Crossroads Burning

by Nash, Layla

  "Yeah, with Whitehouse." Mason scratched at his beard and downed all the juice, his attention still on the other room. "They're going back through all the case files and updating reports as necessary. Some of the more generic language and vague descriptions that Lincoln used to protect you and your sisters have to be made more explicit, now that Whitehouse saw you three in action. Well, he saw two of you in action, so he's extrapolated to Olivia as well."

  "Keep her out of it," I said quietly. "As far as he knows, she's done nothing wrong. Okay? Olivia is just a kid with two witches as sisters. That's all she needs to be for you people."

  "It's not all of us you should worry about," Mason said. He reached across the table but didn't touch my hand, instead tapping his fingers on the table right next to them. "Come on, Luckett. I know shit went sideways there at the end, but you don't have to lump us in with Heathrow or even Whitehouse."

  My eyes drifted closed before I could see the look on his face, and only the clawing hunger in my stomach kept me awake even a bit. "Let's wait until this all shakes out."

  "I always liked you, Luckett." Mason sighed, running his hand through his hair. "I'm glad you woke up. There are a couple of other things I should probably update you on."

  "Like?"

  He glanced over his shoulder once more, then tensed as Nelson appeared with two men—complete strangers.

  I blinked, gripping the edge of the table, and wondered why neither of the shifters looked surprised. "Who are they?"

  "About that," Mason said. He slid closer, as if he needed to be able to restrain me, and draped his arm across the back of my chair. "That's Charles, and that's Pierre. They're two of the werewolves that you changed back."

  My brain refused to keep up as I stared at the two men. They wore normal clothes—jeans and sweaters and socks and running shoes, like any normal twenty-first century dude. And yet they could have been from any time. They could have had the same attitudes and prejudices that Ronan had. And yet... I didn't remember turning five werewolves to human. I remembered only one—the woman who'd bitten me. I trawled my memory for a hint of who helped them and when, but it stayed in the blurry, unfocused part of the night after Nona died that I didn't want to examine in depth.

  The men looked at me with equal wariness. There was no telling what they remembered from the fire at the Crossroads or their time as werewolves. My ancestor was responsible for their curse, and what was taken had to be returned. Maybe they wanted me to pay for it, to make amends for Ronan’s misdeed. I folded my arms over my chest, wishing I'd managed to eat at least some of the stew so I didn't feel so shaky, and watched the two men watch me.

  Nelson cleared his throat and nudged the men toward the kitchen table, glancing from me to them and back. "I'll get more of the food warmed up. I think everyone could use a meal. Luckett, you want anything else?"

  "Bigger spoon," Mason said quietly. I shot him a dark look, not wanting to be teased, but the shifter wasn't joking.

  Charles and Pierre both struggled to pull chairs out and sit in them, and some of the tension in my chest uncoiled. They hadn't returned unscathed from their time as werewolves. If they felt as wobbly and off as I did, then they weren't much of a threat sleeping under the same roof, at least while Mason and Nelson stayed as well.

  Mason smiled as if nothing had changed, knocking his knuckles against the table. "So, gentlemen. This is Anastasia Luckett. She's the middle sister, and the one who figured out how to take the curse off you."

  Eyebrows rose and I braced for some more misogynistic bullshit. But instead Pierre half-bowed from his seated position, almost courtly as he inclined his head. "Mademoiselle, I am eternally grateful."

  "It wasn't—” I started, but I didn't get much further before Charles lurched out of his chair and loomed over me.

  Mason tensed just slightly, though his face didn't reveal any of it, as Charles went to one knee next to me. The former werewolf took my slightly trembling hand in his, and pressed his lips to my knuckles. His voice came out husky and very, very Irish. "We could not escape his control and despaired of trying. It would ha’ been another eternity of hell without deliverance at your hands. I owe you my life, lass. We all do."

  I blinked as I looked at him, stunned into silence. Nelson chuckled from across the kitchen, the clatter of dishes and utensils almost drowning out his words. "Come on now, Charles. Turn the charm down a notch or two. Luckett's not used to that kind of pizzazz."

