No Crones About It

by Amanda M. Lee

  I couldn’t remember what happened after that. I always woke at that part of the dream. Was it a dream, though? I was starting to have my doubts. For years I could dismiss the dreams as ways for my subconscious to fill in the blanks of my childhood. I was trapped in the foster care system for years and every shrink they sent me to had come to the same conclusion. I didn’t tell them the paranormal elements of my dreams, of course. Inherently I knew that would be a mistake. The rest of it, however, I volunteered because it seemed to be expected of me. They all said the same thing: I had abandonment issues. I was afraid of the unknown. They didn’t seem to understand that it wasn’t fear driving me, it was genuine emotional distress.

  What happened to me as a child?

  Why was I left in front of the fire station?

  Was anyone out there looking for me?

  I asked those questions of myself and others for years. I never came up with acceptable answers.

  Because I recognized that further sleep was out of the question, I climbed out of bed. I wasn’t surprised to find Merlin sleeping on the mountain of his triumph — toilet paper stretched from one end of the room to the other — and left him to what I hoped were happier dreams as I moved to the front porch.

  The cabin was a work in progress. I’d done a decent amount of home improvement, which seemed strange because I wasn’t prepared to call Hawthorne Hollow home. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the area — the trees and fields called to me in a way I didn’t understand — but I wasn’t the stationary sort. I’d been moving my entire adult life (and I wanted to be moving throughout the entirety of my teenage years) and the idea of settling somewhere for the long haul was alien.

  Still, the cabin felt like home. Moving with a cat would be difficult anyway, and even though Merlin drove me crazy there was no way I would be one of those jerks who left a pet behind. Merlin was family now, which meant I would probably have to get him used to riding on the motorcycle. I made a mental note to research my options on that front and slid into the rocking chair on the front porch, sighing when the breeze picked up and ruffled my hair.

  In Detroit, the great outdoors was a foreign concept. The monster hunting I did with Spells Angels was of the urban variety in the city. There was the occasional water monster to take on thanks to the proximity of the Great Lakes and a variety of absolutely filthy rivers — seriously, I once took down a garbage hag in the Clinton River that smelled so foul it still haunted my dreams — but the majority of the creatures I fought enjoyed hiding in the abandoned buildings that threatened to take over the city.

  We’re talking vampires, shifters, wraiths and the occasional zombie. Bad witches were like discarded cigarette butts in the city, but they were easy to take out. The variety of creatures I’d crossed paths with since arriving in Hawthorne Hollow was mind boggling. It was also educational, and I loved a learning experience.

  I absently rocked in the chair, my eyes drifting to the tree line. The woods didn’t frighten me. I’d watched my fair share of horror movies — Friday the 13th was a particular favorite — but they didn’t fill me with fear. Instead, I found them entertaining. I would love to take on a masked supernatural killer who murdered people by zipping them up in sleeping bags and beating them against a tree. What? That’s fun.

  I understood there was more lurking in the woods of northern Lower Michigan than a hockey-mask-wearing killer, though. There was a lot more. I was eager to learn, even if I wasn’t exactly at the top of Rooster’s list of favorite employees. That didn’t change the fact that I was restless. The problem was, I couldn’t decide if I was restless because I was anxious to move on or because I was running from something.

  Slowly, I got to my feet at the snapping of a branch in the woods to the east. I was getting used to the idea of critters living in the woods. It wasn’t unheard of to see raccoons, muskrats, deer, coyotes and even bears in this area. Okay, I hadn’t actually seen a bear yet, but I was looking forward to the opportunity. This particular noise, however, set my teeth on edge.

  I have a sixth sense. Some would argue that it’s a seventh or eighth sense. I can “feel” when danger is close, although that wasn’t what worried me now. That didn’t mean the uneasiness rolling through me was normal. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something in the woods watching me, and I very much doubted it was an animal. The raccoons showed their faces without hesitation almost every day, consistently climbed into the garbage can at the back of the property, making plenty of racket so I would know they were there.

  This wasn’t a raccoon. I was sure of that.

  “Tim?” I called out to the resident ghost who haunted the area. He was something of a pervert. We’d had more than one discussion about him peeping into the windows of the cabin. I’d splurged on curtains to keep him out — though he could obviously float through the walls if he was so inclined — but he at least tried to pretend he was anchored by the manners of the living. I wasn’t so sure that was true, but there had been no issues in at least a week.

  “Tim?” I tried again and then shook my head as I narrowed my eyes. He wasn’t the type to hide in the woods and spy. He was less likely to catch a gander of a naked woman if he kept his distance. Besides, he would have to exert a lot of effort to make enough noise for me to hear him from forty feet away.

  No, this was something else.

  I’d just about made up my mind to investigate when the familiar rumble of a motorcycle engine caught my attention. I didn’t have to turn toward the driveway to know who was coming. I recognized the specific hum of Gunner’s bike. I should’ve expected a visit given what had happened at The Cauldron.

