Fox and Birch (The Rowan Harbor Cycle Book 3)

by Sam Burns

  Conner nodded solemnly. “Yes, ma’am.” When she was gone, he turned back to Fletcher. “So Frank might be in league with this mage. But if Bob would kill even an innocent supernatural creature—um, person—then it makes no sense that he’d be in league with them.”

  “It doesn’t,” Fletcher agreed. “Maybe he doesn’t know Hector is a mage. Or maybe Frank is playing you both, even though that sounds like the worst idea ever, short of trying to play fetch with an angry werewolf.”

  “It doesn’t seem like a good plan, for sure. But it would be sensible of him to assume he couldn’t handle a vampire like White alone. He’s getting up there. He’s not as fast as he used to be.” Conner stopped talking to take a bite of his sandwich, and when he did, his eyes fell shut. “Oh my god. I want to buy a house and live in Rowan Harbor just so I can eat here every day.”

  Fletcher laughed. “Don’t forget the carrot cake.”

  “How could I? Magical carrot cake is what it is.”

  That gave Fletcher pause. But no, Hana didn’t bake with magic like Lachlan MacKenzie. He shook his head. “Nope, just Hana being amazing. I think she does the baking for the diner.”

  Conner took another bite of food, watching Fletcher as he chewed. It was a little unnerving, the way those intelligent eyes read him. When he swallowed, he leaned forward. “This town isn’t just protecting you or Max or Oak. This whole town is magical. And we’ve been here a week, and we didn’t have a clue. Or I didn’t. I’m sure Bob’s not in on whatever Frank’s up to, because if he knew about the town, he’d be jumping at every noise and every shadow. Like Frank has been. I thought he was just nervous because he knew more about White than we did.”

  “You seem less terrified and angry than I figured you’d be,” Fletcher said, voice weak. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that he didn’t have to lie anymore, or to give in to Aldric’s continuous fear.

  Conner laughed. “I don’t know what I am. Is everyone . . . Not human? Or is a whole section of the population just unaware?”

  “No. There are lots of humans, but I think they all know. And our little berg is so far removed from civilization, we rarely have to put effort into hiding, so we stink at it.”

  “It’s gotta be an hour from any other towns.” For a guy who was hearing that nothing was what he thought, Conner seemed pretty calm.

  Finally, Fletcher couldn’t take it. “Tell me you’re freaking out on the inside, please.”

  Conner burst into semihysterical laughter. “Do I seem like I’m not freaking out? Because I’m freaking out. I’m not going to run away, but you’re telling me everything I thought is wrong. I’ve been dealing with Frank and Bob not being what I thought they were, but now the whole world isn’t what I thought. I knew about,” he leaned in and whispered, “vampires, werewolves, and witches. But all in one town? And the good guys?” He sat back and shook his head.

  “But we are the good guys,” Fletcher said. He was smart enough to know that there weren’t a whole lot of black and white issues in the world, but he was sure this was one of them. The people in his town were good. The people from outside of Rowan Harbor might be, or they might throw gasoline on you, lock you in your house and set it on fire.

  Conner reached out and took his hand again. His fingers were trembling a little, but his eyes were as sincere as ever as they met Fletcher’s. “I believe you.”

  7

  Cabin in the Woods

  Do you want a ride home?” Conner asked as they left the diner together.

  Fletcher shook his head. “Nah, I live, like, five blocks away. I can walk it.” Part of him wanted to accept the ride, to take Conner back to his place, and—well, it wasn’t too hard to imagine what came next. As much as he wanted what came next, they had time to get to know each other, and they needed that more. Fletcher wanted to have no doubts the next time he slept beside the man.

  “Okay, then,” Conner said. He took a deep breath and sighed. “I had a nice time. We should do it again soon?”

  “We should,” Fletcher agreed. “You’ve got my number. Call me.”

  Conner nodded at that and turned toward his car. Unless Fletcher was greatly mistaken, there was a skip in his step as he headed off. Fletcher smiled. It would have been better without the meddling of Hana and Andrei, but it had been good. A good date.

  Devon saying Conner liked him went a long way to making Fletcher more confident, even though it was a small reassurance. It meant that whatever else Conner was, he was at least being honest about one thing.

