“Come on where?”
“There must be a kitchen or storage cupboard back there? We need to talk.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Cole glowered. “And if you keep harassing me, Belinda is going to pound your arse with her awesome karate skills. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have croissants to put out.”
“Cole, you’re being ridiculous—”
“We’re done here.” Cole turned away from the biker and started cleaning the counter with rough, furious strokes. The biker stared at him for a few minutes, opening his mouth as if he wanted to say more. But then he shrugged, as if the entire exchange meant nothing to him, and walked out, slamming the door shut behind him so hard the frame rattled.
“Who was that?” I asked, leaning against the counter while I waited for my heart rate to return to normal.
“Nobody important,” Cole barked, in a tone that clearly implied the opposite. He started to toss fresh croissants into a wicker basket with all the enthusiasm of a rugby player.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. He was a Bran, wasn’t he? Does this mean your master knows where you are?” Cole didn’t look up. He kept slamming croissants into the basket. “Cole, look at me. This is important. Is the bakery in danger?”
Cole’s back stiffened. He set down the basket and turned to look at me, his eyes flicking over my face as if he was seeing me for the first time.
“You’re right, Belinda,” Cole said, his eyes flashing. “I need you to be calm. But it’s entirely possible we’re not safe here any longer.”
“We?”
“If they’ve seen me here, than they’ve seen you, too. And that means you could be a target. Victor Morchard is just the kind of man to try to get to me through you.” He balled his hands into fists and kicked the counter so hard the coffee machine rattled. “Fuck!”
I cringed. Two woman waiting for their coffees gasped and bent their heads to whisper to each other. I grabbed Cole by the arm and dragged him into the kitchen, in case he scared any more customers.
“Cole, it’s OK. We’ll figure something out—”
“This is all my fault.” he moaned. “I shouldn’t have stayed here. I put you in danger. This is so much worse than I feared.”
“Hey, you warned me, and I asked you to stay. I knew what I was getting into.”
“No, Belinda. You don’t. You really don’t.”
“Well, OK.” I placed a hand tentatively on his shoulder. “Maybe I don’t, but you do. So we’re not safe anymore. We need to go somewhere we are safe. You need to come up with a plan. So, what’s the plan, Cole? What are you going to do?”
Cole remained silent for a few moments, and then the corner of his lip curled up into a grin. “I think you might have given me the answer. We’re going out tonight. But this time, it’s all business. Do you have your friend Alex’s number?”
I nodded.
“Call her and ask her if we can visit that fiancé of hers tonight. Tell her you met someone who desperately needs to talk to him. I don’t suppose you have a car?”
I shook my head. “What do you think Ethan used to haul all my stuff away with? But don’t worry, we can get Alex and Ryan to come here and pick us up. They’ll be happy—”
Cole shook his head. “No, it’s too dangerous. I don’t want them getting caught up in anything, too. We’ll go to them. Don’t worry, we’ll take my bike.”
“But you don’t have your bike.”
“No, but I know where it is.”
We sold out of food by 3:30pm, a record for me. On any other day, I’d be elated, but ever since that other biker had shown up, I couldn’t focus on my work. It was all too scary. If Cole’s master had found him here, what would he do? Who was that man who came into the bakery? Was that Victor Morchard? Why did he look so much like Cole? Why was he trying to get Cole to go away and talk to him – surely, if he was as angry as Cole implied, he just would have killed him on sight? Cole didn’t look as though he were afraid of the biker, just angry at him.
I tried to question Cole about it, but he brushed me off. “It will take a long time to explain,” he said, as he took dripping dishes out of the sink and placed them in the rack to dry. “I’ll answer all your questions tonight. In the meantime, let’s just focus on getting the work done.”
Alex had returned my text at lunchtime and said she and Ryan would be happy to see us for supper that evening. “Is everything OK?” she messaged. “Who’s this guy?”
“You’ll meet him tonight. He’s wonderful. I don’t think he’s another Ethan. But maybe you can help me judge?”
I could barely focus on the baking, but eventually we managed to get all the slices made and the cakes decorated for the next day. We barely talk
ed, except when Cole had questions about the recipes. He seemed twitchy, nervous. He looked up at the door every few seconds, his face puckered with concern. Chairman Meow came loping down the stairs, and Cole leapt so high into the air he practically hung from the rafters.