  My stomach did a slow, deliberate roll. Gunner’s effect on me wasn’t something I could explain. It’s not as if I hadn’t dated in Detroit. In fact, I dated regularly. Well, kind of. In truth, I dated someone for two weeks and then found a reason to break up with him. I didn’t bond easily ... although all the natural defense mechanisms I’d built up over my life to protect my heart seemed to have fallen by the wayside where Gunner was concerned.

  I didn’t understand it. Oddly enough, I wasn’t fighting his pull as much as I should either. I enjoyed having him around, which frustrated me on an entirely different level.

  “Hey.” His smile reflected genuine amusement as he killed the engine of his bike and yanked off his helmet. His hair fluttered past his shoulders as he looked me up and down. “Nice bedhead.”

  Crap! I’d forgotten about my nap. I was the type who slept hard, drooled and snored if I was exhausted enough. Merlin didn’t seem to mind, but I had a feeling Gunner would be another story. If we made it that far, I mean.

  Oh, who was I kidding? We were definitely going to make it that far. It wasn’t a question of if. It was a question of when. We were like magnets. There was no keeping us apart.

  “I took a nap,” I offered, resisting the urge to order my hair. That would only make him laugh ... and give him power. I honestly didn’t care how I looked. Er, well, at least most of the time. Sometimes the way he looked at me made me care, which only irritated me more.

  “I figured.” He smoothly slid off the bike, his motion liquid. He was tall and moved like a cat. “You don’t look all that rested.”

  “I’ve been having weird dreams.” The admission was out of my mouth before I thought better of it. Before, I wouldn’t have even considered sharing the dream details with anyone. With him, things simply slid out of my mouth before I could stop myself.

  He furrowed his brow. “What sort of dreams?” He climbed the steps and took the open chair next to me even though I’d forgotten my manners and didn’t offer it. “Are we talking nightmares?”

  I opened my mouth to answer — a snarky response on the tip of my tongue — but I couldn’t force myself to sink to that level. He looked legitimately concerned. “I have dreams sometimes, about when I was a kid,” I admitted. “I can’t decide if they’re memories or something I’m making up in my head to fill in the gaps.”<
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  He pursed his lips. “Do they feel real?” he asked.

  “In the moment, yeah. I just don’t know that they are real.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  I’d never told anyone about the dreams. Not really. Okay, sure, there had been the occasional blabber-filled night, but they always followed alcohol-fueled outings so the person I’d confided in almost always forgot. This would be different.

  “Tell me,” he prodded, his voice soft. “I want to know what’s going on with you.”

  And that was the sad truth. He did. He wanted to understand. I was a difficult woman who wanted to keep people out, but he was determined to get in. If anyone had a shot of getting past my defenses, it was him.

  I hated that he had this effect on me.

  I let loose a sigh. There was no getting around this. “I’ve had the dream more than once.” I launched into the tale, keeping it as clinical as possible. Gunner listened, never once interrupting, and when I finished, he seemed thoughtful.

  “You’re sure she wasn’t your mother?”

  I nodded without hesitation. “I had to call her mother in public so people wouldn’t question why we were together, but she definitely wasn’t my mother.”

  “Do you remember your mother?”

  “No.”

  “What about your father?”

  “I don’t ever remember having parents. Maybe they took one look at me after my birth, decided I was a waste of space and abandoned me.”

  Immediately, he started shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s right. Somebody obviously took care of you for the first few years of your life. I think it’s far more likely that your parents were killed and you were cared for by others of your ... kind.”

  I arched an eyebrow at his obvious discomfort. “My kind?”

  He didn’t back down. “You’re not a normal witch. You clearly have witch in your bloodline. There’s something else there, too. The fact that you have elemental magic at your disposal — why did you keep that secret, by the way? — could be a hint.”

  “I didn’t realize it was elemental magic,” I said. That was mostly true. I was street smart more than book smart. It wasn’t that I was uneducated as much as I preferred rushing headlong into a problem and learning by doing rather than sitting back and waiting for answers to come to me. “I told you. Most of the magic I do just happens. I don’t really plan it out.”

  “Which is why you’re terrifying.” Gunner’s grin was friendly. “I wouldn’t offer a monster a free pass out of town again if I were you, though. Rooster doesn’t like it.”

  I’d figured that out. “Yeah, well ... .” I trailed off, my eyes holding his for an extended beat. Finally, I asked the obvious question. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what’s going on? Why are you out here?”

  “Well, I thought it was time we talked about our date.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “What date? We haven’t gone on a date.”

  “No, but we agreed to go on one.”

  I vaguely remembered. Okay, I remembered every moment of that conversation, but when he didn’t follow up on the initial inquiry I’d tried to convince myself he’d changed his mind. It would be easier for me if he was the one who pulled the plug on whatever this was. “I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.”

  “No.” His smile widened. “I wanted to give you a bit of time to settle. You’ve had more than enough time now, so we should pin down a date.”

  That was very ... organized ... of him. “Oh, well, I’m not sure what my schedule is like.” I averted my gaze. “Maybe we should play it by ear.”

  He didn’t immediately speak, which I took as a bad sign, but after a few moments of quiet he cleared his throat, essentially forcing my attention to him.

  “What?” I was feeling defensive as I gripped my hands together.