  But Charles's deep green eyes never wavered from mine. "I owe you my life."

  "Uh, thanks," I said. I tried to extract my hand from his grip, just in case he started kissing it again. "But it wasn't just me. And you should sit. I don't remember the last time we mopped this floor."

  "Yesterday." Mason leaned over to give me a sideways look and tugged on the end of my ponytail. "Nelson has been knocking down your chore list one by one. Luckily Charles, Pierre, and the three ladies are not afraid of work and are sufficiently grateful for their rescue that they've taken over every possible task we can come up with."

  Pierre nodded fervently. "Oui. We can never make this up to you. You have resurrected me."

  Nelson put a bunch of dishes on the table, nudging Charles to stand and return to his chair. "Everyone tuck in. Resurrected or not, you need some protein. Try to stay awake as long as possible, Luckett."

  I tried the much larger spoon he brought, and found I could grip and maneuver that one far better than the regular spoon. The lukewarm stew disappeared quickly once I got started, and I demolished two pieces of lasagna, a bowl of fruit, and three slices of apple pie before I stopped to breathe.

  Mason looked properly impressed. "Well done."

  I leaned back in the chair and held my stomach, wishing I'd kept my sweatpants on. "You said the other three are also here?"

  "Yep," he said. "Ainsley, Prudence, and Meredith. They're with Hazel right now in the barn, working on some witch stuff."

  "In the barn?" My thoughts kept slipping and sliding until I couldn't hold one where I needed it. "Wait, what about the horse?"

  Mason cut himself another piece of pie. "I'm pretty sure the horse isn't a witch, but she's watching Hazel so maybe she'll pick something up."

  I smacked his shoulder. "You know what I meant."

  "It's not any kind of dangerous magic," he said, grinning. "The horse is a good distraction, actually, since that mangy beast seems to hate everyone who gets near her. She distracts the ladies as they try to concentrate. She was inside the barn when we got back; she’d let herself back into the stall with all the grain and put a pretty good dent in it. We ordered more so she could gain a bit of weight back after her little adventure. But she sure as hell isn’t grateful."

  "Close enough to true," I said under my breath. "Although you'd give her a run for her money in the 'mangy' department, kitty cat." I rubbed my forehead and dragged my thoughts back through what I'd really wanted to know before the distraction. "But why are all the… newcomers here? Our house isn't exactly five-star accommodation. We're not even two-star accommodation. They'd be better off in a tent in the front yard."

  Pierre and Charles didn't react except to look at the two shifters. Nelson pulled a chair up at the other end of the table, leaning his elbows on it as he watched me. "A couple of reasons. When Lincoln and the others first got them back to The Inn, none of the werewolves were in any condition to be around more people. Or the town itself. They either never knew about or didn't remember electricity, plumbing, television, cars, anything. So it was nerve-racking for them and dangerous for all of us, frankly—if one of them had gotten out and done something that revealed who and what they were, or what they're able to do, we all would have been in deep shit."

  "What do you mean, what they're able to do?"

  "They're all witches or warlocks or sorcerers," he said. "And their control was... not great, after they turned back. Lincoln and Hazel and Whitehouse had to do quite a bit of shielding and concealment to keep them from causing pr
oblems in town. So Whitehouse agreed to have all five of them stay out here, since Mason and I are out here guarding you and your sisters anyway. Your property is enough out of the way that it was a good option, and the town is accustomed to strange happenings out here anyway."

  My eyes narrowed as I watched him. I didn't want to do fuck-all to help Whitehouse out, even if it made life easier for Lincoln. "That's great for all of you, but why would we—”

  "The bureau is, of course, reimbursing you for expenses associated with housing, feeding, and clothing our guests and their security detail." Mason smiled, showing all his teeth. "And funding some improvements associated with security, as well. A few plumbing upgrades upstairs and in the basement, since Nelson and I broke some shit. We might break some windows and furniture later, if you need new stuff. Sorry about all that, by the way."