After we’d washed the last of the dishes, Cole told me to go upstairs and change into something comfortable. I found a pair of black jeans and a red shirt that didn’t smell too badly of flour, and went back downstairs to meet him just as he was wiping down the last of the kitchen.
I locked up just as a car pulled up out front. It was a tiny Fiat, and I could see the faint outline of a man sitting in the front seat. My stomach flip-flopped. Should I be nervous? Am I in danger? I locked up the shop and walked apprehensively toward the vehicle. Cole held open the door for me. “This is us,” he said. “Hurry up, get inside.”
Nervously, I slid into the backseat. The driver turned around and gave me the thumbs up. To my surprise, I recognised Mikael from the pub. Around his index finger was a black ring, identical to Cole’s.
“Are you going rogue, too?” I asked him, but he didn’t reply.
Cole climbed into the passenger seat and gave Mikael some directions. Mikael nodded, and gunned the engine. We tore away from the bakery and down the high street. Soon we were speeding through the quiet streets of terraced houses, heading toward the edge of the village.
“We weren’t followed?” Mikael said, in his flat Scandinavian voice.
“I don’t think so,” Cole replied. I peered out of the back window, but couldn’t see any cars or bikes behind us that followed the same route.
“You don’t sound so sure?”
“No, I’m sure.”
“Fine.” Silence ensued. I stared down at my hands, nervously knitting and unknitting my fingers, a hundred unanswered questions tugging at my lips. We drove further and further out of the village, and turned off on to a dark country lane. I didn’t recognise the area at all. Cole fired instructions at Mikael – “left here, right here,” – and we kept driving, further and further from the village, until there were no houses at all, just rolling fields and in the distance, the looming darkness of the forest.
Mikael pulled over just at the edge of the forest, in an area that was designated as a public right of way, but the overgrown hedgerows and rubbish collecting at the edges suggested it was seldom used. I got out of the car and leaned against the door, wondering what would happen next. Cole hiked through the bushes for a few minutes, leaving me to stand in silence next to Mikael. Cole returned dragging a large motorbike.
“Thank you,” he shook Mikael’s hand. “Any luck with the other thing?”
“The witch is still not answering her phone, and when I knocked on her door there was no reply. The house looks derelict, as though it’s been vacant for years, but that’s not necessarily an indicator of anything. I’ve left a message with the woman, Clara, who runs the witchcraft store, Astarte. She knows every witch in Loamshire. She will make contact for you and leave a message at the witch’s cemetery if a suitable witch can be reached.”
“Thank you, Mikael. All debts have now been paid.” Cole tapped his ring. ”I’ll come back for you if I can figure out how to break this thing.”
Mikael nodded, turned, and slid back into his car. Without another word, Mikael drove off into the gloom, leaving us completely alone on the edge of that great, dense forest.
“Scandinavians,” Cole grinned. “You’ve gotta love them.”
Cole bent down and started to fiddle with the bike. I crossed my hands over my chest, wishing I’d thought to bring a jacket. I hadn’t realised we’d be going so far out of the village. Out here amongst the trees, the wind was biting cold. I checked my phone screen. It was close to 7:30pm. “We’re going to be late for supper,” I told Cole.
“Only a little longer, Nightingale.”
The trees rustled behind us. I spun around, searching the darkness for any sign of movement. It’s just an animal, a deer or a rabbit or ...
Cole grabbed my arm. “Get behind me,” he hissed. Numb with cold and terror, I stepped behind him, struggling to see into the blackness. Getting a brainwave, I pulled my phone out again and turned the screen on, shining the light at the trees in front of us.
“Turn that off!” Cole hissed.
Before I could comply, a shadowy figure stepped out of the shadows. His deep voice cut through the still night like a knife. “Hi Cole,” he said, then turned to me. “Hello, Cole’s latest conquest.”
The shadow stepped into the light, and I recognised him instantly. It was the biker who had come into the shop earlier today, the one Cole had been angry at and refused to talk to. In the light of my phone he looked even more like Cole, with a strand of black hair flopping over one eye. He wore a black t-shirt that revealed muscled shoulders and arms covered in tattoos.
“Byron.” Cole pushed me further behind him, as if he were trying to hide my presence with his bulk. “You shouldn’t be here. Why are you following me?”
“You didn’t think I’d just abandon you.” Byron kicked the edge of the bike’s tyre with his boot. “It’s because of me that you’re still alive.”
“It is not.”
“I saw you hiding under that tree, but I told Pax I thought you’d fallen in the water. If it weren’t for me they would have torn you to pieces.”
