by Casey Lane
The inside of the house was just as staged as the outside. A fire roared in the stone hearth despite the scorching summer heat outside. There was a handmade quilt tacked on the wall with iron nails and another thrown over the battered chair in front of the fireplace.
She gestured to a deeply scarred round wooden table with a satin purple cloth in the center, scoffing when she saw Wren’s eyes wandering, waving her dishrag around the room. “Don’t pay none of this no mind. This is for the gentrified folk. Don’t you be judging me for it neither, them tourists pay my bills.”
Wren shook his head, holding his hands up in surrender. He didn’t care how she paid her bills if she could help them. He pulled a chair out for Neoma, taking the seat next to her.
Granny took the seat across from Neoma, pulling the purple cloth from the center, revealing a flat circular mirror that drew Wren’s gaze like a magnet. “Whatcha need, wolf? You don’t look the type who’d come for a readin’. You got a problem with the haint?” Wren’s head jerked up at that. She leaned forward. “Yeah, I know you, Wren Davies. I know your pa too. Meaner than a striped snake, that one an always startin’ trouble.” She wasn’t wrong. “Two dead witches and a dead wolf? Mayhap this time, troubles comin’ for you? Sometimes the dead don’t stay dead.”
Wren wished this were simply a haunting. “No, ma’am. It’s not my dead that’s the problem, it’s the living. I’m here for a spell.”
She hummed at him, eyes narrowed. “Mayhap you is, mayhap you ain’t. We’ll see.”
She gazed into the mirror before her, muttering words Wren had never heard before under her breath. She stared at its surface for a solid minute. Wren stared too, seeing nothing more than the three of them reflecting back at him. Neoma watched the proceedings with the same casual disinterest she gave most things lately.
When Granny finally looked up, she curled her lip in disgust. “Whatcha done to this young’un? Thrice spelled? I’ll not spell her again.”
Wren frowned. Thrice spelled? What the hell did that mean? “What?”
She leaned across the table, snatching Neoma’s hand before he could stop her. “What’ve they done to you? Speak up, child, you’re safe here.”
Neoma’s gaze wandered as Wren’s temper flared. “Don’t talk to her, talk to me? What do you mean thrice spelled?”
She clucked her tongue. “This child’s so wrapped up in magic, I cain’t tell where one spell ends, and another starts.”
Wren scrubbed his hands across his face, trying to think. What was he missing? How could so much have happened while he was gone and nobody told him? He expected this kind of thing from his father, from Dylan, but his mother? His sisters? How could so many people have betrayed her? Betrayed him? “I need your help, please? We need your help. I need to get her away from my father, today. I need you to cloak us from any location spells he might use.”
“You ‘spect me to go up against your pa? After what he did to my Ruby Jean?”
The name sent a shock of recognition through him, but he couldn’t say why. “Ruby Jean?”
“My grandbaby. Got involved with that pretty talkin’ brother a yours, then she just plum disappeared.”
Would Dylan ever stop being the bane of his existence? Three weeks dead and still making his life harder. “Ma’am, I didn’t know your granddaughter, and if my father or my brother hurt her in any way, I’m truly sorry, but I’ve been gone for a long time…I made a mistake. I never should have left her behind with those people.” He looked at Neoma, her hand still clasped with the old woman’s. “If I don’t get her away from my father, today, I have no idea what will happen. He’s down two witches, but that won’t last for long. If I know my father, he’ll have another one under his thumb before the sun sets. We need to be long gone and on our way to someplace safe.” She watched him warily. “Please, I’m trying to protect her.”
“You’ve seen a lotta death, huh, boy?” she asked inexplicably.
He didn’t deny it. “More than anybody should see in a lifetime.”
“But you haven’t let it harden you.” It was a statement not a question, so Wren held his tongue. “Give me your hand. I wanna show you somethin’.” Wren didn’t hesitate, placing his palm against hers. She needed to trust him, or she’d never agree to help. Her gnarled fingers closed around his, her hand cool against his overheated skin. “Look in the mirror at your young’un.”