  His expression softened when he registered my reaction. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You’re thinking it.”

  “I’m thinking a lot of things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like ... I think we should go on our date now.”

  “What?” My voice came out squeakier than I expected. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, I’m serious.” He chuckled at my discomfort. “If I wait for you to be ready for this, we’ll still be dancing around each other a month from now. That’s not what I want. I’m pretty sure it’s not what you want either.”

  He wasn’t wrong. Still, I couldn’t wrap my head around what I was allowing to happen. “Maybe ... maybe we shouldn’t do this.” I hated the dark look that crossed his handsome features, but that didn’t stop me from barreling forward. “This could be a mistake. What if we hate each other? Then we’ll have to keep working together and it’ll be awkward.”

  “We won’t hate each other. That’s not what you’re worried about.”

  There was a challenge in his smile, almost a dare. “Oh, yeah? What am I worried about?”

  “That you’re going to become so attached to me you’ll never want to leave.”

  His ego was clearly out of control. “Listen here ... .”

  He was on his feet. “I’ll give you an hour to get ready. As much as I like the bedhead look, I’m taking you to a nice restaurant. It’s not in Hawthorne Hollow, which I think is best for both of us. The restaurant I have in mind isn’t formal, but you should probably steer clear of leather ... which you can keep for our second date.”

  Flirty energy flowed from him and practically smacked me in the face. “I need the leather to hold back the wind on my bike,” I pointed out.

  “This is a date,” he reminded me. “I have a truck. I’ll be picking you up.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “Oh, well ... .”

  He cut me off with a wave of his hand. He obviously wasn’t going to allow me the opportunity to talk myself out of this. “I’ll see you in an hour. If you’re not here, I’m simply going to track you down. Running will get you nowhere.”

  I’d already figured that out. The time for running was over. It was time to put up or shut up ... and shutting up is never an option for me.

  Four

  As far as dates go, it was a pretty good one.

  After I got over my initial nerves, the conversation eased and I found myself laughing harder than I could ever remember.

  Gunner was a gifted storyteller, and the tales he told about his youth in Hawthorne Hollow — including his father’s insistence on arresting him along with the other kids raising hell in the town — had me shaking with delight.

  The restaurant he picked wasn’t formal, but it wasn’t a diner. We both settled on prime rib and potatoes, which we inhaled as if we hadn’t eaten in weeks it was so good, and when we were finished he suggested a walk along the lake. Given the way the moon reflected off the water and the wind tousled our hair, I had a feeling he suggested the walk because of the romantic ambiance ... but I wasn’t exactly complaining.

  “That was awesome,” I enthused, laughing as he sat on the beach and turned his attention to his shoes. “What are you doing?”

  “You can’t walk the beach with shoes on,” he explained. “You need to be barefoot.”

  “I think you’re making that up.”

  “And I think you’re afraid to walk on the beach with me. Chicken?”

  My lips curved down. “You don’t have to dare me to get me to do something. Sometimes it’s okay to just ask.”

  His eyes were hard to read when they locked with mine. “Fair enough,” he said after a beat. “The thing is, you tend to talk yourself out of things if I don’t push you a bit. If I dare you, you always come through.

  “I think I get it, by the way,” he continued. “You don’t want to get attached to anyone. In your position I probably wouldn’t do it any differently. That doesn’t seem like the healthy way to go, though. It’s okay to get attached.”

  I held his gaze for what felt like a really long time and then sighed as
I sank to the sand. Even though it was a date, I opted for simple black trousers and a peasant top. I wasn’t the skirt sort. I couldn’t remember the last time I wore a skirt, in fact. If Gunner was bothered by my outfit, he didn’t show it. Instead, the relief on his face when he showed up on the porch and I opened the door — clearly ready and without an excuse on the tip of my tongue — was palpable.

  “I haven’t even decided if I’m staying here over the long haul,” I reminded him. “This was supposed to be a temporary assignment.”

  “Do you want it to be a temporary assignment?”

  That was the question. “I don’t know.” I searched for an answer that would satisfy the both of us. It wasn’t easy. “I never considered myself the country sort, but ... I like this place. I would be lying if I said I didn’t.”

  His grin was back. “Do you like it because I’m here?”

  I wanted to throttle him ... and then maybe kiss him. It was a fine line. “I like you.” I couldn’t lie. I hated those demure girls who played games with people’s emotions. I didn’t know a lot about myself growing up — it always seemed like a long, hard slog to get any insight about myself — but I did know that. “I don’t know if I’ll be good for you.”

  He was clearly surprised by my response. “I don’t understand.”

  “You said it yourself. I’m a live wire who acts before I think. It’s possible Rooster will give me the boot at some point. You’re clearly never leaving Hawthorne Hollow, so what does that mean? Aren’t you afraid that we’ll grow attached to one another and then something will tear us apart?”

  He worked his jaw, his mind busy. Before speaking again, he licked his lips and tilted his head. “I get why you’re afraid,” he started, his voice soft. “I like to pretend that I had some horrible upbringing because my father is difficult. What you went through is ten times worse.