“Fine,” Cole gritted his teeth. “Thanks for lying for me. I know it couldn’t have been easy, since you find lying so difficult.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice. “There. We’re even. You can leave us alone now.”
“Don’t be stupid, Cole. I’ve come to help you. Why can’t you listen to me?”
“Because your help is going to get us both killed!” Cole shouted. He must have realised that was a bad idea, for when he spoke again, he’d lowered his voice. “This is what you do. You swoop in here like you’re Odin’s gift to the world and start trying to run the show. Well, I’m not part of the roost anymore, I don’t have to step in line. The sooner you accept that, the sooner I’ll be civil.”
“And the sooner you accept that you’ve made a huge mistake, we can figure out how to save your arse from your own stupidity. You’re not a rogue yet, and until you are, you’re my responsibility. If I managed to track you back to that bakery, it won’t be long before the Morchards or Gillespies do the same thing. You’re such an idiot, Cole. You should be miles away by now. You’ve put this girl in danger by hanging around, by introducing her to our world.”
“That girl saved my life,” Cole snarled back. “And like it or not, she’s involved now. I need to stay near her, to protect her.”
“How are you going to protect anyone? You must be incredibly weak by now, from the bond. I know you were there last night. You saw what Gillespie did to poor Harry, just because he’d discovered you had gone missing. Either Morchard finds you, and you’re dead, or Gillespie finds you and then you going to wish you were dead.”
As Byron talked, I watched Cole’s face. What did Byron mean by “you were there last night”? Cole was asleep on my couch last night. He wasn’t anywhere near the Morchard castle. Is this Byron mistaken? And who is this Harry? That was the name on the note. Cole knows Harry is dead because of the note, but then—
“I have a plan,” Cole said, yanking the bike upright and swinging one leg over. Even in the gloom, I could see that his face burned with rage.
“And that plan involves you riding out of here on that shitty thing with the girl on the back, yes?” Byron laughed. “You’re so utterly predictable. I knew you wouldn’t be able to last long without your bike, so I came here to wait for you. But it could have just as easily been Pax and Poe waiting here for you, or someone much, much worse. For the world’s most intelligent bird, you’re not very bright.”
“I have it all under control, Byron. If you can keep your mouth and your mind shut, we will be fine. Go back to the castle and pretend everything is normal. You’re good at that.”
“You’re neve
r going to forgive me for what happened, are you?” Byron tipped his head to the side. “Seriously Cole, this fixation you have with your mother is unhealthy. Maybe you should see a psychiatrist.”
“And you should talk to a suicide helpline, since apparently you have a death wish.” Cole gunned the engine. He yelled over the roar. “Don’t you ever mention her in my presence again.”
What happened to Cole’s mother? I stared from Cole to Byron and back again, trying to make some sense of their rapid-fire argument.
I glanced at Cole. I was starting to feel pretty angry myself. There were so many details here that I didn’t know, that Cole hadn’t bothered to fill in. And – as this Byron so eloquently said – I was the one whose life was in danger. Why did Cole feel I didn’t need to know these things?
“Cole, I think we need to talk—” I started to say, but Cole held up his hand to silence me. That pissed me off. I snapped my mouth shut, biting back the urge to say something.
Byron stepped forward, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “He’s coming after you next, Cole. Even if Victor has given you up for dead, Sir Thomas is nearby, and his going to make damn sure you don’t escape. And now you’ve got her involved,” Byron indicated me with a short dip of his head. “What’s the great scheme to get yourself out of this mess? Or have you jumped first and are planning to figure it out later, like always.”
“Go away, Byron. This doesn’t concern you.”
“It very much concerns me. If Gillespie comes to me, I won’t have any choice but to share what I know. And that’s my own life forfeit. Besides, we’re family. I’m responsible for you—”
“You’re brothers?” I asked, suddenly understanding. Of course, it made perfect sense. That’s why they looked so similar, and that’s why Cole was so resistant of Byron’s offers of help, which – despite his threatening demeanour – sounded quite sensible.
“Of course,” Byron reached down and grabbed the handlebars of Cole’s bike. His eyes flicked across my face, and he laughed. “Didn’t Cole tell you? Is that another secret my little brother has kept from someone he cares about? He should know by now that secrets get you into trouble.”
Watcher: A raven paranormal romance (Crookshollow ravens Book 1) Page 11