Her words felt heavy, like a lead weight in his stomach. He did as she asked, leaning forward and peering into the glass. His first glance had him fighting not to recoil as his brain struggled to make sense between what he knew and what he saw. His eyes met the old woman’s, and she gave a firm shake of her head, glancing towards Neoma reminding him that she was observing his reaction. He leaned closer.
Neoma’s mirror image wore her same pale blue dress and the same white bow in her hair, but scars riddled this Neoma’s skin. There was barely an inch of her flesh not covered in the puckered pink marks. Wren stared at the jagged bite marks at her throat and along her arms, the claw marks on her wrists and legs, strange holes at the bends of her arms. “What the hell is that?”
“That’s the real her. My mirror don’t lie. She’s glamoured.”
How could somebody have enough magic to hide this kind of damage. Why hadn’t she said anything? “Neoma? Was someone hurting you?”
Neoma blinked at him, that same serene expression on her face that she’d had for the last several days. “She ain’t gonna tell you. She cain’t. I told you. She’s spelled.”
“Somebody’s been hurting her but spelled her to forget and then hid the scars?”
“Not somebody…somebodies,” she corrected. “By my count, three somebodies.”
“Can you break the spell?”
She scoffed. “I ain’t that kinda witch. You need a spirit witch, a healer.”
“Do you see now? Do you understand why I need to get her away from here? Away from him?”
She stared at him a long time. “You cain’t outrun your pa, not forever. He’ll find a way to find you. But I can give you ‘til the next full moon.”
That was only seven days away. What good would running for seven days do? It might give him time to regroup, to come up with a plan to get out of his father’s ultimatum.
“Belle Haven.”
“What?”
“There’s a spirit here, whispering in my ear. Said to tell you, Belle Haven. You know what that means?”
Wren sucked in a breath. Yes. He suddenly wanted to kiss this woman, and whatever spirit had sent the message. How could he have not thought of it before? Belle Haven was the answer to his problems. “Yes, ma’am, I think I do. If you can hide us for seven days…we’ll take it.”
“Then I guess we best get started.”
This time when she lowered her head, Wren felt the energy as she spoke her words of protection, felt the air stir around them, felt the charge of her power as it rose into the air, surrounding her.
When she finished, she opened her eyes, gasping at something in the mirror, shoving away from the table. She looked at Neoma then, hands trembling. “You’ve got a passenger.”
Neoma stared at her calmly, but Wren stood, leaning forward, looking into the mirror, trying to see what the woman saw. “What? What does that mean?”
Suddenly, the old woman was gasping for breath, clawing at her throat with her nails. “What’d you bring to my house, wolf?”
The girl from outside came running through the open front door. “Granny!” She stared at Wren in horror. “What did you do to her? Why cain’t you just stop hurting us? Get out!”
“Please, what-”
“Go!”
Her scream was like a physical blow, shoving Wren towards the door. He snatched Neoma from her seat, lifting her into his arms and running towards his truck. He turned the key, the diesel engine growling low as he threw it into drive.
Wren didn’t let himself think about what happened until they were on the highway, hea
ding towards Florida. On the surface, he was calm but, inside, his wolf raged. He had no claim on Neoma, she wasn’t his blood, but she was his just the same. He’d left her in the care of his family, and they’d allowed some monster to sneak in and hurt her.
Neoma looked at him and smiled. “It’ll be okay,” she said, without prompting, pulling her corn husk doll from her bag and straightening its dress. Wren hoped that was true, but he just couldn’t be sure. It was hard to look at Neoma and not see the damage somebody had inflicted on her. He was going to find whoever did that to her and rip their beating heart from their chest, that was a promise.
He flipped on the radio, scanning the channels until he found a channel playing classic rock, relaxing as the music filled the silence. He needed to think. He had seven days to convince an alpha werewolf to marry him and less than twelve hours to come up with a plan.