  A knot tied up my throat, and I had to concentrate on the empty pie pan to keep from crying in relief. It didn't make it right, of course, what had happened with their bureau and investigations. But at least we had a chance at catching up on some bills, keeping the house together with more than just a stick of gum and a prayer, and eating more than buttered noodles.

  Mason clapped my shoulder with rough affection, then tilted his head at the stairs. "You should go back to sleep. I'm happy to carry you up to bed, but Lincoln might have something to say about it."

  "You wouldn't care even if he did," I said under my breath, a smile starting to creep through. "But I think I can make it." I looked at the two former werewolves across the table from me, and the words got stuck in my throat before I even knew what I wanted to say them. "I'm sorry for what Ronan did. He's my ancestor, and he is guilty of so many crimes. What I did—what we did—was meant to balance that debt, to correct the wrongs done to you. You do not owe me anything."

  Both men started to object, but silenced as soon as I raised my hand. "Please. We can talk more soon. I really want to know who you are and where you're from and what you know. Just…please do not think you owe me anything."

  Nelson jumped in, though he kept his eyes on his juice as he muttered, "Don't argue with her, gents. That's one thing about these Luckett women—they hold grudges and they don't like to be argued with. So better to just smile and nod before you get on their bad sides."

  I scowled at him, enough that Charles and Pierre looked like they believed him a bit, and smacked the back of Nelson's head on my slow, shuffling route to the foyer and the stairs. I'd already crawled back into bed when it occurred to me that neither said anything about Luke or Lincoln.

  Chapter 64

  The next time I woke up, the guys were busy painting the outside of the house, which was perplexing since the house hadn’t had a coat of paint in generations and I couldn’t think of any security reason to justify it. But if Whitehouse footed the bill, I wouldn’t argue. Nelson muttered something about working on dexterity and balance for the turned werewolves, and since all of them seemed content to spend the day in the sunshine and cool air, I didn’t argue too hard for them to climb down and go inside.

  Hazel heard me stirring and met me on the landing, helping me balance as I teetered to the living room. She retrieved some coffee and more pie, along with some for herself. She groaned under her breath as she held up the thick slices of strawberry rhubarb pie. “Ainsley made these. I don’t know how she does the crust. It must be witchcraft. It has to be. It’s not possible to make crust this flaky and delicious with just regular ingredients.”

  I took a bite and closed my eyes, savoring it. But I knew the secret ingredient, since it was just like Gran made. “It’s lard.”

  “What?”

  “The crust. She uses lard.”

  I might as well have told Hazel that Ainsley ground up crickets and used them for flour from the look on her face. I hid my smile and concentrated on the sweet tartness of the pie filling. “So you’ve got guard duty today?”

  “You could say that.” She propped her feet up and yawned. “I’ve been keeping Heathrow as busy as possible, chasing all over the prairie searching for more dire wolves and possible werewolves, since we’ve got some more sightings.” And her half-smile and the twinkle in her eyes told me she was probably behind all of those sightings. “When I’m not fully engaged with that or testing the werewolves on what they remember and know, I’ve been working on a side project.”

  Hazel glanced at me sideways, waiting, and I sighed. No doubt that side project had something to do with me. I focused on the pie instead of her and braced myself for something truly awful. “Out with it.”

  “It’s not that bad, I promise.” Her grin told another story, since anything she was excited about was probably bad news for the Lucketts. “And it’s not just you. Whitehouse noticed something that neither Lincoln nor I did in all the times we saw you working magic, mostly because Lincoln saw what he knew and I saw what I knew.”

  “Okay,” I said. Maybe if things got too weird, I could just pretend to pass out and wait until another day to have that conversation. With all the sleeping we’d done, fainting seemed totally plausible. “I don’t get it, but okay.”

  “We didn’t either. Because you were doing things that we’d never seen before.” She sat forward, hands clenched between her knees, and practically beamed at me. “It’s new and weird and so far everyone is kind of shocked.”

  “And that’s where you start making me nervous.” I pointed my fork at her. “Who is ‘everyone,’ and why the fuck have you been telling them about us?”