  Still, Conner had learned so much about Rowan Harbor. The trouble he could cause was the kind of thing that gave Fletcher nightmares.

  Fletcher was worried that he was missing something. If there was one thing in the world Fletcher knew, it was himself. He wanted to believe in Conner, and that made him biased. Maybe he should call Wade. The man was his work partner, but also his friend, and the most grounded, sensible person Fletcher had ever met. If anyone would tear down his fantasy Conner, it would be Wade.

  It was only a mile or so from the Half Moon to his apartment, and he’d made the walk hundreds of times. He thought he could make it in his sleep, so he wasn’t too worried about paying attention to his phone instead of the path. He pulled it out of his pocket as he walked and speed-dialed Wade.

  Fletcher cut across the middle of a street, mentally amused that Wade would be annoyed if he could see him. He’d threaten him with a jaywalking ticket. Fletcher slipped into the alley between the theater and an empty office building. It wasn’t a dark, foreboding alley like something from a horror story, and it was by far the quickest route to his apartment.

  “Hey,” Wade answered on the second ring.

  There was a footstep to Fletcher’s right, but he didn’t even have time to turn and look for the source. A thud echoed through his head, and he watched his phone fly out of his hand and skid down the alley. He blinked, and everything turned black.

  His eyes flew open but saw nothing. There was nothing covering the top half of his face, and for a second, he worried he was blind. Head injuries could have serious effects like that. Isla was still having balance issues from her concussions. He had a sense of movement beneath him and heard the continuous rumble of an engine. He was in the trunk of a car. It was just dark.

  He wasn’t in an SUV, from the size and shape of the vehicle. A sedan, probably. His stomach dropped, and he imagined Conner’s nervous laughter at the diner, and Conner’s shiny black sedan.

  No, Aldric whispered. Him.

  Aldric’s sinister image of Hector MacKenzie surfaced in Fletcher’s mind, and he shuddered. The movement made his head throb. He’d been gagged, too. No one wanted their kidnapping victim screaming from the trunk of their car.

  You think it’s him because you’re scared of him. He’s not in America, let alone Rowan Harbor, Fletcher told Aldric, trying to be dismissive.

  But it made sense. If Hector MacKenzie came to Rowan Harbor, he would be after Aldric. Fletcher had no idea how the man would have realized Aldric was in him. Conner? But Conner didn’t know, and how could he have fooled not only Fletcher, but Devon and everyone else?

  He tried to move and determined that he was bound hand and foot. The rope around his hands was attached to his neck, so if he pulled much, he also choked himself. Lovely. He had to work to take slow, deep breaths and not give in to the panic that wanted to steal his air.

  He poked Aldric again. Do you know how long we were unconscious?

  Time is hard, Aldric answered unhelpfully. It was hard to blame him though. The guy had been stuck on a shelf for hundreds of years. If he’d spent a lot of effort tracking time, he’d be out of his mind. Hell, he might be anyway. Fletcher didn’t know him all that well. Their contrary magical natures had required distance. Since Fletcher was about to be dead, he was sad about that.

  But hell, if Fletcher was going to be dead, it didn’t matter anymore. He might as well have all the contact he wanted. Since talking to Devon, one p
articular question had been nagging at him. Why are you sorry? Devon said you’re sorry and tired.

  So tired, Aldric agreed. Sorry—

  The picture of Hector came back and was replaced by an angry man. He was brandishing a book and yelling. He turned to leave, and Fletcher—no, Aldric—reached out and grabbed him by the sleeve. The man tried to brush him off, and panic bubbled up inside Fletcher. Aldric was speaking; the tone sounded like pleading. The man turned, a snarl on his face, and backhanded Aldric, threatening him with the book.

  It wasn’t just a book, Fletcher realized. It was the book. Aldric’s book. And the man was taking it. The man sneered at Aldric with disgust, and the panic turned into anger. Aldric reached out with both hands and shoved the man away from him. The sneer turned into shock, and the man fell back, hard.

  He didn’t get up again, and a pool of blood spread from his head, where it had impacted the wall.