Chapter Two
Isa
Day 1
Isa glanced at the clock on the microwave for the fifth time, resisting the urge to growl. They were all going to be late…again. If she didn’t leave now, Francine would be dealing with the breakfast crowd alone, and the kids would be tardy which meant she’d have to walk them into the front office which meant getting out of the car and dealing with that crotchety witch in the front office. She couldn’t deal with that woman, not today.
She snagged her bag, shoving her laptop into it and returning it to the chair. What could they possibly be doing up there? How hard was it to put clothes on and brush your teeth? She asked very little of them.
“Rhys, Tristin, Kai, and Quinn. Let’s go. Now. I’m not going to ask you again,” Isa shouted up the back staircase knowing full well she was going to have to ask them again.
Four sets of feet pounded down the front stairs causing tiny bits of plaster to fall like snow from the ceiling between the living room and kitchen. She scowled. She’d asked them not to use the front stairs. She still needed to call the guy about the leak in the guest bathroom. She’d managed to stop the water from pouring down into the hallway, but she hadn’t had time to call them to fix the water damage to the plaster overhead. One of a million things she just didn’t have time for.
“Rhys, stop,” Kai whined. “Give it back.”
“No,” her brother scoffed. “Stop being such a brat.”
There was a dull thud followed by a scuffling sound, a muffled “oomph” and finally a crash as something glass hit the floor. Then it went quiet. Isa closed her eyes, praying for patience. She didn’t know what it was but suspected it was the vase in the foyer. It’s what she got for attempting to have nice things. She looked at her phone again with a growl, the numbers of the clock mocking her.
“You are going to be in so much trouble.” She heard Tristin whisper.
“Whatever,” Rhys grumbled. “It’s not my fault Quinn tripped over his own feet. Again.”
Isa didn’t have to see what was happening to know her brother was tormenting Kai. It seemed to be his only hobby. Well, next to following Kai around, looking for excuses to torture him. Rhys said it was his job to watch out for the others, but her brother didn’t seem to notice the only one he was ever watching was Kai. She shook her head. He just couldn’t seem to stay away from the boy.
“You took my Gameboy, and you pushed Quinn,” Kai accused.
“I was just holding it,” Rhys told him sullenly. “And Quinn pushed himself.”
“You have your own,” Kai persisted. “Why do you always have to take my things?”
Isa sighed, walking from the kitchen to the foyer before the argument devolved further. A broken vase sat shattered on the hardwood floor. Water pooled on the floor, the wildflowers the kids had gathered the day before strewn through the wet mess. Four guilty faces stared back at her.
“What is this?” Isa groaned, gesturing to the mess. “You are going to be late for school. Again. I’m going to be late for work. Again. We don’t have time for this today. You’ve been late so much lately I’m going to be arrested for your truancy.”
“He started it,” Kai swore, pointing at her brother. “He’s such a-a…dick.”
Quinn snickered, and Tristin’s eyes went big as saucers. Isa rolled her eyes. If this was what dealing with tweens was like the teen years were going to kill her. “Language, Kai.”
Isa heard Rhys’s heart rate skyrocket at the insult. She side-eyed her brother warily, watching as his face flushed. Isa’s stomach sank, knowing what came next. Puberty was hard for any kid but puberty for a werewolf was ten times worse, and Rhys seemed to have it worse than any wolf she’d ever met. His jaw tensed; face twitching as his nostrils flared. He glared at Kai. Isa could smell his anxiety, his anger and something else…frustration, maybe.
“Rhys, breathe. You know what happens when you get angry.”
Kai looked leery, but Tristin crossed her arms. “Yeah, don’t hulk out, dude. Isa doesn’t have time for this crap. She’s busy.”
Isa smiled against her will. Tristin had recently appointed herself Isa’s unofficial spokesperson. Isa thought that maybe it was because the boys outnumbered them. Tristin liked to remind them often that Isa was the alpha and a girl, therefore all girls must be superior.
Rhys looked at his sister’s smile and growled. He clearly thought she was laughing at him. His eyes shifted, glowing greenish gold, fangs dropping. Not now, Isa thought. Tristin was right; she didn’t have time for this crap. What other twenty-two-year-old had to deal with this? They were oversleeping for their nine am Lit classes, not raising three eleven-year-olds and a twelve-year-old. Tristin gave Isa a sharp nod and marched herself into the kitchen without another word.