  She shook her head, just about rolling her eyes at me. “Luckett, we couldn’t have hidden the shit you were doing if we wanted to. Jesus Christ, they felt the magic halfway back to headquarters. The field office in Chicago almost collectively shit themselves when you were channeling whatever you were channeling after Luke’s grandmother was killed.”

  That didn’t sound good at all. I pushed away the pain of Nona’s death and locked it away tightly so I wouldn’t start crying, and swallowed the knot of tears that formed immediately in my throat. There would be time for that later. I cleared my throat and set aside the plate, hoping I didn’t end up throwing it at her. “What do you mean, they felt it?”

  “We have…devices,” she said, tapping her fingers against her chin as she thought. “The closest comparison would be like seismic sensors, for earthquakes. They register degree and frequency of big magic, the kind of stuff the bureau is really worried about. They’re all over the U.S. We use them to home in on the sources of any big magical disturbances. And what happened out at the Crossroads was a hell of a gigantic, blue moon, Super Bowl kind of magical disturbance. Like, we haven’t seen that shit in generations. Maybe ever.”

  I covered my face and focused on breathing normally. That kind of attention was the last thing we needed on the Crossroads, on Rattler’s Run, on us. It was bad enough that Lincoln and Whitehouse and Heathrow all knew who and where we were, and some of what we could do. We didn’t need every magical tourist in the western hemisphere stopping by to check out the ley lines.

  “Don’t think about that part yet,” she said, reaching over to squeeze my arm. “That’s why Whitehouse agreed to keep things hush-hush for a while, because he doesn’t want to freak you guys out and send you running. He’s also controlling access to the entire state—so no magic user or shifter or anything can enter the state without his permission. You won’t get deluged, I promise.”

  “Not yet,” I muttered, and wondered once again whether she could read my mind. “You better talk fast. I’m fading.”

  Hazel nodded and leaned forward even more, almost pitching out of her chair. “The crazy thing is, Luckett, that you and your sisters have been using two, even three kinds of magic all mixed up together. No one does that. But that’s why Lincoln saw one thing—when you guys accessed druid lore and used the ley lines, and I saw something else—when you used witch magic. You used it weird, but it’s still a flavor of witch magic.”

  “So now we’re doing magic wrong?�
��

  “Yes and no.” She looked over at the kitchen, her expression tightening, and I wondered who could possibly be interrupting us.

  From the lack of footsteps and no audible breathing, I assumed it was one of the shifter brothers.

  But I was wrong. Completely wrong.

  Whitehouse himself walked into the living room as if he owned it, as if it were his house and he’d lived there all his life and I was the misbehaving guest, and seated himself in the battered armchair that Gran had always occupied as a throne. It made my toes curl with irritation right off the bat.

  So did his tone—mild and unimpressed but still chiding, as if he wanted to discipline a sensitive child but didn’t want tears. “I thought you were going to alert me when the witches woke, Hazel.”

  “I was just about to call you,” Hazel said, full of cheer and bounce all of a sudden. “Luckett needed a second and some coffee to get her wits about her, and I didn’t want to waste your valuable time.”

  He snorted, knowing it was a line of bullshit, and focused his eerie green eyes on me. “Well. Anastasia Temperance Luckett. How are you feeling?”

  “Like a jack-o-lantern two weeks after Christmas.”

  One dark eyebrow arched. “Don’t sugarcoat it for me.”

  “If I thought you cared, I would’ve bothered to lie.” I forced myself to fake a polite smile. “What brings you to my doorstep—well, to my living room?” And I cocked my head to the side, giving him the look Gran used the time one of us broke her very favorite crystal vase but had all sworn to never tell, and she meant to make one of us crack under interrogation.

  A smile touched just the corners of his mouth, but it never reached his eyes. They flashed and for a second, it looked as if his pupils went vertical, like a cat’s. But when I blinked, it was all back to normal—just emerald green with dark lashes and a perfect round pupil. “A bit of business. And concern for your welfare, of course.”