  The scene shifted to something a lot like the dream of Aldric. Sitting at a desk, writing. He felt more agitated than in the first dream. There was the expected knock on the door. This time, though, he jumped up and tried to bar it. There was yelling outside, and it sounded like more than one voice.

  Didn’t mean to kill him, Aldric said, his voice a whisper, even in Fletcher’s mind. My brother. Loved him. The men came for justice. Should have accepted it. Too scared. Had to hide. To disappear.

  A desperate Aldric turned to the book, flipping pages frantically. He stopped on one as someone pounded on the door with something heavier than a fist. He chanted, reading the runes laid out in the book. For a fraction of a second, his eyes wandered to something shiny. A tiny, crude round of mirrored glass, Fletcher realized. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror and mentally recoiled. He couldn’t be more than sixteen.

  Aldric clutched his stomach and stopped chanting. When he looked up from the glass on the table, everything looked like a funhouse mirror, all twisted up, lines curving the wrong way. He looked up toward the ceiling and willed the room to stop spinning, but when he tried to look back down, he couldn’t. His vision seemed to widen to span a full hundred and eighty degrees, but he couldn’t move it.

  A group of men burst into the room, and . . . stopped. They looked confused, turning this way and that, seeming not to see him. They went to check the window, searched the corners of the room and under the desk.

  Took a day to understand. Longer to stop trying to escape. Can’t read spells from inside. Aldric didn’t sound sad as much as resigned. A thousand years trapped in a book would do that.

  Then Hector came and used you to hurt people, Fletcher said, and Aldric’s shiver was answer enough. He almost asked about whispering to Isla, but it was obvious, looking back. He’d been trying to communicate. Isla had deemed it evil because she hadn’t understood Gothic and knew the book had been used for evil. I’m so sorry. I think he’s going to kill me and take you back.

  Aldric’s constant fear made so much more sense. He was a kid trapped in a book forever. Killing his brother had been horrible, but unintentional, and any court would agree that hundreds of years in solitary confinement was too harsh a punishment.

  No. Aldric said after a minute. It wasn’t frightened or pleading like Fletcher might have expected, but determined.

  Fletcher didn’t have time to question, though, because the engine stopped. The bang of the car door opening and closing made the throbbing in his head spike. Depending on how long he’d been unconscious, he might not be too far outside Rowan Harbor. Jesse had said the book was trapped inside the town by protective runes. Did that include the remnants of Aldric that still lived in Fletcher? He wished he knew more about how magic worked.

  When the lock on the trunk popped, he had the urge to close his eyes. A small, cynical part of him expected Conner to be with his kidnappers, and he didn’t want to see that. But if he’d brought this on himself by trusting the wrong man, he was going to know it. The trunk lid lifted, and standing above him were Bob, Frank, and Hector MacKenzie.

  He could see trees behind them; the particular species of white oak common in the vicinity of Rowan Harbor. They were close. He’d been on the phone with Wade. He clung to that sliver of hope, stoking it like a freezing man would a flame. Wade must know something was wrong. His partner would find him. The area was silent but for the ticking of engines and the noises made by the three men. It was like the forest was holding its breath.

  “He don’t look like a magic book,” Bob said, his expression bored. “But if you say he’s it, I believe it. Now, how about our money?”

  Frank shushed him. “Not now.”

  Hector ignored them both, staring at Fletcher. In the illumination of the trunk light, his eyes glittered with a hunger that made Fletcher feel like prey.

  No, Aldric whispered again.

  “Get him into the cabin,” Hector commanded without even looking at the men. “We’ll do the spell in there. This body will be consumed, so there won’t be any evidence of his death.”

  Great. That sounded just wonderful. Conner’s absence was a little less reassuring, given Fletcher’s upcoming murder.

  No, Aldric said again. His voice was eerily calm this time. Only one sacrifice. One dies. One lives. One gets the magic.

  Fletcher was the one to shiver this time.

  Frank snorted. “Had you pegged for a coward the first time I saw you. Recognized what we were, and it scared you to death. No surprise a coward becomes a cop in a town like this.” He looked off in one direction, and when Fletcher followed his gaze, he thought he could see a slight glow in the sky. Was it home? It wasn’t far. “Oughta go back and burn the whole town to the ground when we’re done here.”