Isa tried again. “Rhys, take a few deep-”
“Whatever, I’m fine. They’re the problem. Why is thith alwaith my faulth,” Rhys shouted around canine teeth suddenly too big for his mouth before running back up the stairs.
Great. She was never going to get him out of his bedroom.
“Rhys!” she shouted, but he was gone. She looked at the wet mess on the floor. Tristin returned from the kitchen with a roll of paper towels and a dish towel, handing them to Isa and shaking her little head as if she couldn’t believe they had to deal with all this morning drama.
“Tristin, Kai, and Quinn get your backpacks,” she told them, only then actually looking at Tristin. The girl wore jeans, a dress, two different colored knee socks, a rain boot and a ballet flat. “Tristin, what are you wearing?”
Tristin’s face scrunched as she shoved a lock of dark hair from her violet eyes. “Duh, clothes. What does it look like?”
“Excuse me?” Isa asked, letting her eyes glow gold.
Tristin shrunk in on herself. “Sorry.”
“Go upstairs and change.”
The girl’s mouth dropped open like Isa had betrayed her. “What? Why?”
Because you look ridiculous. “Because your rain boot has a bigger heel than your flat and you’re going to end up limping all day and have horrible back problems when you’re an adult.”
Tristin thrust out her chin, crossing her arms, preparing to square off over her creative license. “I like this outfit. I don’t want to change.”
“Stop arguing-” Isa started, only to be cut off by the sound of the doorbell. She turned, frowning at the door. She couldn’t remember the last person to darken their doorstep on a Wednesday morning. She turned back to Tristin. “Change your shoes. Now.”
“But-”
“Now!” Isa roared.
Tristin narrowed her eyes at the alpha. “Fine, but you are stifling my originality. I shouldn’t be forced to conform,” she shouted, before turning on her one heel and clomping awkwardly up the stairs.
She leveled her gaze at the two innocent looking faces remaining. “I said backpacks. Now.”
“We’re hungry.” Quinn blinked at her, shoving an errant lock of his brown hair out of his face, blinking his amber eyes at her owlishly behind glasses too big for his face.
The doorbell rang ag
ain. “Then grab a pop tart. I could have made breakfast if you guys hadn’t taken so long.”
“Aw, man. I wanted waffles,” Quinn griped, but the two were already heading towards the kitchen.
With a last look at the mess, she tossed the towel on top of it and pretended it wasn’t there. She yanked the door open prepared to tell whoever it was to screw off but stopped short, blinking stupidly at the guy on her porch. He was tall. Well, everybody was tall compared to her barely five-foot frame, but he was tall enough to make her crane her head upwards, so she wasn't staring at his chest. He was lean and well-muscled like a swimmer, with messy, dirty blonde hair and just the right amount of stubble. He also had lovely, bright blue eyes and the most earnest expression she’d ever seen.
“Isadora McGowan?”
“Yeah?” she asked, distracted as Tristin pounded back down the stairs. She looked at the girl’s rain boots and shook her head. She should have specified which shoes she wanted changed, but it was too late now. “Where’s Rhys?” she asked the girl, the man on her porch temporarily forgotten.
“Shredding pillows in his bedroom, I think.”
This might be the day that breaks me, Isa thought. This is the day I finally snap and go rogue. Runaway and live in the woods. “Go eat your breakfast,” she ground out.
“Pop tarts hardly qualify as breakfast,” Tristin said haughtily.
Isa didn’t dignify it with an answer. She wasn’t going to argue with an eleven-year-old. She turned back to earnest-guy, noting the intricate tribal tattoo snaking up his arm. He was a wolf; that much she could smell, but she’d never seen him around before. She had to hand it to him, it took a lot of balls to come into an alpha’s territory without permission and knock right on her front door. He was clearly crazy. It was a shame too. He was hot…objectively speaking.