  Hector shrugged. “If you’d like. That would be easy enough.” He looked off in the same direction. “In fact, it might not be a bad idea. My traitor of a sister set the Convocation on my heels. It would be an appropriate repayment.”

  They had gagged Fletcher before putting him in the trunk, and that was for the best. If they hadn’t, his mouth would have gotten him in trouble. Really, though, what did the man expect after murdering his brother-in-law? A happy family reunion?

  “Have I offended you?” Hector crooned to him, and Fletcher shuddered. The man reached out and stroked his cheek softly, almost reverently. “Is anything of the deputy left, or has my terrified friend taken over?”

  Bob coughed and spit on the ground, making his discomfort with Hector clear. Hector looked at the man and scrunched his nose up in disgust. The look in his eyes made Fletcher wonder if he had any intention of paying the killers at all.

  “If you think the book’s taken over his head, how come you’re not worried about it doing the same to you?” Frank asked. He watched Fletcher like he was a wild animal that might reach out and bite, regardless of the gag in his mouth.

  Hector waved a hand airily. “He’s a small-town deputy. He barely has the mental capacity to fend off people who don’t want to pay speeding tickets. He was out of his league with the consciousness of a witch. I’ve spent a lifetime training for this.”

  “Well whatever he is, he’s not gonna get himself inside.” Frank leaned over him and hefted Fletcher onto his shoulder.

  The man struggled with Fletcher’s weight even in a fireman’s carry. Fletcher was over two hundred pounds, given his height and the amount of muscle he’d worked to pack onto his frame. He was glad to be an inconvenience, though it wasn’t much.

  It occurred to him to try shifting and running, but he worried the way the ropes were tied would strangle him as a fox. Also, the fox was lighter than he was, and if the shift didn’t startle Frank enough, he wouldn’t escape. A fox would be easier to carry around.

  “Get the door, Bob.”

  The rush of blood to his head was making Fletcher dizzy, but even upside-down, he thought he recognized where they were. It was an abandoned cabin just outside of town. A ten, maybe fifteen-minute drive from where they’d been. It was reassuring to know he hadn’t been u
nconscious for long, for all the good that did him.

  A howl broke the silence of the forest. Fletcher wasn’t good at understanding howls, but it couldn’t be about anything but him, could it? His friends would come for him. He just had to stay alive long enough for them to find him.

  Frank shuddered and spun to face the cabin. “Dammit, Bob, open the fucking door.” To himself, he muttered, “Can’t wait to get away from this fucking place.”

  The cabin was mostly made up of one big room. The floorboards were old and rotting, making Frank’s footing precarious and unsteady. One wall held an enormous fireplace, and someone had lit a fire there. A fire they planned to burn him with, a distant part of Fletcher’s brain observed. That fire was going to kill him. He had always expected to die in a fire.

  Focus, Aldric’s voice whispered. Not yet, but focus. Wait. Prepare.

  Fletcher didn’t even worry about whether Aldric was on the up-and-up anymore. Aldric was a better person than the men who had kidnapped them. Even if Aldric was going to sell him out in a bid to escape, Aldric deserved to escape and live more than Bob, Frank, or Hector.

  There was a stone slab in front of the fire that was high enough to use as a table, and Frank dumped him onto it. For a second, the position pulled at the rope around his throat, and he choked until Hector repositioned him as though he were a doll.

  “Be careful, you halfwit. You’ll kill him before the spell.” Hector stroked his cheek again and smiled at him, then set to untying the restraining ropes, and retying him to the slab. Behind him, Bob gave Frank a look that said he was none too happy about working with the crazy old mage; a look which Frank pointedly ignored.

  When Hector finished tying Fletcher up, he took out a small knife and cut his shirt off. He felt like they were acting out a scene in a B movie where the heroine is about to be sacrificed to summon an evil god.

  The flickering fire lit the room but cast more shadows than the electrical lights Fletcher was used to. The cabin was in a terrible state of disrepair. Old wallpaper was hanging in strips where the glue had failed. Piles of leaves had blown in through the broken windows and were strewn around the room, making the shadows shift restlessly.